She wiped her brow with the back of her hand. Since her husband died three years earlier she was left alone to do all the farmwork, and she had trouble keeping up with even half of the load. Sighing she picked out more stalks of wheat with her coarse fingers and set them in her basket.
      Late afternoons were always hardest for her. The sun beat down so hard and the wicker hat she wore almost felt like it made her hotter.
      "I'm getting too old for this." She uttered to herself. She tramped on some dried grass as she picked her load of dried wheat off the ground.
      Soundly she stared out at the fields. Her chestnut hair with silver streaks was strapped into a loose ponytail trailing down her back. The pale yellow sundress swayed hypnotically in the wind.
      Two shapes appeared in the horizon, one strutting independently in front of the other.
      "Alan, this is so weird." Eric hissed.
      "Just introduce yourself." He replied.
      "What? How? Hey, yo, I'm your son?" Eric remarked, his voice overflowing with sarcasm.
      "Follow my lead. Let's not act like idiots after seventeen or eighteen years." He answered, the calm of spring staying in place on his expression.
      They strolled towards the surprised woman in the fields as she held her wicker basket in both hands.
      "Hello." Alan stopped as they reached her, politely stretching out one hand, "I'm Alan Deraken."
      "Eric." Eric bowed his head slightly.
      "I..." she stared at them, dropping her basket. Alan hefted it up over his shoulder.
      "We have a lot to talk about." Alan informed her softly.
      "There's a lot that needs to be explained." Eric nodded.
      "But, you." She stared in shock, "You were suppose to be killed by robbers..."
      "I'm guessing dad told you that..." Alan sighed, "Well, that's not quite what happened..."