cut the lines when they brought up something they did not recognize.
'This year's Spring Challenges are going to be the grandest ever,' Osbourne said, seemingly trying to lighten the mood. 'You should see the new game fields, Cat, and the rows of benches for spectators.' Catrin was lost in her own thoughts and barely heard him. Chase elbowed him in the ribs to make him stop.
Catrin had participated in the Challenges since she was old enough to ride, and most years she qualified for the Summer Games, but this year would be different. She knew she would not be allowed to compete, and she had no need to ask because it was understood. The townspeople did not want her. She was unwelcome.
'I was thinking about going on an outing, maybe a hike into the highlands,' Chase said. 'Telling stories around a campfire would be more fun than the Challenges and a lot less work. Wouldn't you agree, Osbourne?' Chase asked, elbowing him again. He had known Catrin her whole life, and he knew how crushed she must be.
'I can't attend the Challenges, but that doesn't mean the rest of you shouldn't. I know how much both of you like to compete, and I was looking forward to hearing of your victories,' she said with a slight catch in her voice, which she had tried to control.
They stood, and Chase announced, 'I'm going camping,' crossing his arms and inflating his chest.
'So am I,' Osbourne said, mimicking Chase, though he didn't look quite as imposing.
'But-' Catrin began. Her words were cut short when Chase tackled her. He and Osbourne coerced her into submission by means of the dreaded tickle torture. It was the first time Catrin had truly laughed in a long while, and she felt better for the release.
Despite her acquiescence, she still needed her father's approval, and she feared he would deny the request. She found him sitting at the table, working his way through a stack of parchment. Catrin sat across from him, waiting for him to finish what he was working on. After a few moments, he looked up from his work and acknowledged her with a strained smile.
'What's on your mind?' he asked in his usual straightforward manner.
'I don't think I should compete in the Challenges this year,' she said, and he nodded in silent agreement. 'Chase and Osbourne are boycotting the Challenges; they want to spend the time with me instead,' she continued, and he raised an eyebrow but remained silent. 'I was wondering if we could camp at the lake those days,' Catrin asked, finally getting to her point. She was always amazed at how much information her father could get out of her without ever saying a word.
'I tried to talk them out of boycotting, Father, really I did, but the harder I argued, the more they argued back,' she said with a smile and actually giggled. 'They made me agree by means of tickle torture.'
Her father chuckled and smiled briefly. 'Tickle torture, you say? That does sound serious. I guess I could let you go for a few days. I wouldn't camp near the lake at this time of year, though. The mosquitoes will suck you dry. It'd be better if you climbed past the lake and continued to the highlands. There is a natural stair near the falls, and a grove of ancient greatoaks is due west of there. It's a fine place to camp, and the land is too rocky and dry for mosquitoes to be much of a problem. It's half a day of walking and climbing, but it would be well worth the effort,' he said.
Her father had told her stories of the place, but he had always forbidden her to go that far. The closest she had ever ventured was to the very end of the lake, where a large set of falls drained from the river above. There she had climbed the tallest tree and gazed in all directions but was unable to see the grove. She was genuinely excited about the trip and hugged her father and kissed him on the forehead.
'Thank you,' she said, smiling broadly. He patted her on the shoulder and told her to run along. She retired to her bed and dreamed of ancient trees dancing in the light of a campfire.
Jensen piled the last of the lumber near old man Dedrick's barn and gave a wave as he climbed back into his wagon. With all the deliveries done, he had enough time to stop at the Watering Hole. A mug of ale might help the world look better, and Chase always loved it when he brought home some of Miss Mariss's sausage breads. This time of day was a busy time at the Watering Hole, and the tie-offs were all taken. Jensen guided Shama to the back of the inn.
'G'afternoon to ya, Mr. Volker,' Strom said as he walked from the stables, but there was an odd look of fear in his eyes, and his voice trembled slightly. 'We're just about full up. You might want to come back another day.'
'Just the same,' Jensen said, looking Strom in the eye. 'Mind if I tie Shama off back here.'
'Of course, sir,' Strom said.
'Give her a bit of water,' Jensen said while removing Shama's bridle. He hooked a lead line to her halter and tied her off to a nearby post.
Strom approached with a bucket of water. 'Some of those inside are looking for a fight,' he whispered without looking at Jensen. 'There's been a lot of talk about Catrin. I'm sorry, sir. I don't believe any of it, and I couldn't let you walk into trouble not knowin' it.'
'You're a good man,' Jensen said, but he failed to keep the anger from his voice, and Strom backed away. 'Unhook the wagon and saddle Shama for me,' he added, handing Strom three coppers. 'I may need to leave in a hurry.'
Strom looked as if he would be sick, but at Jensen's nod, he began unhooking Shama. Jensen walked to the kitchen door and slowly pulled it open. Miss Mariss, ever in control of her inn, noticed him immediately and moved in his direction without actually looking at him. 'You ought not be here right now,' she said. 'Petram is acting like the fool he is, and there's a parade of fools ready to follow 'im. I won't have you all settling this in my common room. You understand me?'
'I understand,' Jensen said, but he was undeterred. When he stepped inside, Miss Mariss threw her hands in the air. 'I promise you there will be no fighting,' he said.
'Men,' she said. 'Stubborn mules refuse to listen to anyone else.' Though her irritation was clear, she did not stand in his way.
As he entered the common room from behind the bar, only those at the bar noticed him, and none of them seemed interested at what Petram Ross was shouting to anyone who'd listen. Jensen nodded to the men at the bar then slipped into the crowd. Some turned and glared at him as he pushed his way closer to Petram, but when they saw who it was and the look on his face, they moved aside without a word. Eventually, Jensen found himself standing in front of Petram, and everyone else seemed to be taking a step backward. Enthralled by the sound of his own voice, it took Petram a moment to notice the change in his audience. At first, he seemed annoyed, but then his eyes landed on Jensen, and he instantly took a step back, only to find himself trapped by the hearth he'd chosen to use as a backdrop.
Jensen stepped forward but said nothing. Instead, he glared at Petram with a look that conveyed a host of threats, most of which came from Petram's imagination, which was just as Jensen wanted it. He wanted this man to fear him more than death. Again he moved forward, and Petram looked as if he wanted to climb up the chimney despite the fire burning in the hearth.
'If you even look at my niece the wrong way,' Jensen said softly, all the while raising his hand, which was held like a claw and moving toward Petram's throat. Just a hand's breadth away, he stopped and slowly closed his fingers. Petram's eyes bulged as if he were truly being choked. When Jensen finally lowered his hand to his side, Petram ran from the room, leaving a stunned silence hanging over the common room. All eyes were trained on Jensen, and he searched for words, suddenly unprepared. He thought a moment about the little girl who brightened his life and those of everyone around her. 'She's a good girl,' was all that he could say through his sudden tears. Those who had been gathered now lowered their heads and dispersed.
'I guess you might as well eat since you chased off all my customers,' Miss Mariss said as she brought him a platter of cured meats and cheese. 'Fools they may be, but a fool's gold is as good as any other.'
Crouched in the darkness, Benjin listened. Only the sounds of frogs and the barking of a distant dog broke the stillness. Creeping into Wendel's cottage, he checked on Catrin and Wendel. Both slept soundly and neither woke. He left as stealthily as he had come.
