Arrow’s Flight by Mercedes Lackey

one for harness, and then for good measure added a sealed pot of glue, just in case. There’d been times enough back on the Holding when she was on sheep-watch that she’d needed a pot of glue, and not had one to hand. She packed her sewing kit, and a brick of hard, concentrated soap—the special kind that you needed for use on Whites to keep them pristine— just in case it ever became necessary to do her own repairs and cleaning of her clothing. Certainly the village laundrypeople normally tended those jobs, but you never knew. She added a small metal traveling lamp, and extra wicks, because she’d never seen a lamp in the Waystations, and if they stayed more than one night, lamplight was easier on the eyes than firelight. Then her personal gear, her weapons, a precious book or two, some writing supplies. Her bedroll was next, and all the extra blankets she could find; with them, two extra towels besides the others she carried, and a pair of thick sheepskin slippers. Rolan’s gear was all with his tack, but just the same she packed a vial of ferris-oil. He liked it; it was good for his hooves and coat and kept the insects away.
    Even when she’d packed everything as compactly as she could, it still bulked distressingly large. She stared at the clumsy packs in near-despair, trying to think of something she dared leave behind. Kris would surely think she was an idiot for wanting to bring all this stuff!
    “Good packing job,” Keren said from the open door behind her, “I intended to come up here and help you cut down on the flotsam, but it looks like I’m not needed.”
    “Is that meant ironically or seriously?’ Talia asked, turning to greet the more experienced Herald with relief.
    “Oh, seriously. My counselor made me repack three times for my interning trip, and I never did get my packs down that small — I kept thinking of things I was sure I’d miss. Know what? I ended up sending most of them back here.”
    “But how is Rolan ever going to carry all this, the supply pack and me, too?”
    “Easy, he won’t have to. You’ll each have a packbeast, probably a mule. Well, maybe not; you’re going north, they may give you chirras. Didn’t anybody tell you that? You’re riding circuit, not carrying messages, so you don’t need speed. You can easily hold your speed down to match your packbeasts’ without sacrificing anything.”
    Talia heaved a sigh of relief. “Nobody told me. Kris either assumed that I knew, or left it out deliberately to keep me from overpacking.”
    “Well don’t go crazy now that you know,” Keren warned.
    “I won’t. In fact, other than begging a couple more blankets and a pillow from Supply, packing all three pairs of my boots, and adding a bit more in the way of towels and soap and the like, there’s only one thing more I want to add.” Talia tucked her third pair of boots into a pack, tied it shut, and turned to the hearthcorner. There, where she’d left her last night still in her carrying case, was My Lady. She opened the case, detuned the strings for safety in traveling, and added her to the pile.
    “Good notion,” Keren said. “You may be snowbound at any time, and that’ll keep you from tearing out each other’s throats from boredom. Not only that, folks up there seldom see a Bard except in summer. You’ll be like gifts from the Gods.”
    “Keren — I’ll — “ Talia suddenly had a lump in her throat. Now it came home to her; she was leaving, leaving the only place that had ever felt like home, and the only friends she’d ever had. “ — I’ll miss…”
    Keren reached out and hugged her shoulders.
    “Don’t you worry. You’ll be fine, I know you will. Kris is a good lad, if a bit too conscious of his own good looks. Little centaur—I’ll miss you, too. But don’t you dare cry—” she warned, caught between a chuckle and a tear, “—or I’ll start! Come on, we’ve just enough time to catch the end of supper, and you must be ready to chew