have done, I forgive you. You donât have to leave.â
âI do,â said Finn.
âYou donât! Thatâs what Iâm trying to say. Whatever it is, you can still live here with us.â
âI canât live with myself,â said Finn bleakly. He pulled away from his father and watched Beren braiding ribbons into Aspenâs mane. âI canât be trusted anymore.â
His father followed his gaze and suddenly felt fear twisting inside him like an eel.
âYou havenât told me the whole story, have you?â he said quietly. âThe forest where you picked up the wound . . . was it the Whispering Forest?â
Finn didnât reply, but his breathing deepened.
âThe deer you were hunting . . . was it a magic beast? Did you . . . exchange words?â
Still Finn didnât reply. But he didnât need to. The look on his face told his father all he wanted to know.
âFinn,â he said at last, âmy heart breaks to see you go, but I wonât stop you. Youâre an adult now. You have to make your own decisions and some of them will be hard.â A sob rose in his throat. He stopped. Closed his eyes. Struggled to control himselfâand Finn, watching, suddenly saw the future. He saw his father aged and withered. The worry and the grief of losing his only son had worn him down, and it was entirely his fault. He had ridden into the forest alone, but both of them would suffer for it.
The vision faded.
His father sighed. âI never thought Iâd say this,â he said, âbut Iâm glad your mother didnât live to see this day. She loved you more than life itself.â
Finn reeled. Why did his father have to say that? Wasnât it enough that his heart was breaking? Did his father want to rip it out of his chest too? Because thatâs what it felt like.
But Finnâs father wasnât being deliberately cruel. He was simply lost in his own grief. âI donât want Beren to see me like this,â he said, wiping his face with his fingers. âShe thinks youâre bound for romance and adventure, and I wonât spoil it for her.â He threw his arm around Finnâs shoulders. âCome! We shall smile for her sake.â
He led Finn back across the courtyard, pausing only to whisper a final message into his ear: âThis will always be your home, Finn, and Iâll always be here. Remember that.â
Finn nodded. His eyes were bright with tears and he didnât trust himself to speak. He hugged his father, held him close, kissed him fleetingly on the cheek, then clambered onto the wagon.
âBlessings to you both!â he cried, raising his hand in farewell. âFatherâI will send the gray mare home, as soon as I have found somewhere of my own.â
âThereâs no hurry,â replied his father, waving him away. âKeep her if you want. Aspen is very fond of her!â
With the broadest smile he could manage, Finn clicked the reins and the wagon moved off. Aspen followed behind. The hawk circled above. Ahead lay nothing but a bleak, lonely, terrifying future.
CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
Finn drove north, not caring where he went. On the first night he slept in a barn. On the second he camped under the stars. All the while, his wound wept and the moon waxed mercilessly. And then, all too soon, it was the third night.
Full moon.
Finn turned the wagon off the lane and onto a bumpy track. It led through woodland to a glade, and there he stopped, jumped down, and unhitched the gray mare. He glanced up. The full moon was rising, climbing into the sky like a great round beetle. Finn felt hot. Feverish. The wound throbbed. Blood was seeping through the dressing, sticking his leggings to his thigh.
âAspen,â he called softly. The stallion came forward. âYou must leave me now. Take Gray with you. Return in the morning when you hear my call.â He stroked the stallionâs ears,
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