Edgar Vollint carried the pails of mostly liquid slop to the pig trough on the south side of the barn. A man who was over forty and strong for his size, Edgar didn't have the greatest capacity for learning, or even thinking all that much. He never dreamed of a very glorious life. Having been schooled only some by his mother in his home village of Casteel he began working on farms when he was very young. At the age of nineteen he lost his hair. Totally bald, but that never bothered him. He had been with the Telba family for more than ten years now, when things were good on the farm and lord Telba was always in good spirits. But he knew enough to see that the farm wasn't what it used to be. Land sold to neighbors along the south. Hired hands were laid off to find new work. All in all, Edgar considered himself lucky that lord Telba kept him. He told Edgar that he was a great worker, someone that was invaluable to the farm's welfare, whatever that meant. So he had no intention of leaving them now when they needed him most. But then there came Cameron Reol. He had shown up there on horseback, Starn, the animal was called, with his sword and shield looking more important than Edgar ever had. It had only been three weeks since lord Telba hired him and the entire family treated him like he was one of them, at least in Edgar's eyes. Where Edgar ate in the servant's cabin, a place that he never had any problem with before Cameron showed up, he was invited night after night, day after day, to eat with them, be part of them. Edgar felt the stab of jealousy lance him whenever he thought about it, which wasn't all that often. Only when the man was in view would he rage. And what did he do? Edgar failed to figure that out, no matter how hard he tried. Edgar fed the animals, stocked the barn, planted and tilled the fields. In the winter he would dig a path from the main house to the road, with the help of the plow horses. But Cameron sat on his horse and rode around with master Huros or mistress Kirstin while they went to the village or rode in the field. Or during a few afternoons he fought with master Huros, wooden swords made to look like the real thing in hand, attacking and defending.
Edgar dumped the pail over the trough and waited until the pigs came to the other side of the fence to start eating before he turned away from them, muttering to himself as he let the pail swing back and forth from his arm. He stopped short when he noticed that there was someone standing right in front of him. Cameron Reol.
"Hullo Camren," Edgar called out in a chipper tone, staring at the man.
"Good day Edgar," Cameron returned the greeting, "I came over here to ask you, last night did you hear any strange noises coming from the field west of the cabin you and Karnov share?"
"I heard Karnov snore," Edgar replied quickly, "But he always does that. Specially when he drinks too much ale."
Cameron smiled, "Anything besides Karnov? The sounds of men's voices, perhaps?" Edgar just shook his head. Cameron sighed, "Well if you can think of anything that didn't sound normal last night please let me or lord Telba know, would you?"
"Sure thing, Camren," he replied, smiling, waving after him. When Cameron had gone he went back to his muttering. He hoped that it wouldn't be long before he left. Then everything would go back to normal. He was sure of it.
Cameron walked from the barn across the grounds to where he saw Karnov leaning against the great oak that grew in the middle of the yard. A wooden play swing hung from a low limb, a memory of times long past for the family. Karnov had told Cameron that he had crafted the swing from a fallen tree after one particularly violent thunder storm and surprised the children with it. That was still how he saw Huros and Kirstin. Children. Karnov waved Cameron over and offered him some water from the skin that he had looped over one bronzed shoulder. Cameron waved the offer off and stood beside the old man in silence for a time.
"You know," Cameron started, "I don't think that Edgar likes me much," he straightened the grey vest he wore out, unbuttoning one of the top buttons against the summer heat. He thought that wearing the leather every time they went to the village would bring on more attention then he needed or wanted. He traded it for the vest and cotton breeches that most of the man servants wore. He made sure to keep his dark blond locks trim as well. Wandering in the sun for long periods of time made the body sweat something fierce. One God knew how he hated the heat.
"Edgar?" Karnov chuckled before he took another drink from the skin, "Not like anybody? Unheard of. For as long as he's been workin' here the man hasn't said two bad words to any one man. Cept if you count the times he gets drunk in the tavern and busts a few heads in a brawl.”
"That's the best way for the boy to learn," Cameron told him.
"Cameron!" came the bird-like tone of Mirrian from the front step of the manor. Both Cameron and Karnov turned to see her standing there, in the shade of the eve, smiling at them. Her long hair was tightly pulled back in a ponytail and she wore thicker skirts than normal, trailing past her feet.
"Duty calls," Cameron said to Karnov as he walked over to the wooden walk, stopping when he was at the bottom step. He met her gaze and returned her smile.
