Ekreas looked up from the tome he was engrossed in at the sound of the door opening. Framed by the fading sunlight was a tired, dirty Juras. Wordlessly, Ekreas ambled to his small table and pulled out a chair. Equally silent, Juras dragged his feet through the door and slumped into the proffered chair.
Ekreas went about the hut, preparing food and another sleeping pallet. Once it was ready, he put a bowl of stew down on the table. He didn’t say anything to Juras, knowing he would speak in his own time.
He finally spoke up, “You were right.”