Breckin's Saga part one - Nadurra pt 2

“But you have already done so much,” he told them.  “I think you even saved my life!”
         Heremon stopped and laid a hand on Breckin’s shoulder.  “You must go quickly.  You have nearly the whole day to get as far as you can.  There is another place where we know you will be welcome, and you must try to reach it before the day’s end.  Do you know of the village of Turus?”
         “No, I don’t.”
         “Continue to the south, and look for the smoke from a chimney.  There is a brick wall surrounding the village, but there will be a gatekeeper.  Tell him that the Wood Sprites of Dobhran sent you there.  They will welcome you.”
         “Thank you.”
         “Our hearts will be with you,” Siobhan told him.
         “Thank you,” Breckin said again.
         “I wish you could stay longer,” said Sheehan. 
         “I know.  But I need to keep going, or my mother will worry.”
         “I will never forget you,” said the little Sprite as she hugged her new friend, and kissed his cheek.
         Breckin’s heart felt heavy as he left the Wood Sprites behind and returned to his southward journey.  But the pale blue sun was quite visible now, and it was easy for him to continue in the right direction.  This isn’t so bad, he kept telling himself.  His travels had started out badly, but now he felt a little more prepared and he knew a little more of what to expect.  The thought that he already had a safe place to stay that night was also very comforting.  He hummed to himself as he stepped lightly through the sunlit woods and listened to the songs of the wood birds. He knew that he must hurry, though, and not waste time, so that he would reach the village of Turus before dark.  He did not want another run-in with any night creatures!
         The warm sunlight and the songs of the wild birds did much to cheer him as he made his way through the forest.  There were no trails of any sort to follow, so Breckin at times found himself crawling under thick bushes or weaving through tall grasses.  Once, he had found a clearing and followed it, not realizing how much it had wound around until he looked up into the sky and saw that the sun was on the wrong side.  He felt a brief moment of panic.  Oh no, I should be going south, not west!  He quickly turned and abandoned the easy path to head in the right direction.  He took a few deep breaths to calm himself.  It’s all right.  I didn’t get too far off track.  I’m still going south.  It’s all right.
         At midday, he stopped to rest under the cool shade of a bent tree.  He tugged open the small leather bag that Siobhan had given him, and savored the fruit and bread.  He closed his eyes and could almost hear the music of the Wood Sprites.  Then his mind went back to a tune that his mother used to sing to him, when he had been very young.  How did it go?  He leaned his head against the trunk of the tree and tried to remember.  Were there words to the tune?  He thought there were.  Perhaps they had been in another language.  Elven?  Had it been a song that his father had taught them?  It was something about a green meadow...
Dannasadh ‘si lan einean,
Seinnadh ‘si lan tuim . . .
         
Dancing in the meadow, Singing in the hills...  It made his heart ache, not being able to remember.
         A light wind blew through the branches high at the tops of the trees, and the leaves made a soft, papery rustling sound that was very calming.  Breckin soon found himself dozing off despite the last night’s pleasant rest.
         The loud flapping of a bird from a nearby tree abruptly brought him out of his sleeping state.  When he had fully awakened, he saw that the sun had come down from its high point in the sky, and Breckin pulled himself off the ground, stretched, and continued on his way.  He came to a rushing stream, cupped his hands in the icy water and drank until the dryness in his throat was gone.  He stood up and listened.  He could hear more water flowing somewhere in the distance.  Was it a larger river?  Breckin checked the location of the sun to be certain that he kept on in the right direction, and then started off to find the source.  The dried leaves on the forest floor, warmed by the afternoon sun, gave off a sweet fragrance and made a soft crunching sound beneath Breckin’s leather-clad feet as he went along. 
         He stopped short.  Did he hear voices?  He strained to listen.  Yes, he heard voices.  Who could it be?  Were the horsemen tracking him? 
         He crouched low to hide among the ferns, and crawled along the ground to get closer without being visible.  The sounds became clearer, but the rushing river nearby was also getting louder.  Breckin peered around a tree and could see those who were speaking.  They appeared to be Human men - four of them.  He let out a sigh of relief - they were not the ones who had ridden into Nadurra on horseback.  Despite this reassuring fact, Breckin was not disposed to making his presence known until he had listened in on their conversation to find out something about who these men were.  He sunk down until his stomach touched the ground, slowly making his way toward the four men who stood around what appeared to be a temporary camp.
         He still could not clearly understand their sentences, but they seemed to be arguing about how far they should travel before the weather turned bad.  The weather seemed perfectly fine to Breckin, but he knew how quickly it could change.  He had to get closer.  He was certain that they could not see him, especially since his brown leather clothing helped to hide him in the dirt.
         “I say we camp here overnight,” one of them said.  “We have all we need right here, and we can continue on in the morning.”          “I agree,” said another.  “I don’t like the look of those clouds.”
