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When I told my grandfather I intended to leave to find my fortune on the road, I expected him to be angry. Instead, he just sat there for a long moment. His wrinkled face stared at me with an intensity that I had never seen from him before.
"It is dangerous to go alone," he said. His voice rasping with pipe smoke and a kind of sad resignation.
He stood and walked to the locked closet. The one I had never been allowed into. Fishing a key from a thong around his neck, he opened the door and took something from inside.
Turning to me, he held it out. A long, thin bundle wrapped in canvas. Taking the bundle, I sat on the floor and carefully untied the canvas knots. Inside was a short sword made of dull grey steel.
"Every adventurer needs a sword," said my grandfather. "Something to start off with. Something the protect 'em against the dangers of the road. Take this."
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