“Will it go back?” she asked Son.
“I sure hope so,” the boy answered. “I have never known a place like Laor. I wish the slavers would just walk off the end of Aun and never come back.”
“I agree,” the tired, deep voice of Dulnear said from behind them. He was sitting on his horse now, and the blood on his hand and face was dried and black.
“That giant bloke over there mowed them down like grass!” someone shouted. “I never seen anything like it!”
“’Twas nothing,” the aching man from the north said.
It tickled Maren that her friend was receiving so much attention, so she moved closer to his horse and put her hand on his leg.
“You have fans,” Faymia pointed out, still standing there with the reins.
The warrior chuckled quietly and admitted, “I suppose I do. However, I think we should make our way home. I have many wounds that need tending, and my bed is calling.”
“As you wish, giant bloke,” his wife said with a smile, and she joined him atop the horse.
Son and Maren mounted their horse as well and, as they rode out of the village, the girl looked back and hoped it would again be what it once was.
They traveled in silence, tired and sore. Eventually, home could be seen from their stretch of the road.
As they approached Gale Hill Farm, a strange sensation that the world was different arose in Maren. She noticed that much was overgrown and the house looked derelict, but the garden seemed to have been ravaged by animals. Though it still carried a sense of home, it was shabbier than she remembered it. As they approached the house, the front door appeared to have been kicked in.
“Wait!” the man from the north cautioned. “It may not be safe.”
“I’ll go inside and look,” Son volunteered, dismounting the horse and withdrawing his sword.
Faymia held out her bow and placed an arrow in it. “I’ll cover you from here,” she said. “If there’s anyone in there, run out the door as fast as you can and I’ll make sure they never pay us a visit again.”
The boy tightened his grip on the sword and stepped into the doorway. As Maren watched, her heart beat rapidly and she began to massage her ear. “Be careful,” she whispered.
After being inside for a few moments, Son called out, “Hey!”
Suddenly there was a horrific yell, followed by a crash as the boy came bursting through the window. Dulnear got down off his horse and withdrew his sword. Standing over his friend, he asked, “What did you see?”
Son struggled to breathe, and he painfully coughed out, “M-m-m-muuule.”
“Earl!” Maren shouted. She jumped down from her horse so quickly that she landed on her bottom. Springing up, she ran into the house and immediately came back out leading her donkey by a rope.
Dulnear assisted the boy to his feet and Faymia joined them at the doorway. The four of them looked at each other with a knowing stare, then tiredly began to clean the mess that Earl had left in the house.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The Wisdom of Mules
Maren worked in the garden under the early afternoon light. As she did, she whistled the tune she’d learned from Athas. Though they had been home for several days, there was still much to be done to bring the farm back to a presentable state. There were plenty of vines and roots left behind after Earl devoured the garden in their absence, and the ground needed to be prepared for a new planting season.
Appearing at the edge of the field, Son complimented, “This is looking really nice, Maren.”
Somewhat shaken from her thoughts and the tune in her head, the girl peered back at the boy and said, “Thank you. I should be done soon.” She still wore the apron that Athas had given her, and it was so covered in soil that the embroidered flowers were no longer visible.
“It’s okay,” Son said. “I was hoping you would take a break so I could show you something.”
Maren was curious about the boy’s request, since he had never asked her to take a break before. “Um, okay,” she said. “I’ve been working this whole time.”
“I know,” he assured her. “Just come with me for a little bit.”
“Okay,” she answered. She placed her dirty hand on her ear and began to massage it as she made her way to her friend.
Son took her free hand and led her toward the southern edge of Gale Hill Farm. As they neared their destination, Dulnear and Faymia could be seen waiting for them. “What is it?” the girl asked.
“You’ll see. It’s special,” her friend answered.
“Special!” she chirped, and she let go of the boy’s hand and ran out to her friends. When she reached them, she noticed that they were standing in a giant ring of climbing violet, filled with dried flower petals. In the center of the ring were three vases cast in iron. She recognized the first vase as the one Dulnear made for Son to honor his mother. “What are the other two?” she asked as she approached.
Faymia walked out and took the girl’s hand. Leading her into the circle, she explained, “We wanted to do something for your mum and dad.”
Son stood behind the girl and placed his hands on her shoulders. “It didn’t seem right that we never remembered them properly,” he said. “They were just left under that stone on the road to Blackcloth.”
The feelings of that day began to escape from whatever box they had been stuffed into, and sorrow washed over Maren like warm water. She turned and wrapped her arms around Son and wept deeply.
Dulnear knelt behind her, placing his hand on her back. “I am so sorry, and I am so honored that you came to be a part of our family,” he consoled through tears.
Faymia joined him and added, “You have my heart like no one else.”
When Maren had found her composure, she knelt in front