         “We’re wasting our time!”  Still another argued.  “We must keep going on!”
         Their discussion continued in this manner for quite some time, and Breckin’s arms started to feel numb due to his tight position between two bushes.  But the last thing he wanted to do was to make any sound, at such close range.
         It turned out that he didn’t need to make noise - a large forest bird took care of that for him.  It began to squawk loudly, and one of the men turned to investigate the disturbance.
         Oh no, thought Breckin.  There was no way to hide any more than he already was.  The man came closer.  Go away!  It’s just a bird!
         “Hmm,” the man grunted, and started to turn back, when he looked again. 
         Breckin held his breath.  Did he see him?  He did!  Didn’t he?  Breckin quickly weighed his options - did he have a better chance if he stayed perfectly still, or should he run?  When the man took another step closer, he decided to run.  He pushed himself up off the ground as fast as he could and dashed through the trees. 
         “Hey!” The man shouted. “You there, stop!” 
         But Breckin didn’t listen.  He glanced back over his shoulder and could see the man chasing him.  He tried to run faster.  His heart pounded in his chest and his side began to ache, but he could still hear the man following him, and he thought he was getting closer.  Breckin quickly turned from his current path, and sped off to the left.  The underbrush was thicker, and Breckin forced his way through the brambles.  He could not see very far ahead, and as he made his way out into the clearing, he suddenly found himself standing precariously on the edge of the riverbank.  He tried to regain his balance, but fell forward with a splash into the cold, rushing water.  He went under briefly, then resurfaced.  He could not see where he was going, as the wide brim of his leather hat hung over his eyes.  He reached up, sputtering, to push it back when he felt someone grab him roughly and yank him up out of the river. 
         All Breckin could see was the inside of his hat as he was drug back through the bushes and onto open ground.  His captor violently knocked his hat off his head.  It felt like he could have taken his head right with it.  He tightly held Breckin’s arms and shook him as he asked, “Who are you?  Are you spying on us?”
         Breckin shook his head.  “No, I’m not, truly!”
         “Then what were you doing down there?”
         “I didn’t know who you were and I was afraid.”
         The man stared into Breckin’s eyes.  Please don’t notice my ears!  He thought.
         One of the other travelers came running up.  “What’s all this?  What’s going on?”  He asked breathlessly.
         “I think this boy was spying on us,” he reported.  Now they both eyed him suspiciously. 
         “Well, what are we supposed to do now?”  The second man asked.
         “Take him back to camp.  I’m going to find out what is going on.  There may be others out there.  Are you alone, boy?”
         All Breckin could do was nod his dripping head. 
         “I don’t trust him,” the first man said.
         “Well, let’s discuss this further back at camp, instead of standing here.”
         The man still held Breckin tightly by one arm, and he bent down to snatch his soaking hat off the ground before they all marched back to the camp farther upstream.  Breckin was roughly shoved down near the fire while the four men discussed the turn of events.  They were still suspicious that Breckin may be a spy.  He was too afraid to speak up and defend himself, and he was beginning to shiver.
         “Let’s not get too carried away,” one of the men said.  Breckin was certain now that they were Humans.  But were they friendly towards Elves?  And why hadn’t they taken notice of his pointed ears?  If they had, they hadn’t said anything.
         Two of the men went out into the woods carrying weapons to search out anyone else who may be out there trying to spy on them.  What were they hiding?  Why did they fear spies?  Breckin had managed to slip his hat back on unnoticed, but he was shivering so badly that his teeth were beginning to chatter.
         The man who had chased him down brought over a large, heavy blanket and draped it over his shoulders.  He knelt down so that he was at eye level with Breckin.  “Now tell me truthfully, boy.  What were you doing back there?”
         “I t-t-told you alread-d-dy.  I was af-f-fraid because I didn’t know w-who you were.  I was t-t-trying to hear what you were s-saying to find out if you were s-s-safe.”
         He smirked.  “And are we safe?”
         “I d-d-don’t know.”
         The man sat back and held his hands out over the smoking fire.  “Well, if you’re a spy, you’re not a very good one.  And if you’re not, then what are you doing out here alone?  We may not be safe, but neither are the woods out there.”
         “G-going to Caithream.”  That was all that Breckin would allow himself to tell these men.  They would get no other information out of him.  He glanced around at their belongings, but there wasn’t much to see.  Four horses were tethered nearby, and several trunks of varying sizes were scattered around the fire.  What was in those trunks?  Were they thieves?  Smugglers?
         The two scouts returned and reported that there was no one else to be found anywhere near the camp.  One of them angrily tossed his weapon aside, and grabbed Breckin by the front of his shirt, lifting him off the ground.
