“Nay.” He said it with a shake of his head so vehement that it likely damned him. “On my soul, I swear it. There is only what few things were theirs, and the hawks. I must bring the hawks. I cannot leave them. Go ahead if you will, only free me and I will meet you on the road before you have gone even half a mile.”

There was only suspicion in the man’s face. Gryff did not know what to do. He could not even contemplate leaving the birds behind, alone. He stared at this stranger who seemed to want him to choose between his own freedom and the hawks. But there was no choice. He could not leave them.

So they looked at each other, Alfred with suspicion and Gryff silently pleading, until suddenly the girl was there. She pulled a long and elegant knife from her boot, knelt down without a word, and cut the rope that Baudry had tied around his ankle not an hour ago. Her eyes swept over him when she stood, taking in the threadbare tunic he wore, the lack of cloak, the shoes that were hardly worthy of the name. She looked a long time at his face – silent, always silent. Was she a mute?

In her, there was no suspicion. It was something else. Compassion, he thought. It had been so long since he had seen it that he almost did not recognize it.

In the same moment he saw it, she turned her eyes to Alfred and some understanding passed between them. She had no words, it seemed, but she held sway among this party. Alfred nodded at her and walked to where the others were gathered around the injured knight. The girl went to the mule that had stood calm and imperturbable throughout the attack. She reached into a pack on its saddle and pulled out a round loaf of bread, stepped forward, and handed it to Gryff. With a snap of her fingers, the dog came to her side and she made some other quick gestures that ended in her pointing at Gryff. Then she walked away.

The dog seemed to understand whatever she meant, and sat looking up at Gryff. Little thing, velvety brown fur and ears standing up on its head, friendly face watching him curiously. The man named Alfred was lifting the dead knight onto the mule while the girl and the monk helped the injured knight onto a horse.

They were going ahead without him, leaving him with a loaf, a dog, and his life. He was free.

Gryff stared down at the bread in his hands. The smell of it was breaking his heart.

He was free.

1277