Fading shafts of moonlight drifted down through the barn's rafters, casting prickly straw-shaped shadows on the wooden floors below. Something large shifted in the stalls along the wall, a sleepy whicker soon identifying her as one of the horses stabled there for the night. The other horses' ears pricked at the sound, and knowing they would soon be fed they roused from their knee-locked slumber and moved to the front of their stalls to begin pawing at the ground with practiced impatience.

Rièle stirred sleepily. She listened with drowsy disinterest to the rustlings of her equine charges below, and rolled into a more comfortable position within her nest of straw and spare blankets atop the hayloft. She managed to return to a deep and peaceful sleep for nearly 15 minutes until the iron-shod hoof of an overweight yet clearly starving thoroughbred collided loudly with the side of the barn, just below her head.

Smiling, she rolled onto her back and stretched, and mused to herself that 'Lightning's' diet was certainly making him cranky in the mornings. She didn't bother correcting his attempt to demolish the barn wall, though if he repeated the behavior while she was feeding he wouldn't get off so easy.

She reached under her blankets and pulled on her boots, along with a warm jacket. It was chilly this early in the morning, if it hadn't been completely dark she would've been able to see her breath, and she knew there would be fog until mid-morning. After a few moments of additional fumbling she located a flint and a lantern, and soon had a light burning.

There were twenty horses currently stabled in the barn, each was fed two flakes in the mornings and evenings except for the fat one and the pony, who got only one. Rièle walked to the other side of the hayloft and, with increasingly excited whinnies sounding below her, lifted two large bales of alfalfa and tossed them onto the ground between the stalls below. Moments later she clambered down the hayloft ladder, sliced open the twine holding the bales together, and began tossing breakfast to the waiting steeds.

Once she was finished she put on her leather gloves and grabbed a pitchfork and a wheel barrow. There were twenty stalls and two pens to muck before breakfast.

Eight stalls, two loads, and half an hour later, a man walked into the barn. Rièle recognized him from the previous evening, he had booked a room at the Kaima Inn. The small stable where Rièle was working was much closer and cheaper than Turokko's, albeit much smaller, and many of the Inn's patrons chose to stable their horses there overnight. She considered that he was probably planning to get an early start, and would be wanting his horse saddled. While that wasn't technically part of her job, the barn's stableboy was still asleep in the main house and she was the only one there to help.

With a smile Rièle stepped out into the aisle, taking the opportunity to shed her warm coat as she'd been working up a sweat cleaning stalls. The man regarded her irritably. "Saddle my horse, girl, and be quick about it."

Rièle nodded cheerfully and quickly located the man's tack and a grooming brush. She efficiently groomed the horse's back where the saddle would sit, and cleaned the rocks out of her feet. Within moments the mare was saddled and ready. The horse's owner silently took the reins and mounted, then spurred his horse into a trot and headed down the road. Rièle went back to her cleaning.

She took breakfast inside the main house, cooked by a woman known to everyone as Ms. Ezra. Rièle was extremely fond of Ms. Ezra, for not only was the woman an excellent cook she was bright and cheerful, and always welcomed Rièle when she came to stay. Ms. Ezra lived alone, except for her hired hands, and made her living by renting stalls and training horses for anyone willing to pay. Rièle particularly enjoyed helping out with the latter.

"Are you taking Jack out today?" Ms. Ezra asked, as she spooned Rièle a helping of oatmeal.
"Mmm," Rièle managed a mumble of assent despite a mouthful of food.
"Well, be careful. And try not to run all the way to Lómëdor."
Rièle smiled.

'Jack' was a troublesome four-year-old thoroughbred with a flare for belligerence and more stamina than a fire dragon. He was owned by a local noble, who had left him with Ms. Ezra hoping that she could calm him down and teach him some manners. As was often the case, lessons were proceeding slowly, but the more he was handled the more he improved.

Rièle packed a small bag of food and water, and left Ms. Ezra's stable hand cleaning tack in a corner of the barn. It was still early, and the fog was thick enough that she couldn't see the pens at the far side of the yard until she was close to them. Jack was grazing alone by the fence, apparently oblivious to her arrival. Rièle ducked between the rails and approached him slowly, calling his name. He raised his head and, with a mischievous glint in his eye, took off at a canter for the far side of the paddock.

Sighing, Rièle followed at a walk.

Twenty minutes and a great deal of patience later, Rièle tied Jack to the paddock fence and began grooming his coat. His hair was thick and black, and at this time of the year all of the horses were shedding their winter coats. She pulled a clump of hair off of the brush, and sneezed as she inhaled a cloud of dust and horse hair. Jack danced impatiently on the end of the lead rope, but seemed to be enjoying the contact if not the confinement. Rièle took her time cleaning him, and took care to insist that he behave himself well enough that she could do her job properly.