         “Out with it, now!  Tell us the truth!”  He demanded.
         “Oh, come now, Druce.”  Breckin’s fireside companion came to his defense.  “I believe he is telling the truth.  He’s just some lost kid who’s trying to get to Caithream.”
         Druce grunted and dropped Breckin to the ground.
         “Ouch,” he moaned, rubbing the ankle that he had landed on.  Druce started to walk away, then stared at Breckin as he lay in a heap.  He quickly knelt down and took hold of the silver chain that Breckin wore around his neck.  “Take a look at this,” he said.  “This could be worth something.”
         “P-please don’t take that!  My p-p- my father gave that t-to me.  P-please!”
         “Oh, he did?  Well, I see this as payment for all the trouble you’ve caused us today.”  He easily forced Breckin’s head down and unclasped the chain.  “Now we’re even,” he said, carrying away the only thing Breckin had left of his father.
         “N-no, p-p-please!” Breckin feebly called after him.  He was near tears, but fought them back.  He would not cry in front of these brutal strangers.
         “Keep quiet,” another said, dropping the heavy blanket over his back and covering his face.  Breckin pushed it back just enough so that he could peer out from underneath it.  The man who had chased him down still sat before the fire, warming his hands.  He did not look at all pleased.
         Breckin did not sleep well that night.  His ankle was throbbing, and he was damp and cold.  Between the hours when he woke up shivering, he dreamed about his mother, his father, and the Wood Sprites.  Brief flashes of images and feelings raced through his mind.  Once, he felt the cold shock of the river as though he had again fallen into it, and he was startled awake only to find himself lying in the dark on the hard ground, covered by the rough, heavy travelers’ blanket.
         He was at last beginning to fall into a deeper sleep when he felt himself being gently shaken.  He blinked and opened his weary eyes to see the face of the man who had pulled him out of the water on the previous day.  He started to sit up, but the man put a hand on his shoulder and gestured for him to be quiet.  Breckin could see that it was very early morning, and watery blue rays of sunlight were peeking through the trees.  The three others in the camp still lay sleeping.
         “Follow me,” the man whispered.
         What was happening?  Breckin wondered.  Should he trust him?  He quietly pushed the blanket aside and limped after him, just a few yards away from the camp.
         “I don’t believe you’re a spy, or that you meant us any harm.  I’m going to tell the others that when I awoke, you were gone.  That you must have escaped during the night.  You’d best get as far from here as you can; they may come searching for you.  Here,” he said, reaching into his pocket.  He pulled out the silver woven chain and pressed it into Breckin’s palm.  “You’d better keep that in a safer place.  And be more careful.”
         Breckin tried to thank him, but no words came.  All he could do was stare in grateful disbelief.  The man turned and headed back to the camp, and Breckin limped away on his twisted ankle.
         Why did all of this have to happen to him?  He wished with all of his heart that he could still be at home with his mother.  Even beyond that, he wished that there had never been a war and that his father was still living.  He wished that the Elves were the most highly respected of all the races so that he would not have to hide his identity.
         He was hobbling along as quickly as he could, but it was very difficult.  He buried his precious keepsake deep into his pocket and went from tree to tree, leaning on them for support.  A large bird flew just over Breckin’s head and he ducked, then looked up to watch it rise higher into the sky.
         Then - what was that he saw?  Smoke?  Yes, a thin column of smoke rose above the trees some short distance away.  Then Breckin’s eyes could make out another, farther off.  Could he be so near to the city of Turus, which the Wood Sprites had told him about?  If only he had kept right on going past those men, and not stopped to hear what they were saying!  He could have been safe and warm and well rested. He certainly would not be in the condition that he was in now.
         As he went on through the woods, the gray stonewall surrounding the city was soon visible.  He hesitated only a moment before taking a deep breath and making his way along the smooth stones to find the entrance gate.  He could hear muffled voices and the sounds of village life coming from within.  At last, as he rounded another curve, Breckin could see that the large, thick wooden gates were open for the daylight hours.  An older man with a tanned face and a short white beard stood on duty as gatekeeper.  Breckin mustered all the courage he could and scuffled his way up to the gates. 
         “Hello there, young lad,” the gatekeeper said with a nod.  “What business have you here?”
         “No business,” he replied.  “I only need a safe place to rest a while.  The Wood Sprites of Dobhran told me I should come here.”
         “Ah, the Wood Sprites.  Well, anyone welcome among them is welcome among us as well.”  He stepped back and gestured for Breckin to enter.
         “Thank you,” he replied.
         “Have you got a limp there, lad?  You should have someone take a look at that ankle.”
         “Well, but I haven’t any money to pay anyone for it,” he said.
