There was a moose on the ceiling.
Lindovor blinked his eyes and tried to focus. He lay upon a rough-hewn bed in a room lit by firelight. Shifting his throbbing head upon the pillow, he looked up once more. Antlers....they were moose antlers upon the chandelier hanging from the rafters. He tried to lift his head, but sharp waves of pain forced it down once again. Lifting his hand to his forehead, he felt a bandage that had been carefully wrapped around his wounded head.
"Lie still...yer safe now, and that was no wee tap on the head you got." said a soft voice from a corner of the room.
Carefully, Lindovor turned his head towards the sound, ignoring the pain that accompanied the motion. A man sat in the corner of the small room, bending over something he held on his lap. His clothes were rough and common and his hair and beard were long and unkempt.
Taking a breath to steady himself, the wounded man made an effort to look at his surroundings. He was in a small room in what looked like a farmhouse... wood rafters and plastered walls that had become a familiar sight in Breeland. In the corner was stood a long spear, it's bright steel tip gleaming in the firelight. Studying the seated man, Lindovor finally made out what he held in his hands.
"My lute!" he cried, weakly.
The seated man looked up. "Aye...well... Ye nearly fell full upon the poor thing. Had to replace a peg or three and make some new frets, but it'll sing as sweet as it did before..."
Lindovor's hand reached towards the insturment. "It was...my mother's..."
"Aye? It seemed like it might have been a treasure to ye. Such things have a certain 'feel'. if ye take my meanin'." The man watched Lindovor make another effort to lift his head. "Nay...lie back and rest. Yer safe here. Arrowhaven be a safe enough place fer now."
The man paused, then said "Name's Carver. Wil Carver, an' it were lucky for you that I still had business in these parts."
Lindovor closed his eyes and fought against the throbbing in his head.
"Lindovor...my name is Lindovor" he whispered.
The man named Carver looked up sharply. "Oh aye? Just as well that Milady asked me t' take up a few loose ends here. Yer not the first o' that name I've ever met."
Lindovor's breath caught a moment. "What?"
"Oh Aye. Old Lindovor would sometimes bring the Lady's staff t' me should it need a bit o' repair..."
The moosehead chandelier began to spin in front of Lindovor's eyes, he fought to stay conscious.
"Where is that man? What Lady...?"
"Calm yerself, man...rest. Old Lindovor helped the Lady get on...mostly with keeping t'books an' all at t'end. And tendin' the lady's beasts, too, I shouldn't wonder...wild, fierce things some of 'em-- a-bitin' and knawin' on all manner o' things. 'Twer like as how that stick o' her'n got so many bumps and nicks in't."
The room seemed to fade before Lindovor's sight. He said with a last effort ,"I'm not interested in some old woman and her walking stick. Where is Lin..."
but the blackness had overtaken him once again.