"My daughter and Sara would very much like you to escort them to the village tailor so that they may purchase sewing thread and needle."
"I'll retrieve my horse from the barn and meet them at the gate front," Cameron told her.
"See that you do then. Kirstin has been looking forward to it all morning. I've hardly been able to put it off until now." Cameron nodded to her and spun about, heading in the direction of the horse stalls. Sighing, he passed the entrance and made his way down the middle walk, looking at the end of the stable walls where Starn was waiting for him, as always. He brushed off one of the younger stable boys that came to help him with the steed, telling the youth for the hundredth time in the last several weeks that he was more than capable of saddling the horse himself. The youth shrugged and ran off, taking up a grain sack along with several other barn workers. Cameron finished saddling the brownish horse and mounted up on him outside the stable.
"Starn," he spoke softly, "I think that you’re getting too old for this." The horse whinnied in response and he tapped the flank, sending the horse into a light canter. His sword slapped the saddle behind him in rhythm to the horse’s hooves. He didn't bother to wear the thing. It was enough to know that it was there should the need arise to use it. A small wind swept over his face as he rode down to the gate where the Telba manor spilled out onto main road. He saw a pair of horses with riders, waiting for him. The white charger that Kirstin favored was there, prancing back and forth along the dirt. He still found it amusing that he assumed her for an attacker when first he saw her on the north road. He thought he must be getting paranoid in his old age. The other horse, a dappled mare that wasn't much larger then Kirstin's horse, held the serving girl, Sara. She was a dark skinned girl, not from the eastern region, but from the war torn north where Avalon and its great ruler Rimerez Eaglesbane fought a never ending battle with the forces of the ageless, giant warriors that lived in the colder climes, dominating the region with an iron fist. They had sought, years ago, to expand their control to the regions south of the Canvese Mountains only to meet the strong arm of the Eagle and his army.
Sara didn't speak much of the trip that took her this far to the south even though it was better than two years passed, but when she spoke of the ageless there was the unmistakable tone of fear in her voice.
"Greetings master Reol," Sara called out to him. Kirstin reined her horse about to face him and smiled warmly at him. Cameron greeted the young women, Sara only a little older then her employer's daughter.
"Good afternoon, Sara. But I believe I told you that you needn't call me that. My name is Cameron."
"Cameron," she repeated, and blushed, if only a little.
"Did my mother speak to you?" Kirstin asked him.
"She did."
"Then shall we go?" Kirstin snapped the reigns and her horse was quick out the entrance, cantering west. Cameron took his place just behind the pair of them, eyes scanning the terrain for any sign of trouble. He had been sure that a poacher had tried to sneak upon the grounds last night, but failed to catch him. Investigating the fencing found nothing, but Karnov said that he heard voices, indicating that there was more than one of them, maybe as many as four. He knew that he would have to be more diligent, and even thought about asking lord Telba to take men from their regular duties so that he might have help tracking them when they tried again.
Kirstin and Sara rode side by side, gossiping as girls did, taking an occasional look back to giggle at him, or because of him. He didn't know. Nor did he care, so long that they kept him out of the conversation. He found that Kirstin, even more than her brother, had a curiosity that was unquenchable. She sought knowledge like a man would seek water in the desert. And his arrival only meant that there was more knowledge for her to have. They passed by men on the road, some riding, others carrying foodstuffs home to their families. All waved a friendly hello to the pair of girls. And as usual Kirstin took time to give a proper greeting to them. It seemed she knew the name of everyone in the village. For some reason, this failed to surprise Cameron.
They entered the village's boundaries, few as they were, by mid afternoon. That was when Cameron would take the lead, skirting around the pair of them so that he might have a better look at who it was that came near them. Even a friend could be paid enough coin to put a dagger into you, Cameron knew. He led them to the tailor; he had mapped out the entire village and the location of every building therein by his third day with the Telba family. It was his business to protect his charges and he meant to do it.
He dismounted before the plain one story Shoppe and watched the straggle of people as Kirstin and Sara went in the door, still sharing secret laughter. He stood watch on the walk before the entrance to the Shoppe as a parade of heavy set merchants made their way to the south side of the village, two large rugs in tow. None of the men seemed to pay him heed, which was just as well. He liked it better when he knew that the people of Hamla were beginning to think less and less of him being an oddity in their village.
