When at last he returned to the village, he decided to wander for a while to hear what folk had to say about the Doranen. He was yet to chime Merrin and tell the old man of the day’s doings, since Toblin’s elder was a man who wanted to know first what others were thinking before he said his own piece.

Besides… his nagging inner voice was on the nudge again, pushing him to mingle with more folk than Bannet and Del. Why that mattered, beyond being friendly, he couldn’t tell. But he’d long ago learned to be nudged, so he mingled.

The Olken who’d travelled so far to hear the pleas of Dorana’s mages had mostly met in Gribley as strangers… but were fast becoming friends. Some sleeping in makeshift tents, like the Doranen, others taking a bedroll on the floor of a Gribley villager’s modest cottage, they gathered at the alehouse and in the village square and outside the bakery to trade stories and spin endless wonderings about the strangers who’d asked to make Lur their new home.

It was no hardship, Jervale thought, chatting with folk. Only reason he’d kept so much to himself was on account of his dreams and knowings. He’d worried someone would notice his unease and ask awkward questions.

But now he had to, and wasn’t sorry for that. He found great pleasure in hobnobbing with folk from pockets of Lur he’d heard of, but never seen. The Olken lived scattered, separate lives. Funny how that struck him so hard now, after hearing the Doranen talk of Iringans and the Brantish and the warlike folk of Feen. Their lives were full of people, full of travel and differences and new sights and change. Not like the Olken, whose lives were tiny set next to theirs. If the Doranen stayed, they’d change that, most likely.

And it might not be a bad thing. Could be Lur’s folk might not be suffering the drought so hard if they were in the habit of reaching out instead of pulling in.

Well, that was what he thought. His fellow Olken weren’t so sure. What he learned in his mingling was that while sympathy for the Doranen remained, there was uncertainty too. Fear. Change came hard to the Olken, especially change that struck like lightning out of a clear sky.

He ate his supper early, sitting comfortable with Bannet and Del, then turned in to his tent and chimed Merrin. The old man listened, grunting now and then, and said he’d talk things over with the hamlet. Weary, Jervale rolled into his blanket and plunged swiftly into sleep…

… to wake startled at sunrise, visited by a dream that left him fuddled and more afraid than ever that he’d fail.

Chapter Thirty-seven

Chapter Thirty-seven