         “Pah!”  The gatekeeper scoffed.  “Needn’t worry about that!”  He pointed down the nearest stone-paved street.  “Third house on the left,” he said.  “The woman living there will see to you, and I know she’d never dream of charging you for it.  Most likely you’ll get a free meal out of the visit as well.”
         Breckin thanked him again, and made his way along the road, trying to walk as normally as he could.  The third house on the left.  It was a bit larger than the ones nearest to it, and built of roughly cut logs, as all the others were.
         He felt a sense of uneasiness as he stepped up and tapped on the door.  Soon it was opened by a young woman wearing a long, dark green dress.           “Can I help you?”  She asked sweetly.
         “Yes, well, I’m only on my way to Caithream, but the gatekeeper told me you could help me.  I twisted my ankle, and - ”
         “Oh, yes, of course, you poor thing,” she interrupted, taking his arm and helping him into the house.  “The gatekeeper is my uncle,” she explained.  “He knows that I’ll gladly take in anyone in need.”
         She set him down in a chair near the fire, and knelt down on the floor in front of him.  “Now, which ankle is it?” 
         “The left one.”
         She gently removed the thick leather from Breckin’s foot.  “My name is Harper.  What is yours?”
         “Breckin.”
         “Breckin?  There’s a name I’ve never heard.  Oh, your ankle is a bit swollen, but I think some cold water will fix that.”  She got up quickly and went outside with a large clay pot.  Breckin had a little time to glance around.  He took note of bunches of dried flowers hanging from the beams along the ceiling and a narrow, dimly lit staircase at the back of the room.
         Harper soon returned, now balancing the pot, nearly full of water.  A young boy, close to Breckin’s age, accompanied her.  Harper set the heavy pot down on the plank floor in front of Breckin.  “There now, soak your foot in that for a bit and I’m sure it will be much better.”
         He slowly lowered his swollen ankle into the water and gasped at the extreme cold.
         “How did you hurt your ankle, if you don’t mind my asking?” Harper questioned, while the young boy only sat in the opposite corner and stared at Breckin with an unfriendly gaze.  By now, his foot had gone quite numb, halfway up to his knee.
         “I - I was traveling through the woods and took a bad step.”  Breckin hoped that would be enough to satisfy her curiosity. 
         She nodded. “A bit rough out there, is it?”
         You can’t begin to imagine, Breckin thought.
         “Garrick, go and get me something to wrap Breckin’s ankle with.”  The boy obeyed, scowling and reluctantly scuffing his feet as he ascended the staircase.  Harper shook her head.  “My brother,” she said.  “He doesn’t share my desire to help every poor soul who finds his way here.  But I suppose one can’t be too careful these days.”
         She handed Breckin a small piece of flaky bread with juicy berries on top.  “But you don’t look like trouble to me.  Are you, Breckin?”  She smiled as he accepted the treat.
         “You can trust me,” he said.  “I won’t be staying long.  I need to get to Caithream.”
         Garrick returned and wordlessly handed his sister a tightly rolled strip of cloth.
         “All right, let’s see that ankle now.”  Breckin lifted up his foot so that Harper could dry it with the scratchy towel she’d brought over.  His skin had turned pink and his foot was still quite numb, but he could tell that the swelling had gone down considerably.
         Harper voiced Breckin’s thoughts on the matter, and as she tightly wrapped his ankle with the cloth, she advised him to walk very carefully, and short distances at a time.           He nodded.  “I will.”  He paused, and then asked,  “How far is Caithream from here?”
         “You’ve got quite a way to go yet.  Are you going all that way alone?”
         “Yes.”
         “You poor thing!  How far have you come already?”
         “Not too far.”
         “Are you from a village in these woods?  Lusach?  Nadurra?  Searadair?”
         Breckin swallowed the last bit of bread.  He did not want to answer that question.  He was trying to think up some way to get out of it when there was a knocking at the door.  Harper opened it.  “Hello, Corliss, do come in.”  She stepped aside and another young woman entered.  She was dressed in blue and was carrying a small basket. 
         “Good day, Harper.  Good day, Garrick.”  She looked at Breckin sitting near the fire with his bandaged ankle.  “Oh, Harper, you’ve taken in another one,” she said with a smile. 
         “Yes, his name is Breckin.  He won’t be staying long, though.  He is on his way to Caithream.”
         “Hello, Breckin.”
         “Hello.”
         “What’s this?”  Harper asked her friend, tapping the basket with her finger. 
         “Oh, we picked the rest of our vegetables yesterday, and I thought I’d bring some over.  How is your mother doing?”
         “Quite well, thank you.”
         Breckin watched and listened as the two women emptied the basket of fresh vegetables and gossiped.  Garrick snatched a few smaller ones to eat, but they made no attempt to stop him. 
         “Did you see the group of Giogans who came into town this morning?”  Corliss asked. 