A noise around the left corner of the Shoppe made him start and he spun staring at it. From the narrow alley that weaved between the tailor and the bakery a young man came walking out. He was thin, dressed in almost haggard dark clothes that hung from more bone than flesh. He had high set features, with narrow eyes and a long hooked nose. Straggly hair, shiny with all the oil that was present in it, hung close to his head. Despite the ragged appearance of the youth there was intelligence hiding in those eyes, daring the unwary to underestimate him. Cameron circled the youth, who seemed startled to find him standing there.
"What were you skulking in the back alleys for, boy?" Cameron made his tone just less than threatening, so as not to scare the boy off. The youth shrugged indifferently, his shirt raising a little to show ribs that poked into the taught flesh of his chest.
"You wouldn't happen to have been looking for a back door to one of the Shoppes that was open, now would you?" The youth looked shocked and hurt at the accusation. He's a good little actor, Cameron thought. A little too innocent looking for his own good, though.
"You can speak up then and defend your name any time now." He waited for the youth to voice any reason that he was in the back alleys, half expecting him to say that he was lost or something equally stupid. But what the youth did was truly surprising. He began to weave his hands in the air, forming different symbols with fluid grace. Sign? Cameron marveled. He knows how to sign. Well that really is surprising.
The youth said with his hands, I would speak if I could but as you can see I don't know how.
"We're you one of the men that tried to steal onto the Telba lands and take cattle form them? A poacher?" Cameron asked him.
Even if I were you wouldn't know it, because you don't understand, the youth signed to him, smiling.
"Just answer the question I asked you," Cameron demanded and the smile faded off his face so fast one would have thought it was slapped off. The youth stared in shock at him, genuine shock, but was quick to smooth out his face, harden his eyes. Cameron stared hard at him, waiting for the answer.
I'm no poacher, the boy signed to him, just a vagabond passing through on my way to Casteel. I know nothing of any men poaching or the name Telba that you used. Now if you excuse me I really would like to on my way. The youth pressed past him only to feel Cameron's arm clamp down on his wrist, keeping him where he was. The boy struggled against the grip that held him fast but failed to break free. Cameron grabbed at his shirt and pulled a coin sack that was tucked on an inside loop of the leather belt that the youth wore. He held the dangling pouch before the boy.
"Only a thief would take such care as to hide coin from the eyes of others, even if the coin was their own. Do you understand me?" Cameron held him fast, towering over the frightened youth by nearly a foot.
I may snatch coin from time to time, but I swear that I took nothing from this village. I really was trying just to pass through when some men chased me down the alley to the north of the black smiths. I lost them and ended up coming out here. That is the truth, the youth signed it quickly, so quickly that Cameron almost lost track of what the boy was saying.
"What is your name?" Cameron asked him, keeping the iron grip on his wrist.
Ferrin, the boy signed to him, my name is Ferrin. I don't know what my last name is or else I would tell you. Now let me go. The youth squirmed in his shirt, pulling free of it and slipping low, leaving Cameron with only the dirty cloth in hand. It only took him a second to react, though, reaching out and stepping forward, catching the shirtless youth by the shoulder and spinning him around. Ferrin stared at him, straining a pleasant smile, but failing due to the fact that he was shivering in the summer heat. The youth shirked again, dodging to the right and slipping the thin limb out of Cameron's hold. Again Cameron caught hold, tightening his hand almost to the point of pain.
Ferrin, Cameron repeated in his head. It figured, sounds almost like ferret and the boy sure moved like one. Like trying to hold the wind, "Ferrin, what would the rest of the pouches that line the sides of your belt be?" Three more coin pouches sat tucked to his sides, only the string from the top was clearly visible. Ferrin shrugged and smiled again. Cameron sighed, and the boy suddenly dropped over, sweeping with a foot to knock him off balance. Cameron hit the ground with a thump and was already on his feet again when the youth began running from him. Swearing under his breath he gave chase, stalking after the youth who ran shirtless toward the center of the village. He was sure that Ferrin would escape the village before he could catch him when Father Damien Alohm stepped from the crowd of people by a fruit vender and caught hold of the youth in both hands, staying his run.
"Thank you, Father!" Cameron caught up to Ferrin, shirt still clutched in white knuckled fist, "He would have gotten away of you wouldn't have stopped him." He took a moment to catch his breath, seeing as it had been some time that he had to run so hard. At least someone here can catch a ferret, Cameron mused.
