Now that they weren’t charging down the road in a manner threatening to life and limb, people paid attention to Cymry, they clearly knew what she was, and they looked at her, and by extension her rider, with respect.

Or at least they did until they saw his black eye.

But even then, they looked at him with respect only leavened with sympathy. And since they weren’t galloping at a headlong pace, but rather moving in and out of the traffic at a respectable, but easy trot, some people actually began to call greetings to him and her.

“New-Chosen, aye, lad?” said a farmer, perched so high on the seat of his wagon that he was eye-to-eye with Skif. And without waiting for an answer, added, “Here, catch!” and tossed him a ripe pear.

Startled, he caught it neatly, and the second one that the same man tossed to him, before Cymry found another opening in the traffic and moved smoothly ahead.

:If you’d cut that up into quarters, I’d like some.:

He was only too pleased to oblige, since he had the feeling that was what the farmer intended anyway. The little eating knife he always kept in his belt was accessible enough, and since he didn’t have to use the reins, he didn’t have to try and cut the pears up one-handed. She reached around and took each quarter daintily from his hand as he leaned over her neck to hand it to her.

Everywhere he looked, he met smiles and nods. It was a remarkable sensation, not only to be noticed, but to elicit that reaction in total strangers.

He did feel rather—naked, though. He wasn’t at all comfortable with all of this noticing.

:Don’t worry. You’ll blend in once you’re in your Grays. You’ll be just another Trainee.:

He was getting used to her talking in his head—Mindspeech, she called it—and he was starting to get vague pictures and other associations along with the words. When she talked about being “in his Grays,” he knew at once that what she meant was the uniform of the Heraldic Trainees, modeled after the Heralds’ own uniforms, but gray in color.

:That’s so people don’t expect you to know what you’re doing yet,: she told him, looking back over her shoulder at him with one eye. :And by the way, you don’t have to actually talk to me for me to hear and understand you.:

So she knew what he was thinking. That wasn’t exactly a comforting thought. A man liked to have a little privacy—

:And when you’re a man, I’ll give it to you.:

“Hey!” he said, staring at her ears indignantly, and garnering the curious glances of a couple driving a donkey cart next to him.