Ethel

Waelden moved too, linking our arms to stand closer. He looked at me a moment. We both wanted a home, but as yet the future was uncertain.

“I have to ask, on behalf of another. Do you serve roast meat here?” I sipped at my ale. It was good.

Another day, another evening. 

We reached the end of the track that led to the garrison itself. The previous quiet was broken by the sound of several voices speaking, and several horses moving about. 

Waelden leaned on a fence, and chuckled with satisfaction as he looked out over the garrison grounds. “As I said… well protected.”

On the afternoon of our fourth day under Northgyth’s roof, she called me to speak with her in her own rooms at the back of the shop. Waelden had gone out for a walk along the track he had found that led to the lake, likely taking time to think on his own. Ethel had been playing with Herne and her papa’s goat. Both were safe, in my mind. No harm would befall them while they were out of my sight...I hoped.

The following morning saw us all still in something of a shock. Ethel laid in bed for some hours, until Ymma brought a midday meal to the bottom of the stairs to tempt all of our empty stomachs. Even then, Ethel was not her usually hungry self. She picked at the bacon, eggs and mushrooms without her usual passion. But she spoke with us. She was ‘alright’ she said, and just glad we and the animals were safe.

(This story follows from A Deadly Dance of Fire and Smoke  by Waelden )

An oath is not something to be lightly made. Not if you have any honour, any integrity. Not if you have any doubt you can keep it. And oaths once made are held most highly among our people. Aye, oaths and promises alike can rule your life, can cost your life...can take your freedom from you.

I was never one for oath making.