The farmer led to the home. He walked with a slight limp and his clothes were caked with mud. Once inside of the house he picked farming tools off his few chairs and kicked away an endless supply of cats. A mud caked film was on every surface.
“Who would think that a prince of Catheldor would grace me with his presence? Makes me glad I cleaned the house this morning.” The farmer smiled.
“Thank you for your hospitality. I am glad you could provide a place of safe refuge in the Ildonian lands.” Arlin smiled and sat on the corner of a muddied chair.
“Call me Clem,” the farmer rushed into the kitchen and returned with a pitcher filled with a light brown colored liquid and a various assortment of chipped clay glasses. “Let me get you something to drink. Don’t have many guests out here. All I have is water. Hope this is good enough for a prince.”
“Water would be fine,” Arlin eyed the glass Clem passed him.
“What brings the likes of you to my little farm? Or am I not supposed to ask such questions of a prince? I’m sorry to intrude. Just being inquisitive is all. Don’t mean to be rude or anything.”
“A Catheldor scout had gone missing near Ballinderry. A man by the name of Gustav.”
“Gustav, Gustav, Gustav,” Clem ran his hand through thin hair. “That could be his name. He does look like a Gustav.”
Firae raised an eyebrow. “Who could be a Gustav? Have you seen him?”
“We don’t see many of your kind around these here parts,” Clem shuffled up to the elf and they stood nose to nose. Firae flinched as the farmer’s hot rancid breath washed over him. “There could be a man by the name of Gustav out in the barn.”
“Take us to him,” Arlin said.
“Don’t matter when we see him. No need to be in such haste.” Clem took a long drink from his glass of browned water.
Gaston walked towards the door. “It is a matter of Catheldor security that we speak to that man in your barn immediately. This cannot wait.”
“Fine, fine, fine, I’ll take you to him,” Clem shuffled out the door and led to the barn. “Don’t see why we couldn’t be sociable first. I don’t get visitors. Not stately ones. Not elves. Not dwarves. Not dragon-men. No visitors at all. No one wants to see poor Clem.”