         “No, I certainly did not.  What business have they here?”
         “I’m sure I don’t know.  But I hope they won’t be staying long.  Their kind means nothing but trouble these days.”
         Breckin held his breath.  Giogans!  Were they the same ones who had come into Nadurra two days ago?  Were they actually looking for him?  How did they know that he had come here?  Did they know?  Maybe they knew that he was on his way to Caithream - it was a large city.  If they were looking for him, and knew that he wanted to hide from them, they would know that Caithream was a likely place to head for.  Maybe they were searching every village between Nadurra and Caithream.  Breckin decided that the best thing for him to do now would be to leave as quickly as possible and avoid any other settlements of any race, so the Giogans would not as easily be able to track him, if indeed they were.
         Harper turned to Breckin.  “Would you like to take some of these vegetables with you on your way?”  She asked. 
         “Yes, I would.  Thank you.”  He bent down and fit his foot leather snugly over the cloth bandage.           “Why are you going to Caithream?”  Corliss asked, in a conversational manner.          “My uncle is there,” Breckin told her.  “I’m going to see him.”
         “Does he know you’re coming?”
         “Yes,” Breckin lied.
         Harper filled a large, square piece of cloth with vegetables, bread slices and dried meat, then tied the corners together.
         “Are you certain that you must leave so soon?”  Harper asked.  “Your ankle may become sore again if you don’t rest it.”
         “I have to go,” Breckin replied.  “My uncle is expecting me, and he’ll worry if I don’t get there soon.  I’m behind my time as it is.”
         Harper bid him farewell and advised him to take things slow and easy, and to be careful.  Breckin thanked her for her kindness and promised to follow her directions.  As he came back up the stone-paved street toward the village gates, he kept his eyes alert for any sign of Giogans.  He saw no one, though, and made it safely out into the woods, nodding his thanks to the gatekeeper, who wished him well on his way.
         Now Breckin wasted no time.  He took no notice of trees or bushes around him, only kept his eyes straight ahead, glancing up from time to time at the sun to be sure he continued directly south.  Clouds were beginning to roll in, thick and gray.  Soon, it began to rain, but Breckin did not let it slow him down.  He’d gotten wet through once before, why did it matter if it happened again?  None of that would matter once he got to Caithream.
         It rained off and on all day, and the ground under Breckin’s feet soon turned muddy.  His ankle was much better, only a little tender, and not nearly as swollen as the night before.  Breckin only ate a little food at a time, wanting it to last him as long as possible, since he planned to avoid any other towns or villages unless absolutely necessary.
         Breckin came up to a steep cliff and stood at the edge to look down.  There were no easy paths to take, that he could see.  He took a few steps off to the side.  Some large, sturdy-looking rocks jutted out of the cliff face.  Maybe he could use them to help him climb down.  He hung the cloth bag over one arm to free both of his hands and started to back down over the edge.  He managed to plant both feet firmly onto the rocks, and lowered himself farther down.  He could see what looked like a good place to step with his right foot, and he crouched low, trying to stretch out toward it. 
         Suddenly, he lost his footing and fell in the mud, sliding down the steep cliff.  He was going downhill feet first, and he tried to dig his toes and fingers into the ground as he slid, but it wasn’t working.  “Aaah!” He cried out in frustration.  This wasn’t fair!  He saw a tree branch hanging low overhead as he passed and he grabbed at it, and missed.  But then the tree branch caught him.  He didn’t know how, but he felt the twigs close around his arm, and as he looked at them, they became fingers.  They were still twigs, but fingers at the same time.           “Aaah!”  He shouted again, this time because he feared this strange tree.  “Let go of me!”
         “I wish to help you,” the tree spoke.  “Do you wish me to help?”
         Breckin breathed hard, trying to recover himself.  The tree had a soothing voice, and he decided that there was no need to be frightened.  “Yes, I do need help, please!”  He replied.  The tree pulled him up out of the mud and leaned him against the base of its trunk.  It seemed to be looking at him, smiling, although it had no face that Breckin could see.
         “Thank you,” he breathed. 
         “Why do you wander alone in the wood?”  The tree asked.  Its voice was much like the sound of the wind rustling in its leaves.
         Breckin glanced around him, still clinging to the rough, sturdy tree.  “I am trying to find Caithream.”  He answered.
         “You are nearly there, boy,” whispered the tree.  “Look down into the valley.”
         Breckin did so, carefully picking his way through the mud, lest he should fall again and find himself flying off the cliff entirely.
         “I see,” he said.
         “The place you seek is in the valley, beyond the hills.  Do you see?”
         Breckin sighed. “Yes, I see,” he said.  He could see the treeless, grassy hills, but no city.  It still seemed so far away.  “I must keep going,” he said, to the tree and to himself.
