temporarily. Her mind raced ahead to ways she could keep her stay short, but sleep overtook her before she could think of anything.
* * * * *
Waking up was hard business. Kit stretched on her too-small pallet. From the whispered conversations that drifted up from below, she surmised that Gilon and Raist were preparing to leave for the long walk to Poolbottom and that the rest of the household was still asleep. It was early, just after sunrise, when she heard them slip out the door. Kit waited a moment to make sure they were gone before grabbing some clothes and climbing down from her loft. When she reached the first floor, Caramon was up, leaning on his elbows, regarding her with a sleepy smile.
"What about school for you, Caramon? What time to you have to be there?"
"I have to leave in an hour, if I go. When Mother is having one of her bad spells, I often stay home to make sure nothing happens to her. What's for breakfast? Usually father leaves me something."
Kit found a piece of bread with honey lathered on it that had been set aside in the larder which, she noticed, was not particularly well-stocked. She made a slice for herself and picked out some other food for her and Caramon's breakfast.
"What are we gonna do after we eat?" asked Caramon eagerly. "Want me to show you that lunge-and-parry?"
"Don't gobble so fast," Kit advised her little brother, who had started to bolt down his food. "I have to eat, too, then before I do anything I have to make sure Cinnamon has food and water. After that, maybe."
"I've been using your wooden sword while you were away, the one Gregor left you," said Caramon, chattering exuberantly. "I hope you don't mind. It's good for practicing. I've outgrown it, that's for sure—especially now that I've got a real sword." Kitiara reached across the table and cuffed him on the ear.
"Owl What's that for?" asked Caramon.
"For being stupid," Kit replied. "Keep the real sword at home until you're bigger. If there's one thing that my father taught me, it's don't show a sword unless you're ready to use it. And you won't be ready for some years. Meanwhile, a wooden sword is fine for a runt like you."
"Aw," said Caramon, chastened.
"Why, Kitiara, you're back."
Kit started at hearing her name and turned around to see Rosamun standing in the doorway of her and Gilon's bedroom. Her mother had woken up, smiling and lucid for the moment. Her skin seemed to hang on her bones; she looked withered before her time. Neither Rosamun's spectral appearance nor her mood shift seemed to make much impression on Caramon, who happily skipped over to his mother for hugs and kisses.
"Yeah, isn't it great. She came back last night before supper. She brought me a real sword, Mother, a valuable one."
Caramon took Rosamun by the hand and led her toward the kitchen area. He dropped her hand now and ran to a high-backed ashwood armchair whose surface had mellowed to a satiny patina: Rosamun's chair, crafted by Gilon's handiwork. Caramon pushed it near the window into a pool of sunlight. Rosamun sank down into the chair and rested her head against its back, evidently wearied by the simple task of crossing the room. Kit saw how fragile Rosamun's state was. Caramon would not be going to school today.
"Would you like me to heat some water for tea, Mother?" the boy asked. Rosamun smiled vaguely. "That sounds fine, dear."
Caramon grabbed the kettle eagerly. Kit could tell he wanted to show off to her how he could make tea all by himself now.
As Rosamun sipped a mug of tea, Caramon proudly showed her the sword Kit had brought him. As he knelt by her side, she stroked his golden brown hair. All of her mother's rapt attention was on the boy; though Kit had been gone for weeks, Rosamun barely noticed her daughter. The longer Kit stood there, ignored, the more irritated she became at the cozy domestic scene from which she was excluded.
"Well, Caramon?" she interrupted brusquely. "Are we going to practice our swordplay or not?"
"You bet!" he said, jumping up.
"Get my sword, too, will you?" she asked him.
Caramon reached under his bed and retrieved both Kitiara's old wooden sword and the small-handled one that Gilon had carved for him. As the would-be warrior waved both blades in the air with glee, Kit glanced at Rosamun, who was sunk in her chair, a look of hurt on her face.
"First we have to check on Cinnamon," reminded Kit. "I'll give you some lessons in taking care of a horse. That's a good thing for a warrior to know." Caramon raced out the door without a backward glance at his mother.
* * * * *
Caramon and Kitiara practiced for hours. Kit used her old wooden sword, feeling childish, but she knew better than to bring out Beck's sword and let Caramon, much less anyone who happened to be passing by, get a look at it. Caramon wielded the sword Gilon had made for him, which was shorter than hers, but heftier. Both toy weapons were sharp enough that it hurt when they made good contact.
The sister and brother went at each other hard, down by the shed. Kit had to admit that Caramon had improved by leaps and bounds. What he lacked in technique, he more than made up in agility and determination. She could whack and stab him,
