Leoffrith

I was sorting seeds from last year's harvest when the rider came to the farm. Or at least I was supposed to be; it's slow and tedious work, identifying which ones will sprout, and my mind tended to wander. That's probably why I was the first to notice him. At first I thought it was Leoffweard but only for a moment; he lacked my brother's fiery-red hair.

I can't remember how long it's been since I first started trying to find companions to share the road over the High Pass and to the Mark, or at least part of that journey.

I think my ma would be disappointed in me. Well, proud of me too, but also disappointed in me. She's the one that taught me why it's right to be honest, to be kind, to be fair, to be just. She told me a lot of things about it that I don't think I could repeat clearly. Maybe if my sister Aelfwyn were here, she could not just repeat it but explain it well; she was always as smart as I wasn't. All I remember is two things.

Winter has begun. There is snow on the tops of the higher hills now. The frozen mist of my breath in the morning makes me remember my climb over the High Pass. Last week my thoughts were on preparation for the journey, and what might happen after it. Today, though, I feel like the journey is all but begun, and that I am now marking the days until Kestrel and I stand at the very peak of the Pass.

At first, I thought the dark-cloaked man was gathering firewood too. There's not much other reason to be this far up in the hills overlooking the Isen. The land is too rocky for crops or even forage, and there's not much game up here. If you wanted to hunt, you'd be farther east, in the foothills near our farm, or farther north of that, in the woods near the road towards Gapholt. That's why I came here to gather firewood, in fact. It was a lot farther to go, and I couldn't have carried back much without the help of Hathgar, the family's draught-horse.

I am sitting on the roof of the open stalls of the Hookworth Stables, looking up at the stars, quiet except the sound of horses occasionally neighing or stomping, and the slightly labored breathing of one mare beneath. There's a village arrayed before and below me; I can see smoke rising from chimneys, warming houses in the late autumn chill, and lantern-light from windows. But there's not a sound, not even wind. It's easy to imagine myself as alone as I truly feel I am now.

Most days I am trying to put on a brave face for the world, and I have been for three years now. The Thane sent me into the wild, and I just nodded, strapped on the sword he gave me, and rode off into the unknown. I met people with strange customs and baffling demands, and I squared my shoulders and pretended that I could help them until they would help me, and just plodded forward.