The adventurer and his merry men were drinking honey water in a remote and neglected hut. The man, a tired farmer, was used to strange visitors and unexpected companies. He had a full shop of honey water.
Some bottles later, the adventurer took one and went outside. He sat and drank. More. He, the man accused of being bloody heartless, was yearning for civilization and missing his friends. Society life was less risky than jungle, but more dangerous. A crooked world for crooked people.
Missing them didn't mean he wanted to come back.
Not yet.
Though he still had their beloved faces in his mind. Adventuring is a curse, a dark hex. A path impossible not to take. And, usually, those who never put a foot out of the way, disdain it.
Bloody heartless.
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