day Riyan had ever become friends with such a boy! Oh, Bart seemed nice enough, but every time he, Riyan, and Chad got together, something would happen.
She thought back to the man who had come and tried to kill Bart while he was recovering from the poison. That experience still wakes her in a cold sweat at night, thinking the man and his friends have returned.
Glancing out the window, she looked through the falling snow to the place where she and Bart had buried the man. She now regretted going along with Bart when he said not to mention the incident to anyone. At the time it had seemed like wisdom. Now though, she felt sorrow for the unknown man lying in the ground out there. Did he have family? Was there someone who wondered what had happened to him? Was there a child who wondered if her father was ever coming home?
Maybe it was being alone too much that caused her mind to plague her with such thoughts. Raestin, the merchant who had begun to visit her from time to time, hadn’t been around for a couple months. She liked him and felt that he reciprocated the feeling. Over on a shelf near the door was a carved, wooden figurine of a sheep. He had given it to her on his return from delivering her first letter to Riyan.
She suddenly realized that her spoon had been poised motionless over her bowl for some time. Sighing, she laid it back in the bowl and got to her feet. As she began carrying her bowl over to the wash area, the sheep statue caught her eye. Without thought, she laid her bowl on the counter and went over to retrieve it.
The wood was beginning to darken from being handled so much. It seemed whenever she grew sad or lonely she would take it in her hand and caress its wood with her fingers. Somehow, it made her feel better.
She walked over to the window by the front door and stared out at the pen holding Black Face. A grin came to her as she recalled how much he had plagued her son. For that reason alone she had kept him when she sold her flock. He was really all she had left of her son other than some clothes that were still in his room, and his shepherd’s staff.
Black Face’s tail was sticking out from the shed that she had built for him. Now that he was alone out there and didn’t have other sheep to huddle with for warmth, she had built it to help keep him out of the snow.
Her thoughts once again turned to Riyan. How she missed him, the daily talks they once had, even their arguments. As her mind wandered along the paths of days long gone she continued gazing through the window.
A dark shape moving along the lane toward her home snapped her from her reverie. A smile came to her when she realized it was Freya. Glad for the company, she returned the figurine to its place on the shelf and removed her cloak from where it hung beneath the shelf.
Kaitlyn then opened the door and stepped outside into the falling snow. “Freya!” she called in greeting as she made her way into the snow.
Freya glanced up and saw her approaching. “Mrs. Borenson,” she replied with a smile.
Coming to her side, Kaitlyn said, “Now I’ve told you to call me Kaitlyn. None of this Mrs. Borenson nonsense.”
“Very well, Kaitlyn,” she said.
Kaitlyn placed an arm across her shoulders and proceeded to walk with her back to the house. “What brings you out in this weather?” she asked.
“I couldn’t stay in town any longer,” she admitted.
There was something in her voice that caught Kaitlyn’s attention. “Nothing bad I hope?” she inquired.
Now at the door, Freya shook her head. She waited for Kaitlyn to precede her into the house. “Nothing like that,” she replied. “Just the same old nonsense about the engagement.”
“Your father putting pressure on you again?” she asked. Closing the door after Freya had entered, she returned her cloak to its peg and took Freya’s outer garments and hung them up as well.
“Yes,” she said.
Kaitlyn gestured to the table and said, “Have a seat. I’ll make
She thought back to the man who had come and tried to kill Bart while he was recovering from the poison. That experience still wakes her in a cold sweat at night, thinking the man and his friends have returned.
Glancing out the window, she looked through the falling snow to the place where she and Bart had buried the man. She now regretted going along with Bart when he said not to mention the incident to anyone. At the time it had seemed like wisdom. Now though, she felt sorrow for the unknown man lying in the ground out there. Did he have family? Was there someone who wondered what had happened to him? Was there a child who wondered if her father was ever coming home?
Maybe it was being alone too much that caused her mind to plague her with such thoughts. Raestin, the merchant who had begun to visit her from time to time, hadn’t been around for a couple months. She liked him and felt that he reciprocated the feeling. Over on a shelf near the door was a carved, wooden figurine of a sheep. He had given it to her on his return from delivering her first letter to Riyan.
She suddenly realized that her spoon had been poised motionless over her bowl for some time. Sighing, she laid it back in the bowl and got to her feet. As she began carrying her bowl over to the wash area, the sheep statue caught her eye. Without thought, she laid her bowl on the counter and went over to retrieve it.
The wood was beginning to darken from being handled so much. It seemed whenever she grew sad or lonely she would take it in her hand and caress its wood with her fingers. Somehow, it made her feel better.
She walked over to the window by the front door and stared out at the pen holding Black Face. A grin came to her as she recalled how much he had plagued her son. For that reason alone she had kept him when she sold her flock. He was really all she had left of her son other than some clothes that were still in his room, and his shepherd’s staff.
Black Face’s tail was sticking out from the shed that she had built for him. Now that he was alone out there and didn’t have other sheep to huddle with for warmth, she had built it to help keep him out of the snow.
Her thoughts once again turned to Riyan. How she missed him, the daily talks they once had, even their arguments. As her mind wandered along the paths of days long gone she continued gazing through the window.
A dark shape moving along the lane toward her home snapped her from her reverie. A smile came to her when she realized it was Freya. Glad for the company, she returned the figurine to its place on the shelf and removed her cloak from where it hung beneath the shelf.
Kaitlyn then opened the door and stepped outside into the falling snow. “Freya!” she called in greeting as she made her way into the snow.
Freya glanced up and saw her approaching. “Mrs. Borenson,” she replied with a smile.
Coming to her side, Kaitlyn said, “Now I’ve told you to call me Kaitlyn. None of this Mrs. Borenson nonsense.”
“Very well, Kaitlyn,” she said.
Kaitlyn placed an arm across her shoulders and proceeded to walk with her back to the house. “What brings you out in this weather?” she asked.
“I couldn’t stay in town any longer,” she admitted.
There was something in her voice that caught Kaitlyn’s attention. “Nothing bad I hope?” she inquired.
Now at the door, Freya shook her head. She waited for Kaitlyn to precede her into the house. “Nothing like that,” she replied. “Just the same old nonsense about the engagement.”
“Your father putting pressure on you again?” she asked. Closing the door after Freya had entered, she returned her cloak to its peg and took Freya’s outer garments and hung them up as well.
“Yes,” she said.
Kaitlyn gestured to the table and said, “Have a seat. I’ll make
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