the soldier’s quarters with the others.”
I set the spoon down and push away my bowl. “I didn’t realize.”
“Of course not, how were you to know? At least Arland is not sharing my room, along with Lann. He snores!” Flanna teases.
“Did Lann have to move because of Brad?”
She nods.
“I can sleep somewhere else, so you don’t have to share with him.” So many people have had their lives turned upside down because of me—it doesn’t seem fair.
“No, no, no. Please do not go runnin’ off to sleep with the soldiers. Arland would never let me hear the end of it—and I do not mind.”
“It really doesn’t make a difference to me where I sleep.” I feel horrible. Why should anyone have to move because of me? I don’t care who I am or might be or whatever it is they think … a regular bed is more than okay. Their lives are tragic, compared to mine. “I can sleep on the floor.”
Flanna narrows her eyes, and I decide to let it go.
“Back to your original question. The door on the right conceals a hallway. There is a communications room on the left, where Arland went earlier, and a storage room on the right, next to a flight of stairs leading up to the stables.” Flanna has given me a glimmer of hope.
Animals, they have animals
!
“So you’re telling me that in the middle of a forest there are stables, containing a bunch of noisy animals where there are no other buildings? How odd does that look … and sound?”
“The layer of magic which protects us also protects the stables. We have used some of our strongest magical spells on it. I promise you, the stables are not visible to an untrained eye.”
“I would love to see the animals.” I imagine the smells of the farm back home.
“I do not believe Arland would appreciate me taking you aboveground,” she says, looking as though she already regrets telling me about the stables in the first place.
“I thought you said it’s heavily protected by magic?”
“The magic is strong, but not perfect.”
I cringe; maybe I don’t want to go up. “So, it’s possible for something to get in?”
She sighs. “Nothing ever has.”
“Well, then what are you worried about? Please?”
“I cannot
take
you—I do not enjoy getting in trouble—but if you were to accidentally stumble upon the stairs to the stables, I would be more than happy to pretend I had no idea where you were.” Flanna winks.
“Thanks!” I hand her my dish and bolt from the table.
“Please do not try to leave the stables, or Arland will have my head on a platter,” she yells as I run off.
Pushing through the door on the right, I enter an unlit hallway. Running my hand along the wall for a guide, I find the stairs leading up to the stables and begin climbing up them—two at a time. After a good fifty steps, I reach the top. I slide my hands over the door in search of the locks. Three bolts have to be pushed aside. Lifting the bar, I push the door open on its squeaky hinges, willing the old metal to be quiet so no one catches me coming up here.
The well-lit stables, while not large compared to our barn back home, are big enough to maintain a few different animals. There are chickens housed in a coop on the left across from the door leading downstairs, clucking away. Next to the chickens are four cows, and another stall with a bunch of goats. They stand on their hind legs, leaning against the wooden railing, chewing straw and watching me as I pass. I inhale the earthy scent of the stables and feel like I’m back at home, working in the barn with Gary.
At the end of the first section, there’s a bay where feed, straw, and tools are stored. I turn to my right and discover horses. Standing in the first stall before me is the most magnificent brown and white Paint I’ve ever seen. He stands tall, neck straight, eyes watching me. He’s knows he’s beautiful. So as not to startle him, I approach slowly, with my hand up, and offer some oats from a burlap bag next to
I set the spoon down and push away my bowl. “I didn’t realize.”
“Of course not, how were you to know? At least Arland is not sharing my room, along with Lann. He snores!” Flanna teases.
“Did Lann have to move because of Brad?”
She nods.
“I can sleep somewhere else, so you don’t have to share with him.” So many people have had their lives turned upside down because of me—it doesn’t seem fair.
“No, no, no. Please do not go runnin’ off to sleep with the soldiers. Arland would never let me hear the end of it—and I do not mind.”
“It really doesn’t make a difference to me where I sleep.” I feel horrible. Why should anyone have to move because of me? I don’t care who I am or might be or whatever it is they think … a regular bed is more than okay. Their lives are tragic, compared to mine. “I can sleep on the floor.”
Flanna narrows her eyes, and I decide to let it go.
“Back to your original question. The door on the right conceals a hallway. There is a communications room on the left, where Arland went earlier, and a storage room on the right, next to a flight of stairs leading up to the stables.” Flanna has given me a glimmer of hope.
Animals, they have animals
!
“So you’re telling me that in the middle of a forest there are stables, containing a bunch of noisy animals where there are no other buildings? How odd does that look … and sound?”
“The layer of magic which protects us also protects the stables. We have used some of our strongest magical spells on it. I promise you, the stables are not visible to an untrained eye.”
“I would love to see the animals.” I imagine the smells of the farm back home.
“I do not believe Arland would appreciate me taking you aboveground,” she says, looking as though she already regrets telling me about the stables in the first place.
“I thought you said it’s heavily protected by magic?”
“The magic is strong, but not perfect.”
I cringe; maybe I don’t want to go up. “So, it’s possible for something to get in?”
She sighs. “Nothing ever has.”
“Well, then what are you worried about? Please?”
“I cannot
take
you—I do not enjoy getting in trouble—but if you were to accidentally stumble upon the stairs to the stables, I would be more than happy to pretend I had no idea where you were.” Flanna winks.
“Thanks!” I hand her my dish and bolt from the table.
“Please do not try to leave the stables, or Arland will have my head on a platter,” she yells as I run off.
Pushing through the door on the right, I enter an unlit hallway. Running my hand along the wall for a guide, I find the stairs leading up to the stables and begin climbing up them—two at a time. After a good fifty steps, I reach the top. I slide my hands over the door in search of the locks. Three bolts have to be pushed aside. Lifting the bar, I push the door open on its squeaky hinges, willing the old metal to be quiet so no one catches me coming up here.
The well-lit stables, while not large compared to our barn back home, are big enough to maintain a few different animals. There are chickens housed in a coop on the left across from the door leading downstairs, clucking away. Next to the chickens are four cows, and another stall with a bunch of goats. They stand on their hind legs, leaning against the wooden railing, chewing straw and watching me as I pass. I inhale the earthy scent of the stables and feel like I’m back at home, working in the barn with Gary.
At the end of the first section, there’s a bay where feed, straw, and tools are stored. I turn to my right and discover horses. Standing in the first stall before me is the most magnificent brown and white Paint I’ve ever seen. He stands tall, neck straight, eyes watching me. He’s knows he’s beautiful. So as not to startle him, I approach slowly, with my hand up, and offer some oats from a burlap bag next to
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