promptly trotted to the far side of the
enclosure, shuddering her skin as if it were crawling with flies.
"None of the other horses will either," Derian continued. "They're scared stiff of Blysse."
The earl thoughtfully stroked his beard with one forefinger.
"Interesting," he said. "Well, then, until we get a horse accustomed to her, she will have to walk."
He looked as if he was considering declaring that everyone else must walk as well, but self-interest came to the fore.
"Perhaps your horse will grow easier around Blysse if you are in the saddle and she walks alongside."
"Perhaps," Derian agreed doubtfully.
"In any case, how does Blysse seem to take to the idea of riding?"
"Well enough." Derian gestured to where he had flung
a saddle across a fallen tree trunk. "I showed her the basics there and
she took to them so fast that I think Doc's right. She must have been
watching us before she got her courage up to come out and meet us."
"Either that," the earl said thoughtfully, "or she remembers something of her childhood."
A look came into his grey eyes then, a look Derian
was beginning to recognize as his facile mind weaving an explanation
from the minimal information they had. Earl Kestrel frowned slightly,
as if the matter would take more consideration than he could give it
now, then addressed Derian.
"Camp is nearly broken. I would take it as a signal
courtesy if you would inspect the packing. Ox and Race have done their
best, but you are the expert."
Derian hid a grin. Earl Kestrel was taking Derian's promotion quite seriously, a thing that amused Ox and infuriated Race.
"I would be glad to, sir. However, I'm going to ask Blysse to wait here while I do so."
"Wise," Earl Kestrel concurred.
Derian had found it almost too easy to work out some
basic hand signals with the young woman. She quickly grasped a nod for
"yes" and a shake of the head for "no." A hand held up, palm outward,
combined with a head shake meant "stay." A beckoning gesture combined
with a nod meant "come." Derian thought that soon the latter two
gestures would simplify to a simple hand signal, but for now he wanted
to build on what they had.
Now he signaled for her to stay, saying, "I need to go check the horses, Blysse, and you're sure to scare them."
He thought that his pointing toward the horses,
rather than his words, transmitted his message, but she grinned
agreement. By his way of thinking, there was a touch of wickedness to
that grin, as if she understood perfectly well why he wanted her to
remain and was amused.
As Derian checked and balanced packs, tightened or
loosened girths, he periodically glanced over at his charge. She was
sitting on a large rock near the edge of the camp, absorbedly watching
the last stages of the breakdown.
When they left, Blysse walked alongside the pack
train, staying to one side of Derian, just far enough away that his
well-schooled chestnut mare was almost willing to forget her presence.
The young woman's gait was easy and tireless, the
sound of her passage inaudible. Race Forester watched her with interest
and poorly disguised envy, for she made his claims to woodcraft seem
cheap. Knowing how dangerous envy could be, Derian was relieved when
Earl Kestrel cleared his throat, and Race shifted his attention to his
patron.
"After observing Blysse," Norwood began, "I have come to some conclusions . . ."
Conjectures
, Derian corrected silently.
". . . about the manner of her survival following the
fire that destroyed the community. I would like to share them with you
as you have shared my rediscovery of my lost kinswoman with me."
And so we won't
, Derian thought,
mess up your big presentation to King Tedric by offering our own theories
.
After his followers voiced their willingness to listen, Earl Kestrel continued:
"Race Forester's skilled examination of the rings of
the trees growing from the ruins places the date of the conflagration
at about ten years ago. At that time, Lady Blysse would have
enclosure, shuddering her skin as if it were crawling with flies.
"None of the other horses will either," Derian continued. "They're scared stiff of Blysse."
The earl thoughtfully stroked his beard with one forefinger.
"Interesting," he said. "Well, then, until we get a horse accustomed to her, she will have to walk."
He looked as if he was considering declaring that everyone else must walk as well, but self-interest came to the fore.
"Perhaps your horse will grow easier around Blysse if you are in the saddle and she walks alongside."
"Perhaps," Derian agreed doubtfully.
"In any case, how does Blysse seem to take to the idea of riding?"
"Well enough." Derian gestured to where he had flung
a saddle across a fallen tree trunk. "I showed her the basics there and
she took to them so fast that I think Doc's right. She must have been
watching us before she got her courage up to come out and meet us."
"Either that," the earl said thoughtfully, "or she remembers something of her childhood."
A look came into his grey eyes then, a look Derian
was beginning to recognize as his facile mind weaving an explanation
from the minimal information they had. Earl Kestrel frowned slightly,
as if the matter would take more consideration than he could give it
now, then addressed Derian.
"Camp is nearly broken. I would take it as a signal
courtesy if you would inspect the packing. Ox and Race have done their
best, but you are the expert."
Derian hid a grin. Earl Kestrel was taking Derian's promotion quite seriously, a thing that amused Ox and infuriated Race.
"I would be glad to, sir. However, I'm going to ask Blysse to wait here while I do so."
"Wise," Earl Kestrel concurred.
Derian had found it almost too easy to work out some
basic hand signals with the young woman. She quickly grasped a nod for
"yes" and a shake of the head for "no." A hand held up, palm outward,
combined with a head shake meant "stay." A beckoning gesture combined
with a nod meant "come." Derian thought that soon the latter two
gestures would simplify to a simple hand signal, but for now he wanted
to build on what they had.
Now he signaled for her to stay, saying, "I need to go check the horses, Blysse, and you're sure to scare them."
He thought that his pointing toward the horses,
rather than his words, transmitted his message, but she grinned
agreement. By his way of thinking, there was a touch of wickedness to
that grin, as if she understood perfectly well why he wanted her to
remain and was amused.
As Derian checked and balanced packs, tightened or
loosened girths, he periodically glanced over at his charge. She was
sitting on a large rock near the edge of the camp, absorbedly watching
the last stages of the breakdown.
When they left, Blysse walked alongside the pack
train, staying to one side of Derian, just far enough away that his
well-schooled chestnut mare was almost willing to forget her presence.
The young woman's gait was easy and tireless, the
sound of her passage inaudible. Race Forester watched her with interest
and poorly disguised envy, for she made his claims to woodcraft seem
cheap. Knowing how dangerous envy could be, Derian was relieved when
Earl Kestrel cleared his throat, and Race shifted his attention to his
patron.
"After observing Blysse," Norwood began, "I have come to some conclusions . . ."
Conjectures
, Derian corrected silently.
". . . about the manner of her survival following the
fire that destroyed the community. I would like to share them with you
as you have shared my rediscovery of my lost kinswoman with me."
And so we won't
, Derian thought,
mess up your big presentation to King Tedric by offering our own theories
.
After his followers voiced their willingness to listen, Earl Kestrel continued:
"Race Forester's skilled examination of the rings of
the trees growing from the ruins places the date of the conflagration
at about ten years ago. At that time, Lady Blysse would have
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