The temporary river had transformed into a mudslide, bringing rocks and tall trees down like they were pebbles and grass. It was as if the road at that place had simply grown tired of clinging to the mountain and had fallen into the valley. Dulnear ran back in the direction they had come from as fast as he could, barely clearing the rush of destruction. His horse wasn’t as fortunate and was swept away by the torrent. “Mor!!” he shouted as he watched her flail to keep her head above the rapidly descending slide.
Faymia’s heart sank and time seemed to stand still, as it appeared they would not make it back to the farm when she had hoped. If only they would have ridden a little faster. If only it hadn’t been raining so hard. She got down from her horse and joined her husband in the road. Standing in the rain together, she consoled, “I’m sorry about Mor. She was a loyal companion.”
Dulnear closed his eyes in thought for a moment. He then opened them and said, “She will be missed. But we must get to higher ground so we can get around this rubbish and return to the children.”
“How do you propose we do that?” she asked.
“Unfortunately, we will have to leave Tapp here. Carry what you can, and we will climb around.”
The woman loved her horse and hated the idea of leaving him behind. “I can’t just leave him here!” she protested. But she knew in her heart that they would never make it to the other side of the mudslide with the animal.
“He is a bright horse,” Dulnear assured her. “It would be a risk to his safety to make him climb up the hill. He will most likely find a way home on his own.”
Faymia took her bow and a few other items from one of the saddlebags. She then walked around the horse, reached into the other saddlebag, and withdrew an iron object with leather straps attached to it. It resembled a fist and the top part of a man’s forearm. “You may be needing this,” she announced.
“Ah, thank you, my love,” the man from the north said. “I am afraid my knife-hand went down the hillside with Mor.”
“What would you do without me?” the woman teased (though she was quite serious).
“I shudder to think,” he replied.
She then walked around to the front of the horse, gently stroked his head and told him, “Goodbye, my friend. Find your way home and I’ll have a whole basket of apples waiting for you.”
Tapp nodded his head as if he fully understood what she was saying.
Faymia took a deep breath and noticed that the rain had diminished to a sprinkle and the clouds had lightened into a pale gray. Much of the sliding earth and forest had slowed its descent into the valley, but it was still too dangerous to try to cross over. She looked up the damaged slope and declared, “I’m ready. Let’s get to Laor.”
“Okay,” Dulnear answered. “Stay close.”
As Son opened the door to look outside the barn, he could see Maren wrapping up her morning chores. The previous day’s rain caused an abundant crop of weeds to spring up and he had checked on her work several times to make sure she didn’t leave before the job was done.
For the last few days, he had been working hard to create several of his toys and gadgets to sell in Laor. He gathered from bits and pieces of conversation with the young girl that there was some sort of festival there and he reckoned it would be a great opportunity to make some silver.
“I’m done!” she shouted, and tossed a handful of earth and grass onto a pile before making her way to the barn to fetch Earl. She patted his saddlebag gently, grabbed his rope and made her way to the door.
“Okay,” Son said. “But don’t forget to be home before dark.”
“I won’t,” she assured with a touch of annoyance in her voice. As she walked away with her mule, her young guardian noticed something.
“Maren,” he said loudly to get her attention.
“What?” she replied curtly.
Son jogged so he could get in front of her and look at her from another angle. “You look different,” he observed.
Maren’s forehead wrinkled and she pushed her mouth to one side in a curious frown. As she massaged her ear with her free hand, she asked, “How do you mean?”
The boy squinted and cocked his head to the side. “You seem…heavier,” he explained.
“Heavier?”
“Yes. But not taller.”
“My dress is just getting smaller,” she said.
The girl’s assessment of the situation amused Son. He smiled and said, “I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way. You must be eating too much when you’re in the village. Do take care of yourself. Eating too many sweets isn’t good for you.”
Maren stared through the boy blankly as she continued to pull at her ear. Eventually, her eyes focused on his. “Um, okay,” she said. “I’m going to go to Laor now.”
Feeling leery, and not quite ready to see her leave, Son asked, “Will you be seeing your friend Micah?”
Maren’s face became a little brighter and she answered, “Uh huh. He’s there every day.”
Son was happy that Maren had a friend. On many occasions he had invited her to join him when he went to sell his toys. He did so with the hope that she would make friends with other children in town. She mostly said no because she preferred to stay home. The times she did join him, she kept to herself or failed to find interest in what the other children were doing.
There was something nagging him about the boy Micah though. He tried to dismiss it as worry because he didn’t know the name, but it kept coming back. “What does he look like?” he asked.
“He has nice clothes,” she answered as she started to take the smallest of steps toward the road.
Son
