Air was heavy and no breeze to catch as they rode over Greenway toward north. He wore that funny hat and red vest unbuttoned, showing his chest, it was too hot to be fancy, he said. And Briannon had to agree, riding in light sleeveless west and wide light skirt was more then enough. Her arms got a nice tan just over one day of riding, sun rays burning their skin. They avoided to ride in high noons, settling under trees and deep shadow to relief themselves.
Birchald, if worried about recent events, he didnt show it, but here and there she would notice his worried gaze, as if expecting from her to just run around and ride back to Bree, to Tindam. But she didnt, by her own will, resisting urge to spoil the best thing happened in her life, this rainbow of feelings and freedom, solitude in two.
She didnt care where they go, and why, but she was glad to pass the Bree hedge, she was not wandering since that unfortunate event in Barrow Downs, when she was saved by pure luck by Rhyson and Folke.
Few days ago, at opening of Golden Goat, a sweet and modest Inn, they performed first time the play written by Birchald, and nearly got famous enough to be called thespians. Filled with pride to be part of such great Endeavour, they drank and laughed, until..Tindam appeared. Heartbroken by that moment, she couldn't reason of what happened, did he lie to her or tell truth he was a slave to Brigands for whole year or more. It was clear she loves him still but not like Birchald, there was no such nectar in her heart as she listens Birchalds voice, that butterflies in her belly, the strength not to give up under a pair of pretty eyes and handsome man and hide in broom cabinet in Pony for moment off decadent fun.
Her life cant be more stranger then now, she thought, from beginnings to this, from blades to harps, from armor to dresses, from many men to one and only. Changed, by death and mist filled with terrors, turned away her gaze from what she had, what have been put in her path. Life is strange, so many paths to thread, so dark wells to fall in, surrendering to darkness of our own desires.
There will be tomorrow, but tomorrow that she planted seed today.