"What has this youth done, Cameron?" Damien questioned, eyeing the dirty, scrawny boy with almond eyes. Those eyes held great wisdom for one that young. At the age of twenty five he was the youngest priest in the faith of the One God in the entire eastern kingdom. And somehow he found the luck to bring his faith to the remote village of Hamla. Dark Hair and beard alike complimented those almond eyes, and though he was a man of the One God he had a frame on him that would make most of the blacksmiths in the area burn with jealousy. But brought up as he was, the son of a priest in the trading city of Banthas where corruption and life went hand in hand, he never once had thoughts of taking on any other profession. The One God was all that mattered to him.
"A thief, Father," he handed the shirt over to the priest, "I caught him coming out from behind the tailor. He said that there were men chasing him ever since he entered the village but I rather doubt that. I found this and those on him." He pointed to the coin pouches on the youth's waist and the one that dangled from his fingers. He pulled the string to the pouch and sifted through the contents, "A handful of coppers. Not a very rich haul unless it was a farmer that you stole it from." Cameron stood before the boy and Ferrin shrunk back against the priest, feigning violent shivers along his body. Damien wrapped the shirt around the boy's shaking shoulders and placed an arm around him.
"The youth is in my charge, Cameron. I will take him to the church where he may stay in safety for as long as he wishes."
"Father, he's very hard to keep hold of, or keep track of, I'm sure. Are you sure that you want the responsibility? I'm sure that lord Telba would have no qualms having Karnov take the boy to Casteel. The journey isn't more the ten or eleven days west." Ferrin's eyes widened at the prospect of being brought to Casteel. He knew very well that there was a jail there, having spent a night or two in it before the sheriff had been kind enough to allow him to leave. He had lived off the land those ten or eleven days that Cameron spoke of, hunting in the only way that he knew how, sneaking up on his prey, usually birds, and taking them from behind. He tried to break free, to wrestle from the priest's gentle hand, but if he thought that Cameron's grip was rough, the priest was equally firm. He knew that he wasn't going anywhere. Resigned to his fate, he stood there, shirtless in the road, and listened.
"No. I think that I will be fine. Julia will watch over him, tend to him should he need it. That girl can be very persistent when she puts her mind to it," Damien smiled, chuckling to himself, "Yes that would work." He turned his attention to the youth then, using his shoulders to face him forward, "Now then, what is your name, son?" Ferrin stood there, staring at him, not bothering to sign. Damien frowned at him, and then smoothed his face.
"The boy is mute, Father," Cameron told him, "He signed to me, telling me that his name is Ferrin...”
"Ferrin, eh?" Damien nodded approvingly, "And where did you learn to sign, son?"
I just learned to, Ferrin signed and the Father frowned again.
"This could be a problem, seeing that I don't know how to sign and he is mute, though by no sin of his own. I think this would be interesting." The Father tightened his grip on the youth and looked face to face with Cameron, "Should I be expecting to see you at the church for mass tomorrow?"
"I just lead the family there," Cameron started, "I didn't say that I would take part in their religion."
" 'Their religion?'" Damien looked surprised, "And then what religion do you follow, Cameron?"
"Once upon a time? The sword, I suppose," he told him, "It was my family, my reality, my God. There needs be nothing else when you live and die on the end of a sword. Everything else only makes matters more complicated then they need to be."
"And what do you follow now? Is the bottom of an ale mug or brandy flask where you find comfort in solitude?"
"I never said it was a perfect religion," Cameron shrugged, then smiled at the Father, "I better return to the tailor before mistress Kirstin wonders why I ran off on her. Excuse me." Cameron turned about and made his way back along the road, nodding toward any that would greet him. Father Damien stared after him a long time, a thoughtful expression on his face, before the struggling youth in his arms reminded him that he was standing in the middle of the road.
"Come my friend," he spoke to Ferrin, "I think that you will like it there. I will introduce you to Julia, then I think that I should introduce you to some water." he laughed out loud, leading the struggling youth toward the church near the center of Hamla.
Cameron returned to the step of the tailor only to find that Kirstin and Sara were only then stepping out from the door, followed by a young man that he had only seen about the village a time or two since getting there. He was young, but not as young as Kirstin; perhaps nineteen at the most. His hair was long and bright blond, nearly red, with dark green eyes. He seemed to look the part of the nobleman with his chiseled face and haughty walk but the clothes that he wore were common in these parts. A simple leather vest and shirt underneath it with cotton slacks that were loose on the body so as not to overheat them. Definitely not one of the richer families in the region.