         “I wish you well,” whispered the tree. 
         Breckin continued to work his way through the forest, and as he went, the ground became less steep, with fewer trees.  He was beginning to feel a bit more optimistic when it started to rain again.  He was soon quite soaked, and the wide brim of his leather hat drooped down around his face and dripped constantly.  Breckin started to shiver.  He looked around in the late afternoon sunlight for someplace to hide from the weather.  He noticed an old tree leaning out over the side of a small ledge.  He looked up at it. “Hello?”  He asked.  He felt foolish, but if one tree could speak, why couldn’t they all?
         There was no answer, and Breckin shrugged.  He tried to position himself under the branches, but he fell through the open-air roots and landed hard on the ground just below.  He started to cry, not because he was hurt other than a few scratches, but out of frustration.  Wiping his eyes, he realized that the overhanging tree roots had formed a small cavern in the side of the cliff.  He crawled into it and wrapped his arms around himself.
         The cavern was dry, just big enough for Breckin, and not much else.  He was still cold, but at least now he wouldn’t get any wetter.  This wasn’t so bad.  Breckin felt foolish for allowing himself to get so upset so easily.  He decided that from now on, he would be more patient and really look around before letting his emotions get the better of him.  He had to take care of himself now.  There was no one else here to do it for him, certainly not his mother.  He had to be strong.  What was it that his mother had told him? We must be brave, like Pappin was.  Emyr would have wanted his son to be brave and strong, and keep his senses in difficult situations.  Breckin decided that he would make his father proud of him. 
         He rested in the small dry cave until the rain stopped again, and ate the last of the dried meat that was wrapped in the cloth.  Then he gathered all the strength and courage that he had, and kept going.  He was reluctant to leave this convenient resting place, but he knew that he had to get as far as he could before it got dark, as it soon would.  The ground leveled out before him, and the trees thinned out into a clearing at the base of the nearest hillside.  He walked on for quite some time, sliding his feet through the tall, wet grasses.
         As he came out into the clearing, Breckin stopped and stared.  The sleeves of his jacket hung over his hands, and the brim of his hat drooped over his eyes.  A small house sat alone at the edge of the hillside.  It was small and made of wide, uneven pieces of wood, covered in moss.  Smoke rose out of the stone chimney.  Someone was home.  But Breckin couldn’t move.  He was too afraid to go any further.  There were so many things that he didn’t understand, and he was just beginning to learn that about himself.
         He had no time to get away, though, for soon a short, stocky Troll came lumbering around to the front with an armload of firewood.  When he saw Breckin standing there, he growled, “Eh!  What’s this!  What do you want, boy?”
         Breckin was so startled that he backed up and tripped over a rock, falling over backward.  “I - I - I just - I  - I mean -”
         “Out with it, boy!”
         “I’m just cold and wet and I’m trying to get to Caithream.”
         “Caithream, huh?  Caught out in the rain, were you?  Well, come in.  Warm up and dry off.”
         Breckin stood up slowly as the Troll kicked open the door.  He glanced off to the right.  Should he go in, or leave?
         “Well, come on!  I don’t keep the door open long.”
         Breckin stepped quickly forward and into the dark, musty Troll’s house.  The door was kicked shut behind him, and the Troll dropped the logs he was carrying down by the fire pit.  “Sit yourself down,” the Troll grumbled.  Breckin obeyed, and watched as his reluctant host fumbled in a small closet.  He had a large, rounded nose, sparse bristly hair, and a grim face.  He was quite fat, but not much taller than Breckin himself.
         Soon the Troll turned and held out a leather shirt.  “Take off your wet things,” he said.  “Put this on.”
         “I shouldn’t,” he said.  “I shouldn’t stay.”
         “I won’t have you sitting there getting my chair soaked,” the Troll snarled.  “Put it on.”
         Breckin quickly peeled off his wet clothing and slipped into the soft leather garment.  It was warm and clean, but smelled a little smoky.  It was also very large on him, and hung down past his knees He draped his own soaked clothing across the stone front of the fire pit and returned to his seat at the Troll’s rickety table.  He did not want to appear suspicious, so he removed his dripping hat and tugged his hair down over his ears, hoping that it would somehow help cover them up.  Trolls lived alone, he knew, and not among others.  It was likely that this hermit had no allegiance to any other race, and would pose no real threat to Breckin, even if he knew he was half Elf.
         Still, he felt very uncomfortable sitting there, knowing that he should have gone on.  But the Troll had been so blunt and had sounded so gruff that Breckin found himself obeying before he even knew what he was doing.  Before long, he was served a steaming hot drink in a thick wooden mug, and the Troll sat across from him with one of his own. 
         “Well then,” he said, “what’s your name, boy, and what business do you have in Caithream?”
