The food came, but the Thegn did not. Padric had hoped to see a familiar face, maybe Jileen, but the girl who came with the bread and broth was not from the village. Perhaps the daughter or young wife of one of the warriors. She smiled shyly and left quietly. Padric was ravenous and ate with vigor, but his stomach was quickly filled by the broth, so he left the bread untouched. He dressed, finding the boots and breeches to be his own, but the shirt and long, sleeveless jerkin were new. They had the cut and durability of soldier’s garments and Padric felt awkward in them.

He was uncertain if he was to wait for the Thegn’s return or if someone would send for him, but after a few minutes Padric abandoned any thought of patience or decorum and went out the door. A narrow and short hallway led to a large vaulted hall, empty but for a few dogs drowsing amongst the floor rushes. Long benches stood around a circular stone fire-pit, lit and smoking up towards a hole in the thatching.

Padric crossed the length of the hall and pushed open the heavy double doors at the far end. Outside he found a windy morning, devoid of rain and sun. The hall was built atop stout beams, overlooking the interior yards and affording Padric an expansive view of the fort. It was easily twice the size of Stone Fort, but still constructed entirely of wood and Padric noticed no sign of work being done to reinforce with masonry. The smaller buildings were built against the interior of the defensive wall, their turf roofs nestled comfortably under the walkways. Men with spears, cloaked against the wind, walked steady patrols and there were archers in the half dozen sturdy watchtowers. Women, children and livestock could be seen going to and fro across the yards. A generous stable and its surrounding paddocks dominated the western side, and Padric could see the most activity lay there. He descended the stairs of the hall, his legs still quivering slightly and headed for the stables.

Kederic Winetongue was indeed within, looking intently into one of the stalls. Several other men were gathered around, talking casually of foaling with the same voice Padric had heard his father use so many times. They had never owned horses, but the forced confidence in the voices of the Thegn’s grooms was identical to the farmers of Padric’s childhood during lambing.

Padric approached and saw a mare, swollen and still, her time clearly near. The Thegn did not look his way when he spoke.

“Do you know of horses, Padric?”

“No,” he replied, less than surprised at the knowledge of his name. He wondered what else the refugees had told this man. “Swine and sheep. And crops. These I know. Horses are for a man who means to travel far.”