From the North Downs: Chapter III

“Leave?” Wosi looked at Jesmond questioningly as he dipped bread into the thick autumn stew she had prepared before loading up the wagon and emptying the pantry. “Surely if there were some threat Womar would have sent word.” 

“Aye, but the rangers roam further afield than his camp out there in the King’s Norbury.” Hayorda remarked, resting her chin in her hand. She had that faraway look in her eyes again, the one that spoke of experiences beyond Jesmond’s imagining. 

“So they do. Brethilthor is a friend, I trust that if he says there is danger then there is danger.” Ketilve worried her lip as she glanced between the two women who had raised her. Her hands twisted in her lap in anxiety she hadn’t been able to suppress since the ranger’s unexpected visit. “Do you think that the camp is safe? Oh, I do hope the rangers warned them, as well.” 

Hayorda barked in laughter. “Safe? The camp’s never safe, child. Womar’s the least safe of all of us, and he has been ever since he took up with this guardians of the free people business. But the lad can hold his own. Don’t worry your head about that one.” 

Jesmond’s lips quirked into a half smile; despite the brave front the younger woman put on she could see through the facade. The way Hayorda’s fingers pinched her mug of ale, the way her nostrils flared as she spoke, all telltale signs of worry. And well she should; the responsibility Womar had taken up was full of peril. 

But it was their own safety they needed to heed now. 

“But where will we find shelter? Even if there’s room in the Inn, we hardly have enough coin to see us through the winter....” Wosi argued between chomping at his bread. 

“The rangers have refuges set up. And surely some kindhearted soul will take pity on us. If not...we can live out of the wagon if necessary. There’s room enough even full as it is.” 

And it would become roomier as they lightened the load through use, though she didn’t want to think about what they would do when that happened. With four people and a horse and dog to feed and only foraging for food as an option (unless the town itself had plenty for its residents as well as refugees, which was an open question) starvation was an unsettling possibility. 

“We can leave out as soon as the two of you,” She glanced between Hayorda and Wosi, “have finished supping. Then we shall find out what reception awaits us in Trestlebridge.”

Wosi stared down at his half-empty bowl of stew for a moment. “I believe I need seconds.”