settled in for a long night.
Chapter Four
The 2040th year of the Sixth Era
The twelfth of the month of Anthemen
Early in the first hour
The sun streaked through the cottage windows much earlier than Hector had hoped. He had passed the night restlessly. Worries and distractions cut through his mind, disrupting any chance of sleep. He especially wished Fornein would not accompany them; he did not want anyone to die on his account, and the hermit was certainly too old to go adventuring. But he did not know how to object, since even Brynjar seemed satisfied with the idea.
As dawn filled into day, his companions arose. Fornein had provided them with blankets and pillows aplenty to lie comfortably, and as he studied the bright and cheery faces of Doc and Bronwyn, Hector suspected that they had. When his gaze fell on his older fellows, he saw a closer reflection of his own feelings. He wondered if any of the three of them had slept a wink the entire night.
Fornein, however, was not one to let a bad night ruin a good day. Working quickly, he warmed the fire in his stove for breakfast. He baked a batch of oatcakes, which were both tasty and filling. There were enough for each traveler to eat one and pack two more. Hector was very grateful, and said so.
“It ain’t hardly a thing,” Fornein replied with a smile.
The hermit packed a sack as quickly as the children repacked theirs. Brynjar was already outside, waiting to go. As soon as they were all out and Fornein had closed up the house, the warrior asked, “While we have your ferry at our disposal, shall we cross now or travel downriver a ways first?”
“The Keldans are not near the river,” Fornein answered, “We’ll need to cross now, then head east, and a bit north.”
As they crossed Freewater, they left Tarroth cawing his goodbyes from the roof of the cottage. When they were all safely ashore again, Fornein pulled the ferry boat into a growth of reeds, hoping it would go unnoticed. He tied it down securely before the quintet set off eastward.
Fornein took the lead, since he was their guide. Brynjar lagged to the rear, as he usually did, to keep an eye on them and their surroundings. Doc darted forward gaily, forgetting his dishonorable attitude from the previous day. He chatted with Fornein constantly; the old hermit seemed to have a wealth of fantastic stories to tell.
Meanwhile, Hector found himself walking beside Bronwyn in the midst of the group. She had lost her early morning buoyancy, which had faded to a wilting determination. For a few moments, Hector hoped his presence would cheer her, but he soon realized that it was not enough. Finally working up a spout of courage past the uneasiness in his chest, he asked, “What’s wrong?”
She looked at him and he immediately wished he could take back his question. There was no escape now; the words hung in the air like an arrow, ready to strike him in his foolish heart.
But she said curtly, “Nothing,” and returned her gaze to the ground.
He was off the hook! He had asked politely, and she had denied that anything was the matter. He told himself that he had done enough. He looked at the countryside, trying to distract himself from the darkening frown on Bronwyn’s delicate lips. At last, he could stop himself no longer: “Something’s wrong,” he insisted, “You can tell me.”
She drew her lips tight, as if trying to smile and failing. Her eyelashes quivered, and he thought her eyes dampened. “I keep thinking about Gregory,” she said softly.
Hector’s heart fell. But he replied, forcing the words around a fresh lump in his throat, “What about him?”
She shook her head, as if trying to say that it was nothing. “Just the way he said goodbye. I thought he was better than that.” Hector was about to answer again when she continued, more earnestly, “We’d been spending a lot of time together, you know, and I promised him that, before the next harvest season, I would marry
Chapter Four
The 2040th year of the Sixth Era
The twelfth of the month of Anthemen
Early in the first hour
The sun streaked through the cottage windows much earlier than Hector had hoped. He had passed the night restlessly. Worries and distractions cut through his mind, disrupting any chance of sleep. He especially wished Fornein would not accompany them; he did not want anyone to die on his account, and the hermit was certainly too old to go adventuring. But he did not know how to object, since even Brynjar seemed satisfied with the idea.
As dawn filled into day, his companions arose. Fornein had provided them with blankets and pillows aplenty to lie comfortably, and as he studied the bright and cheery faces of Doc and Bronwyn, Hector suspected that they had. When his gaze fell on his older fellows, he saw a closer reflection of his own feelings. He wondered if any of the three of them had slept a wink the entire night.
Fornein, however, was not one to let a bad night ruin a good day. Working quickly, he warmed the fire in his stove for breakfast. He baked a batch of oatcakes, which were both tasty and filling. There were enough for each traveler to eat one and pack two more. Hector was very grateful, and said so.
“It ain’t hardly a thing,” Fornein replied with a smile.
The hermit packed a sack as quickly as the children repacked theirs. Brynjar was already outside, waiting to go. As soon as they were all out and Fornein had closed up the house, the warrior asked, “While we have your ferry at our disposal, shall we cross now or travel downriver a ways first?”
“The Keldans are not near the river,” Fornein answered, “We’ll need to cross now, then head east, and a bit north.”
As they crossed Freewater, they left Tarroth cawing his goodbyes from the roof of the cottage. When they were all safely ashore again, Fornein pulled the ferry boat into a growth of reeds, hoping it would go unnoticed. He tied it down securely before the quintet set off eastward.
Fornein took the lead, since he was their guide. Brynjar lagged to the rear, as he usually did, to keep an eye on them and their surroundings. Doc darted forward gaily, forgetting his dishonorable attitude from the previous day. He chatted with Fornein constantly; the old hermit seemed to have a wealth of fantastic stories to tell.
Meanwhile, Hector found himself walking beside Bronwyn in the midst of the group. She had lost her early morning buoyancy, which had faded to a wilting determination. For a few moments, Hector hoped his presence would cheer her, but he soon realized that it was not enough. Finally working up a spout of courage past the uneasiness in his chest, he asked, “What’s wrong?”
She looked at him and he immediately wished he could take back his question. There was no escape now; the words hung in the air like an arrow, ready to strike him in his foolish heart.
But she said curtly, “Nothing,” and returned her gaze to the ground.
He was off the hook! He had asked politely, and she had denied that anything was the matter. He told himself that he had done enough. He looked at the countryside, trying to distract himself from the darkening frown on Bronwyn’s delicate lips. At last, he could stop himself no longer: “Something’s wrong,” he insisted, “You can tell me.”
She drew her lips tight, as if trying to smile and failing. Her eyelashes quivered, and he thought her eyes dampened. “I keep thinking about Gregory,” she said softly.
Hector’s heart fell. But he replied, forcing the words around a fresh lump in his throat, “What about him?”
She shook her head, as if trying to say that it was nothing. “Just the way he said goodbye. I thought he was better than that.” Hector was about to answer again when she continued, more earnestly, “We’d been spending a lot of time together, you know, and I promised him that, before the next harvest season, I would marry
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