         “I’m . . . Breckin,” he stammered softly, “and I was told to go to Caithream, so that’s where I’m going.”
         “Who told you to go to Caithream?”
         “My Mammin.”  He cupped his hands around the warm wooden mug.
         “What name does she go by?”
         “Mammin.”  The Troll had a strange way of making conversation.
         “That isn’t her name.  That’s just what you call her.  What is her name?”
         “I . . . won’t tell you.”
         The Troll grunted.  “Hmm.  You’re a smart one.  Don’t know who you can trust these days.”
         Breckin wanted to ask if he could trust him, but he wasn’t certain that he would like the answer.
         The Troll glared at him through squinted eyes.  “You have the ears of an Elf, boy.”
         “I know.  I’m . . . Half Elf.”
         The troll continued to stare at him.  If there was one wish that Breckin could have come true, it was that people wouldn’t stare at him.  He didn’t want to be different.  Sometimes he wished that his father hadn’t been an Elf, but that also hurt him to think it, because he’d truly loved his father. 
         Breckin gazed into the fire so that he could avoid the Troll’s piercing stare.  The flames danced and crackled with such warmth that he realized how exhausted he was.  He must have looked as tired as he felt, because the Troll rose from his chair and said, “Come on, then.  You need sleep.”  He ambled down a short, wide hallway and lit a lantern that hung from the domed ceiling.  Breckin followed him.  “Sleep here,” he told him, pointing a stubby finger at a bed near the window.
         “Isn’t this your bed?”  Breckin asked.
         “It’s yours tonight.  Go to sleep.”  The Troll dimmed the lantern and left the room.  Breckin wasn’t too keen on the idea of sleeping in a Troll’s bed, but he had no choice.  And he was just tired enough to do it.
         He was awakened the next morning by the clanking of metal dishes, and for a moment forgot where he was.  He sat up in the bed and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.  His own clothes, now dry, were folded and waiting for him on a chair in the corner.  He put them on, although they were not nearly as clean and soft as they’d been when he had first done so only a few days ago.  Two long days, which felt more like ten.
         He came into the front room to find the Troll cooking up something that did not smell very appetizing.
         He heard him come in.  “Eh?  So you’re up, are you?  Have a seat.  We’ll eat soon.”
         Breckin obeyed.  “Thank you for letting me use your bed.”
         “Eh?  Nothing,” mumbled the Troll, and promptly thunked down a plate of something that resembled chopped fried fish, but Breckin couldn’t be sure.  “Eat up.  Caithream is nearly another full day’s walk from here.  You need strength.”
         Reluctantly, he sampled his breakfast.  It didn’t taste quite as bad as it looked, and Breckin was so hungry that he finished off the whole plate in no time.  The Troll cleared away the dishes and motioned for Breckin to follow him outside.  They stepped around to one side of the little house, and the troll pointed to the nearest hillside.  “Caithream’s on the other side of that,” he said.  He took Breckin’s hat from his hands and clapped it down on his head.  “Keep that on,” he told him.  “It won’t do to have every stranger you meet knowing you’ve got Elf in you.”
         Breckin nodded.  “I will.”
         “I’d leave you with more than just advice, but I haven’t got more.”
         He nodded again.  “Thank you for helping me.”
         The Troll grunted and stomped away.
         Breckin was very tired as he started out again, but he knew that the city of Caithream could not be very far away.  He had come all the way through the woods, and was now climbing the grassy slopes out in the open.  He felt more vulnerable now - where could he hide if he needed to? 
         Just keep going, he told himself.  As he tried to pick out the easiest path up the hillside, he began to feel very hot.  He stopped to rest for a moment, but found that he was suddenly cold.  He kept on, despite the fact that his head was beginning to throb and his body temperature went from hot to cold to hot again.  Having fallen into the icy river, and later being caught out in the rain, he realized, had not been good for his health.  It was just now starting to catch up to him.
         I can’t stop to rest.  I just have to get to Caithream today!  I’m so close, I know I am!  He stumbled a few times, but urged himself forward.  As he reached the crest of the hill, he suddenly beheld the sprawling city in the valley below.  Breckin took in a deep breath.  Could it be true?  Had he actually reached his destination?  He felt a surge of energy, and started down the southern slope toward the walled city.  He met up with the wide road that meandered its way along the base of the hill and led right in through the open gates. 
         Breckin was beginning to feel very hot and weak.  He tugged at his clothing, but did not feel strong enough to remove any outer layers.  His mouth and throat felt dry as he scuffed his way along the wide, rocky path into the city.  He kept his thoughts on one thing only:  find his uncle Keir.  Then everything would be all right, and he could rest. 