He came closer and watched the swaggering youth flirt with Sara, saying things in a low voice that made her giggle and blush, right along with Kirstin. Cameron sighed and moved right over to them, making his face a mask. The blond youth turned to look at him and smiled, but stopped almost as quickly.
"Are you finished here yet?" Cameron asked Kirstin in a formal tone and she smiled at him. The young man still stared at him, offering a challenge. Don't press your luck boy, Cameron thought, his face dark. Almost as if the youth could hear him he dropped his gaze, letting it trail on the ground. Sara regained her composure and mouthed a goodbye to the youth before mounting her horse and pulling away from the rail where the reigns laid. Cameron mounted with practiced ease, still centering his vision on the young man who seemed very much like he wanted to find some dark corner to crawl into.
"Shall we go then?" Kirstin asked them. Cameron nodded, "Goodbye, Kamil. Perhaps Sara and I will see you at mass come tomorrow." Sara rode away without looking back and neither did Cameron; still the mask covered his face.
"Who was that boy?" Cameron asked Kirstin when they were on the outskirts of the village, riding back to the manor. It was late in the day and many of the Shoppes and peddlers were taking care to get indoors before the sun went down. Their shadows fell after them in long streaks of darkness by the time that they turned off the road and on the path that led to the manor.
"His name is Kamil Dravan. He's the son of Andor, the local wheelwright and is learning the trade from him," she glanced back at Sara who had been quiet the entire journey back, "He's quite taken with Sara. He has been ever since she first came here. I think the two of them are going to get married." she laughed out loud at the shocked expression that crossed Sara's face. Her dark eyes flared.
"Fibber! I am not getting married to the son of a wheelwright. I have an intended, to the north!" she added in, more quietly, "Kamil and I are just friends." When they reached the front of the house Edgar was there to greet them and take the horses to the stables where they would be rubbed down and fed for the night. He smiled pleasingly at Kirstin, then not so pleasingly at Cameron.
"Mistress, Camren, I'll take the horses. Mistress says that dinners waitin' for ya."
"Thank you, Edgar. You sleep well, alright?" Kirstin brushed the side of his bald head and he beamed, blinking several times.
"You sleep well too. Goodnight."
Kirstin allowed Cameron to open the door for her and stepped through. She was almost immediately greeted by her mother who hugged her primly and bid her to wash up for dinner. Kirstin took the sewing package she bought upstairs and Sara followed on her mistresses' heels.
"Did the afternoon go well, Cameron?" she asked, stepping around him.
"As it could have been expected," Cameron told her, "Nothing that would really be considered noteworthy, mistress." Mirrian seemed pleased by the response and bid him to join them at the dinner table. Cameron waved an arm to indicate that he would follow. His thoughts went to the boy that was flirting with Sara at the tailor. Where have I seen those features before, he pondered, digging for the answers, but failed to find them. He decided to pay a visit to the wheelwright come the morning. But for now, it could wait. He entered the dining room, gathering his manners and exchanging greeting with Devlin. The boy would have to wait, for now.
Kamil Dravan paced back and forth in his small bedroom, fuming over the way that he had looked in front of Sara, being bullied around by one of mistress Kirstin's servants. He threw himself down on the side of the bed, putting a balled up fist on either side of his chin, determined that if it ever happened again, he would stare down that man. He didn't care if his friends told him that he came riding into Hamla with sword and shield on him. He sure wasn't going to use them on him in the middle of the village. When he had got home that afternoon his father had just sent the last of his customers out the door, telling them to have a good night. He spoke to Andor about his feelings, knowing that his father always gave him unfailing service with his wisdom. The older Dravan took in the words and pondered them as Kamil spat them out, telling him how indignant it felt to be stared down by a hired hand, even if that hired hand was hired out to lord Telba.
Andor listened and sat still on his rocking chair for a long time even after Kamil had finished speaking to him. The pipe that he favored to smoke after a long day of work sat on a clay dish to his right, trailing sweet scents in the air. Kamil began to stir restlessly waiting for his father to add to the conversation, to tell him that he was right in his feelings when the old man sat forward and gave his son a cautious look.
"The man that came three weeks past?" the elder Dravan questioned. Kamil nodded, showing irritation at the fact that his father didn't seem to be gleaning anything that he was trying to say.
