Talon of the Silver Hawk by Raymond E. Feist

the shortening days came a melancholy that threatened to overwhelm Talon at times. Fall was the harvest, and putting up salted meats and fish for the winter, gathering nuts and mending cloaks, blankets, and getting ready for the harsh winter to follow.
    Winter would bring more sense of loss, for while the harsh mountain snows could isolate a village until the first thaw, it was that time when the villagers grew close, huddling in the long house or round house telling stories. Families would often crowd together, two, three, or even four to a house, comforted by closeness and conversations, old stories being retold and listened to with delight no matter how familiar.
    The songs of the women as they combed their daughters’ hair or prepared a meal, the scent of cooking, the sound of the men telling jokes in low voices. Talon knew this winter would be the harshest so far.
    One day when he returned from hunting, the coach of Count Ramon DeBarges was again visible in the courtyard. Caleb took the brace of fat rabbits they had trapped while Talon deposited the carcass of a fresh-killed deer on the back porch of the kitchen.
    Caleb paused a moment, then said, “Good hunting, Talon.’’
    Talon nodded in response. As usual they had hardly spoken throughout the day, depending on hand gestures and a shared sense of the environment. Caleb was as good a hunter as Talon had seen among his own people, though there were a dozen or so in the village who could . . . who had matched his skill.
    Caleb said, “Take the deer into the kitchen.’’
    Talon hesitated a brief second. He had never set foot inside the inn, and wasn’t sure if he should. But Caleb would not ask him to do something forbidden, so he reshouldered the deer and mounted the broad steps to the rear door. The door was solid oak with iron bands, something more expected on a fortification than a residence, but Talon didn’t pause much to think on it; he was certain that Kendrick’s had been designed as much for defense as for comfort.
    He lifted the heavy iron handle and pushed inward, the door swinging aside. He followed its arc into the kitchen and discovered a world unlike anything he had seen before.
    Orosini cooking was done over open fires or in large communal ovens, but never in a central location. Talon’s first sense was one of chaos, and as he paused a moment, order emerged.
    Lela glanced up and saw him, greeting him with a quick flash of a smile before returning her attention to a large pot hanging before one of three huge hearths. A stout woman saw Lela’s glance and followed it, seeing the rawboned boy holding the carcass.
    â€œIs it dressed?” she demanded.
    Talon nodded. Then he thought to add, “But not skinned.’’
    She pointed to a large meat hook over in the corner,above a large metal pan he assumed was to catch blood and offal. He took the deer over and hung it by the strap holding together its hind legs. Once it was in place, he turned and waited.
    After a few minutes, the older woman glanced his way and saw him motionless. “Do you know how to skin a deer, boy?” she demanded.
    He nodded.
    â€œThen get to it!’’
    Talon didn’t hesitate, but set to skinning the deer in an efficient, practiced fashion. He also didn’t think for a moment about who this woman was and why she should order him about; among his people, women were in charge of all food preparation, and men did as they were told around the hearth, fire pits, and ovens.
    He was quickly done, and as he turned around to find a rag upon which to clean his belt knife, someone threw him one. He caught it in midair and saw a grinning Gibbs standing before a large block upon which rested a heap of vegetables, which he was cutting with a large knife.
    Behind Gibbs, Talon could see other servants cooking meats before one hearth, while others saw to fresh loaves of bread baking in the ovens. Suddenly Talon was