Heading
paying for his board with fish, snared rabbits and, towards the end when he could again use a bow, two deer. Most of his time was spent in the woods out of sight, much of it with Jon. The boy, used to animals, took to riding like a Westkin child. The bow was too stiff for him to draw; Harald shaped one from a branch of ash, taught him to shoot from horseback."Come over the mountains some day, we'll get you a proper bow."
"What's wrong with this one? I like it."
"Longbow's fine on foot. Too clumsy on horseback. Aiming left, see an enemy right, what do you do?"
The boy tried to swing the bow across. The lower limb caught on the mare's neck; he dropped the bow. The mare looked up at him curiously.
"Horn bow that wouldn't happen."
"Is it really made of horn?"
"Belly horn, back sinew, a little wood to hold them together. Takes a year to make, lasts a lifetime. More if you're careful. Or careless. We learned them from the Westkin."
When Harald finally set off again on the mare, Jon walked him the first few miles up the trail into the mountains.
"Will I see you again?"
"Likely. Heading home over the pass, but I'll be back. Things to deal with near here. May take a while."
The boy stroked the horse's neck, his face buried in her mane.
"Expect she'll be back too."
"Promise?"
"Can't bind the world. Try."
He dismounted, gave Jon a long hug.
"Take care of your mother. When it's all over, come visit, meet my boys."
Jon nodded, said nothing.
Enemies and Friends
A wayfarer should not walk unarmed
It took Harald two days to make it up the valley