Beothen let out a low chuckle and squinted at her, as if trying to peer past all the mud. “Well now, she’s a pretty sight, eh? Even when filthy as a wolfchild, she is. Course, forestin’ ain’t clean work, so at least she ain’t ‘fraid of getting dirty, right?” He turned back to Athan with a grin. “Sure your uncle don’t mean to make her your wife?”
“My uncle would be so cruel,” Athan bemoaned. “But, a wife in these times?”
“Aye, I hear that truth,” Beothen nodded then leaned down to Dnara, putting his face level with hers. “Best not risk it,” he said, and in his voice, she heard his heartfelt sentiment. “Won’t keep the boy from falling in love, though,” he whispered with a grin.
“Heard that,” Athan said from the other side of Treven’s head as Treven hooved the ground. “Don’t curse me with such words, Beothen. I’m to train her a few seasons then send her back to Lambshire.”
“Lambshire?” Beothen asked with a grimace. “Why would you want to send her back there for? Heard the blights done changed the town’s name to Lambless-shire?” He addressed the last question to Dnara, so she felt the need to finally speak.
“And that is why they are in need of foresters,” she replied, having been informed earlier by Athan of Lambshire’s current deteriorating state in case such a question should come up. “I have a younger sister and an aging father counting on me to provide what the land can offer as our flock continues to decline.”
“Ah, good on you, lass.” Beothen nodded in acceptance of her story with a glint of pride in his eyes. He side-eyed Athan then, his grin now wide with mischievous mirth. “She would make a fine wife, Athan.”
“Oy, what’s the hold up?” a soldier called from behind Beothen, saving Athan from Beothen’s teasing.
Beothen stood back to his full height with a roll of the eyes. “Hold your mangy horses there, Mikos. I’m gaining news of Lambshire from Athan and his new friend.”
“Athan’s returned?” Mikos questioned, his voice brightened by hope. “You find any elk, forester?”
“Afraid not,” Athan replied, toppling the man’s excitement.
“He brought back a girl instead,” Beothen announced with a chuckle, stepping aside to reveal Dnara.
Mikos gave Dnara a once over, his own figure young, lean and dark haired, and his expression morose. “I’d rather have the elk.”
“No need to be rude.” Beothen gave the younger guardsman an irritated glare.
“I beg your pardon, m’lady,” Mikos said with a disingenuous bow and a heavy sigh before turning back to other duties.
“Al’right, let ‘em through,” Beothen called more loudly to the two guards keeping watch on the other side of the second gate before turning back to Athan. “Keep a keen eye, eh? Folks are a bit on edge, more so than usual. The mayor’s daughter caught ill while you were away, and rumor has it she’s gone blightsick, locked in a room at the temple. And on top of that, the wine’s gone sour.”
Athan blinked at the news. “All of it?”
“Aye. Hope you’ve a taste for corn mash, because that’s all the taverns have left for the common folk.”
Athan gave a visible shudder of disgust. “Thanks for the warning.” He pulled a small pouch from his belt and shook hands with Beothen, passing the pouch over. “Spearmint and mullein leaf.”
“Aw, my favorite. Thanks, friend.” Beothen tipped his head then moved further aside, ushering them forward with a smile aimed at Dnara. “Welcome to Lee’s Mill, m’lady of Lambshire.”
“Thank you.” Dnara attempted to smile in return, unused to such attention from strangers. After stumbling into one wagon wheel rut, she moved forward with Athan and Treven. Once they cleared the gate, she glanced over Treven’s nose, her tongue no longer able to be held. “Spearmint and mullein? Is he injured?”
“You do know your herbs, don’t you?” Athan asked, sounding amused. “Beothen used to be in the King’s Guard. After they started burning down farms, he conveniently fell off his horse and hurt his back during a raid. The injury earned him an honorable discharge from the guard, but it also earned him a lifetime of back pain.”
“How does one conveniently fall off their horse?” she asked.
“By not wanting to make a family homeless, blighted fields or not,” Athan replied as he waved to a nearby merchant selling cornbread. “What news, Tobin?”
“Corn and more corn, forester!” the elder merchant replied with a hearty laugh. “What news?”
“Rain, no elk and thorns across my backside,” Athan replied to more laughter.
“Stay clear of Butcher’s Alley, then,” Tobin said as they passed. “Lots of thorns growing there of late. And I hear tale the docks are recruiting.”
“Then I’ll avoid the water.” Athan took a large bundle of herbs from Treven’s saddle and tossed it over. “For Penna.”
Tobin caught it, rubbed his balding head in thought then made to toss the bundle back. “Ah, I can’t afford-”
Athan interrupted with a hand held up, now walking backwards as Dnara and Treven moved on. “I’ll soon need bread for my next outing.”
Tobin clenched the bundle to his breast. “Faedra bless you, lad. It’s worth more than cornbread and you know it.”
“Perhaps, but your wife’s cornbread is the only thing of corn I can still eat in this town without getting cornsick.”
Tobin chuckled then frowned. “Then I’m sorry to tell you about the wine.”
“I’ve heard.”
“I’m still sorry about it,” Tobin smirked. “Good travels to you, forester.”
Athan nodded with a two finger salute then faced forward again. Noticing Dnara’s curious glance, he explained. “More mullein, with lemongrass and musk from one of those briarbears.”
Dnara thought on it for a moment. “Breathing problems?”
“His wife, Penna, ...and maybe
