With a single raised eyebrow, Norco turned his gaze from the man on his knees to the men whom lined the dim walls. The village was small, perhaps smaller than it was the first time he saw it. There was not much to lead. His eye was caught by the shine of a metal buttress, holding stiff in the center of a wooden shield lent against a wooden stool. He could see his reflection, he could see a man blocking the light spilling from the door, naked.
"Clothes." he spoke, his new tongue forced an old, forgotten accent. The chieftain lifted his head, nervous that Norco had not taken his gesture of fealty. He lowered the sword. The closest man, receiving a nod, scurried past and opened a wooden basket inside of which lay several pelts. Grey, black and white fur pilled on-top one another as he filled his cupped arms. Slowly walking towards the gigantic specimen he held one up, checking its size against Norco. Obviously too small he threw a frightened look to his chief as a baby does when they spill food.
"We shall make you some." The chieftain eventually replied, raising to his feet. Barely managing to keep a hold on the pile of furs, the man maneuvered past Norco and out the hut door. Tailors were unsurprisingly in short supply, so they would be taken to the only woman in the village who knew how to sow.
- - - -
Norco found himself sat in a hut of his own, a smoldering fire quietly died at its center as he held his head in his hands. What was this? He could remember being among the stars, faintly, the memory had begun to fade the moment he was thrust into that stone burial ground. He remembered a mild voice, he could not hope to recall its message but, he knew it was in distress.
Rubbing his forehead he rose in frustration, bashing the leather flap aside he exited from his hovel and looked to the stars. He searched the patterns. Looking for something, anything to signify what had taken place. Nothing.
He heard a shuffle of feet and turned. An woman, hunched and wrinkled approached him. She carried with her a set of clothes that seemed to heavy for her weak arms, but she persevered. Thankful to replace the few strips of cloth that poorly fit him, Norco took the clothes with a nod of appreciation.
"I've waited for you you know." the voice was as thin as a reed, as if she wasn't really there.
"My mother told me the tales, the baby in the mountain pass." Few people had met Norco himself, in his age only his most trusted were allowed in his presence. Meaning that few knew the man had a soft side, particularly for old women with motherly instincts. He looked to the floor in a moment of remembrance.
"Did they help you sleep?" he asked quietly.
"More often than not," she soon replied. Leaning to one side she attempted to lower herself onto a wooden bench conveniently placed by the huts wall.
"But they didn't help much when she was gone." she stared into open space, dwelling on a pain she had long come to terms with. Crouching, Norco sat himself on the frozen mud floor with a thud. He sat across from the aged matron. He looked upon her face in the moons light. She might have been beautiful in her youth, the harsh eastern life bore men and women of spirit but rarely grace.
"Tell me, how far is the Kulgan capital?" Her expression stretched as she realised how little he knew. All that was left of that empire are tales, tales seldom told. She was not even sure if she could tell him the village itself was no longer Kulgan.
"Does it exist?" he continued,
"No." It was all she could say. He simply nodded and turned his gaze away. She was relieved that a fuller explanation was not demanded of her, she wouldn't know where to start.
"I have not yet asked, what year is it?" He posed the question in a friendly manner, he expected an answer difficult to deal with.
"From your time, it has been..." it took her a moment to recollect the stories she had been told as a child.
"Almost...thirty-thousand winters" she herself was shocked at the answer, realizing that the emergence of the man sat in front of her was truly a miracle. He held her gaze for a second as it sank into his mind. Whatever the reason for his return, he thought, it was needed by someone.
Norco picked himself up from the ground, small specks of solidified mud stuck to his legs under the pressure of their weight. He held the clothes she had brought to him in his hand and again nodded in appreciation. He did not know the reason he was back, in truth he would not strain himself with the thought for much longer, but whatever the reason he had to be prepared. His axe, his beloved Mawhowl was in the clutches of a beast to terrible for man to tackle. Norco however, was more than a man, he was a legend.