"He is not going to welcome you, you know." The woman kept her eyes on the river as she spoke, steering the boat with sure, quick strokes of rudder and stake. Despite the current, she kept the small vessel surehandedly in the middle of the stream, sparing her passenger any vexing movements.
I am not a hero whose song will be sung in the courts of the kings or the common. No horn will recall me, no bell will be rung To remember the name or the deeds done. Me, I shall not call who forgets me unkind, Still not void were my deeds of some glory; But the skalds sing of names, feats more glorious than mine,
I had decided to return to the Graymare estate after the caravan had safely found its way to Bree, firstly to inform the staff that a new mistress would be taking over the household, and secondly to attempt to get a decent nights sleep in my own bed after weeks of lying under canvas or out in the open.
My plans were soon in disarray as I found the girl Hereniel looking distressed in
His vision was blurred, drifting on the edge of consciousness he heard sounds, Voices, he told himself. There were too many, making what seemed to be an enourmous effort he tried to recall, he could vaguely picture the face of the healer, he remembered the voice, but most of all he remembered her treatments, which brought him some small measure of relief.