Anton’s home was larger than the single-room dwellings generally found in Dragonkeep. This was not because he was wealthier than the rest of the people. There were no such distinctions in the city of the dragon. Dwelling places were doled out by the Blessed based on certain considerations—number of inhabitants in the home, the type of work done by the inhabitants, etc. Rosa had her loom at home and Anton’s smithy shop was attached to the dwelling, so the dwelling had to be large enough to accommodate tools and equipment for both of them.

Anton opened the door, which was never locked, with his shoulder and backed inside the house, taking care not to hit the girl’s head on the door frame. Rosa was slumped over the dinner table, having her cry.

“Give me a hand here, Wife,” he said, closing the door with his foot as he indicated the child in his arms. “She’s hurt bad, I think, but she’s alive.”

Rosa lifted her tear-stained face. She was in her mid-fifties, with the deft, callused hands of one who has been sitting at the loom most of her life. Slender and small-boned, she barely came to her husband’s chest. Anton was not very tall, but he was big-shouldered and massive, with powerful arms and legs. Rosa had a way of tilting her head to one side whenever she was considering anything, and Anton had a lumbering good nature about him, so that their friends nicknamed them affectionately Bird and Bear. Her amazed stare gave way to motherly compassion.

“Lay her on our Magda’s bed,” Rosa told her husband. “Then go fetch more water.”

She had questions, Anton could see that, but she would not ask them until the child was warm and made comfortable. When he returned from the well, he found the girl tucked in bed, her face washed clean of blood and dirt, and a wet cloth on her forehead.

“How is she?” he asked anxiously, pouring the water into the kettle and then stirring up the fire beneath it.

“She’ll do for the time being,” Rosa answered cautiously. “Once I cleaned the wound, I found that it wasn’t as bad as I’d feared. She’s lost a lot of blood, though.”

“Will she come around?”

“One never knows with a head wound, but I think she should be fine. Her sleep seems to be a healing one, not the bad sort from which you never wake.”

Anton went to look at the girl. He regarded her thoughtfully, as Rosa waited for the water to heat so she could continue cleaning and dressing the wound. The girl had long black hair that straggled, unkempt and uncombed, over her shoulders. She lay quite still, did not groan or toss or twitch. She did, indeed, appear to be slumbering peacefully. Anton shook his head and his frown deepened.