"You are only a wheelwright’s son," Andor told him at last and Kamil stared at him in shock. Where was the wisdom that he had come to expect from these nightly discussions? He leaned back on the stool he was sitting on, feeling more indignant than ever. Next thing he knew his father would be telling him to go to this hired man and apologize.
"Yes, and he is only a vagabond, hired to look after the welfare of mistress Kirstin and master Huros. Why should he stare me down so, looking as though he wanted me to leave?" Kamil snorted, "I didn't do anything wrong. I was only talking with Sara."
"You are my son," the wheelwright said firmly, "And you would do well not to anger anyone by acting impertinent. What possessed you so that you would match stares with one that is twice your age? Did I not teach you to respect those that hold so much age over you?"
"You did," Kamil told him, sighing, "But you didn't see the way he looked at me, like he was angry at me for simply being there."
"A man with a job often takes that job very seriously. You told me that he was hired to take care of lord Telba's children?" Kamil only nodded, "Then he is wise not to trust any stranger that is near his charges. One God knows that I wouldn't if I were in the same position." He picked up the pipe then, taking it to his cracked lips and savoring the scent that wafted up his nose.
"Yes, yes. But do I look roguish?" Kamil threw his hands out, making some of that golden hair spill over a shoulder. Andor took in the sight and smiled. Kamil thought he saw worry pass in his father's eyes.
"Just leave the man be, my son. You may still speak with Sara when she comes into the village. Just be sure that you don't get in his way. That is all I have to say about it. Why don't you go and get some rest," Andor looked out the far window. A dark wind scraped at the pane. His old bones hurt whenever a cold wind blew and this one was cold, so far as summer winds went.
"I'm going to need you come the morning. There are a lot of chores to tend to."
"Yes father," Kamil muttered, lumbering off to bed. He still paced that room, being quiet so as not to wake his father from sleep. It didn't matter if he lost an hour or two to pacing. It often cleared his head when he needed to think. Or vent. At nineteen he knew that his apprenticeship was nearly over, and that he must soon set out to find a Shoppe of his own. His first thoughts turned to Lemall. He was told by wandering merchants that the city dwarfed Hamla. It was like nothing they could describe lest Kamil were to go there himself. He was almost sure that was where he would try his luck when Sara told him of the north. Of the battle between the Eagle and the ageless.
In time of war, he thought, there was always need for someone capable of shoeing a horse or mending a wheel on a wagon that had broken. He knew if he could just get there then he could succeed, far more then what his faith had. He blushed shamefully when that thought entered his mind and he pushed it out. His father was a good man, even if he was happy to be living so far in nothingness. Yes it was Avalon that he set his sights for. It could be two months, according to what Sara told him, even if he had the benefit of a horse. There were border patrols and checkpoints along the northern lands, running from the golden city of Diez to Bordertown. Those names meant everything to him because he meant to visit them all.
Then there was Sara. He blushed again, this time for altogether different reasons when she entered his mind. He hoped that in a year, when it was spring again and he had finished the apprenticeship, that she would agree to marry him and he would take her back north, reunite her with her family. He longed to do that, if only to make her happy. He knew that she seldom spoke of them, even to mistress Kirstin. There was a sadness in her, an emptiness that lingered inside. He guessed because she thought that she would never again lay eyes on her family, but he intended to change that. If only she would let him.
Kamil laid down then, feeling the calming force of sleep steal over him. He thought again of the hired man when he turned on his side and tugged the blanket over him. He would not disobey his father, not if that was his wish. But he would not stop seeing Sara to please this man. If that was what he wanted then he had another thing coming. Thinking these thoughts he drifted off, to dream of he and Sara going north. Of him reuniting her with the family that she left behind. They were great dreams.
Andor Dravan sat in his rocking chair near the front door to his Shoppe for a long time, just listening to the wind howl from outside the window. There was a summer storm coming, he had no doubt. He stared at the fire place, only ash upon stone, and let the smoke from the pipe fill his mouth.
"My son," he spoke softly even though there was no way for Kamil to hear him from where he lay sleeping in the back. His eyes were sad, regretful. For many things, but at that moment they were most regretful toward the sleeping youth in the back of his house.
"My son," he repeated to the air, "You are my son." His voice strained and he fell silent. Only the rocking chair moving steadily back and forth and the howling wind broke that silence. Andor Dravan failed to sleep that night, fearing that his dreams would betray his thoughts. Outside the wind was fierce.
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