         There were other weary travelers heading into the city, but no one took any notice of him.  He was just a boy, and they had other matters to worry about.  He entered the city gates unnoticed, and stumbled on the uneven ground.  He caught himself by leaning against the smooth stone wall of the nearest building.  Breckin felt his legs weaken, and his vision became blurred.  He tried to focus on something, but his head was throbbing.  A man noticed him, and asked, “Are you all right, young one?”
         Breckin tried to answer him, bet he felt confused and disoriented, and nauseous.  He put his hand over his burning eyes.  “Uncle Keir,” he managed to mumble.  “Find my uncle Keir.” 
         “Do you need to sit down?”  The man asked.  “Let’s get you some water.”
         Breckin took a step forward, but he suddenly became very dizzy.  He felt the man’s hand close around his arm to steady him, and then everything went black.
         When he opened his eyes again, everything was a light-colored blur.  “What happened?”  He muttered.
         “Hush,” a man’s voice said.  “Don’t speak now.  Just rest.”
         As Breckin regained his senses, he realized that he was lying in a bed with a cold cloth on his forehead.  He blinked and saw two figures looming over him - a man and a woman.  It was not the man that he had seen on the street.  He studied this man’s face and at once knew that he was his uncle, he so strongly resembled Breckin’s mother.
         “Uncle Keir?”  He whispered.
         The man reached out and touched Breckin’s burning cheek.  “Yes, I am.  I would not have recognized you, Breckin.  You’ve grown so much since I saw you last.”
         Breckin closed his dry eyes and felt a wave of relief come over him.  “I had to find you.  I had to come here.  I was so afraid, but I had to find you.  Mammin told me -” his voice trailed off. 
         “Hush, Breckin, it’s all right.  Don’t try to explain.  Just rest.  There will be time for explanation later.”
         Breckin tried to stay awake, but he quickly fell into a deep sleep.
         When he awoke again, he was alone.  He felt much better, much stronger.  He reached up and felt his face.  It was quite cool, but he still felt extremely thirsty.  He looked around the small, well-lit room.  It was very sparsely furnished.  A short hall led into another room, but Breckin could not see much beyond the open doorway.  He sat up in the bed, and after a moment, the woman whose face he barely remembered from earlier stepped into the room. 
         “Oh, Keir, he’s awake,” she called into the hallway.  She came over and sat on the edge of the bed.  “How do you feel?”  She asked Breckin. “Better,” he replied.  “Thirsty.”
         “I’ll get you some water,” she said, standing.  Keir entered the room as she was leaving it.  “I’ll get him something to drink,” she said.
         Breckin’s uncle came up to him and put his large hand on his forehead.  “Are you feeling any better?”  He asked.
         “Much better.”
         “You don’t feel hot.”  He sat down and looked into his nephew’s eyes.  “What has happened?  What has brought you here, alone?” 
         Breckin tried to swallow.  “Mammin told me to come here and find you.  She didn’t say why, but there were some Giogans in Nadurra and I think she was afraid that they were looking for me.” He paused.  “How did I get in here?  I don’t remember coming in here.”
         “A friend of mine brought you to my door.  He said that he saw you in the streets, and you looked ill.  He said that you fainted right into his arms.  He said you spoke my name, that you were trying to find me.”
         Now Breckin remembered that he had managed to speak his uncle’s name.  How fortunate that the one person he’d seen had known him!
         “Who is she?”  Breckin asked, gazing at the doorway through which the woman had gone out.
         “My wife, Nayela,” He replied.  “We have a son, a few years younger than you are.  His name is Tavish.  When you feel well enough, you can come into the main room and you’ll meet him.”
         Nayela returned with a glass of water and helped to steady Breckin’s hand so he could drink it.  “Slowly now, not too fast.”
         “Thank you,” he said, after he had taken several short drinks.  “Is my mother here?”
         “No, Breckin.  She’s not here.”
         “She has sent us no word saying anything about her or you coming to us,” his uncle told him.
         “I’m worried about her,” said Breckin.  “She said there were things that she wanted to tell me, about my Pappin and about myself.  What did she mean?”
         Keir looked at his wife and sighed deeply.  “There were things that she never even told me,” he admitted.  “All I know is that after your father was killed, she did her best to hide the fact that you are half Elf.  She wanted to protect you from harm, and I’m sure she still does, or she wouldn’t have told you to come here.”
         “Will I be safe here?”
         “Safer, yes.  This is a large city, and many races come here from all over to trade and do business.  But I still think it would be best if you remained as unnoticed as possible.”
         Great.  After he’d passed out just inside the city gates.  How many people had seen him?  Keir saw that Breckin was concerned, and he patted his arm.  “Don’t worry.  You’ll be all right.”
         Nayela again left the room and returned with some clothing.  “Here,” she said.  “These were given to Tavish, but they’re still a bit too big.  I’m sure they’ll fit you nicely.”

  To be continued....