She mounted in the confines of the paddock, on the chance that Jack was feeling excessively rambunctious she reasoned that it would be better to fall and break her neck where someone was likely to find her later. At first the gelding tensed and danced, but Rièle let herself relax and soon he calmed enough for her to control. She eased him into a brisk trot to warm him up, and sang to him as they jogged in circles to keep him calm and happy.

When he was satisfactorily warmed up, Rièle moved him over to the gate and let him out. She kept him at the trot for as long as possible, but as soon as Jack realized he was free of the paddock he picked up a canter. This quickly turned into an all out gallop, and Rièle gave him the reins and leaned over his neck, using her legs to direct him down the empty road leading out of town.

The brisk morning air quickly turned into a cold, sharp wind, and Jack's mane whipped back into her face, stinging her cheeks. Tiny droplets in the morning fog pelted her face, and her hands became red and numb from the cold. Rièle hardly noticed. She was concentrating, using her legs to keep Jack on the road and to keep her own body balanced in the saddle, but mostly she was enjoying a sensation of sheer glee. This horse had speed. He was built to run, and Rièle let him go so he could do what he was bred to do. Until he got it out of his system, Jack had a hard time listening to any other lesson she tried to give him. And Rièle... understood that.

Several miles down the road, the fog began clearing. An intermittent warmth pierced the clouds and soaked into Rièle's chilled body, for which she was extremely grateful. Her mind was lost in thoughts of speed and sunlight when shapes suddenly appeared before her on the road.

Oh, cripes.

An empty wagon was parked sideways across the road not 50 feet away, completely blocking their path. The wagon was surrounded by people and horses, details about which Rièle was too distracted to notice. She and Jack were barreling down the road too fast to stop in time, and their only options were to careen into the wagon or trample and potentially kill the people standing on the sides of the road. Aside from a mostly unsuccessful request to slow down, Rièle hesitated in her instruction to Jack, unsure what to do. Fortunately, he had it all figured out.

Rièle found herself instinctively standing in the saddle as Jack sprung like a coiled spring, using his momentum to propel himself over the wagon. She crouched low over his neck as they flew through the air, time frozen for a moment as they crested the top. The corner of her eye registered people shuffling and fleeing from the space below her, and somehow she and Jack landed on unoccupied ground on the other side. He continued his gallop down the road, kicking his heels in excited celebration of his successful leap.

Possibly because Jack was as shocked as she was at their survival, and possibly because he was tired, he chose to listen when Rièle sat in the saddle and asked him to stop. He was breathing heavily, but felt as though he would take off again at the lightest touch of Rièle's leg. She took a brief moment to reflect on what had just happened, her heart pounding so loudly that she could hear it in her ears.

.......Whee.

Stopping her thoughts with a twinge of guilt, Rièle turned Jack around and faced the people standing on the road behind her. Was everyone all right? she thought to herself. She had no idea what to say.

Curin surveyed the expanse of the plains from a slight hill, like an island in the sea of fog, stretching his arms above his head, with a noise of deep relish from deep inside his barrel chest. A glint in the east was his harrier, dew-dampened wings glistening in the earliest light of dawn, to whom he waved, holding up his hand, and the harrier cried out in its keen voice, a thing beyond even him to tame. The air was still, but fragrant, with the primrose crushed underfoot, and the trampled earth. Curin lived for moment such as this. He knelt and dipped the ear of his bread into the the sauce of his pot, cutting off a nob of butter to stretch the sauce further; fresh-caught quails pot-roasted with wild thyme and a few misshapen wild potatoes.
A small distance away the Lord of horses grazed intently, his great muzzle cropping the green shoots close to the ground. Neiroch, every bit as tall as Curin himself at the withers, with a plough-horses build, but a dainty step that made him good in mountainous terrain. Curin let him have his head, content to be ignored, as he clucked and breathed at his long companion.We ride hard today friend. He teased. Neiroch only fluttered his ears, and shifted away, at which Curin only laughed again.

A pale line of silver in the west, between Curin and his intended destination lay the single substantial stand of trees in all of Salquedor, which he had tended with his Will for a generation now, so that it stretched a full two days ride long, but only an hours ride deep, Curin smiled, as lustily as a wolf at his companion, and broke down his camp. With a wave of his hand, the fire-scorched grass was renewed, and but for the quail-bones, no one could ever guess that Curin had ever been there.

In the wood Curin dismounted and led Neiroch. Above the airy canopy of the trees, the sun was getting up, and everything was growing more fragrant and noisy. So it was Curin emmerged from the woods, at before him he saw a thing that made his heart leap. An overturned cart, and a gelding at full-gallop hammering toward disaster for one, or both parties but an instant away.

Curin delved his will toward the gelding.Cabo!^* He willed the strength into the horse, whose ears tipped forward, and whose entire body was pitched into the phenominal effort. Barely grazing his fetlocks across the top of the cart the gelding shed his sped, and wheeled about. But Curins attention was now on the rider.By the seven winds she can ride! