All the children in the village had heard tales of Ivan: Ivan the Wild, Ivan the Foolish, Ivan the Wanderer, the list of less than flattering names went on. None of them, however, had ever laid eyes on him. He was a figure of mystery and his voyages to exotic lands were the subject of fervent fireside speculation. Just think of the tale they would have, were they to actually see him! 

‘This is it?’ a woman asked from within the hut. 

‘Yes,’ came the sulky reply. 

The children stole a peek over the sill, eyes wide in anticipation. Ivan the Adventurer looked the part with his mane of long, dark hair and wild blue eyes. His scarred arms were hairy and muscular and his mismatched clothes were well past travel-worn. 

‘After all these years… The winters I’ve endured alone. The crops I’ve sown and harvested alone. You come back from your fool’s errand with this…this tatty old…?’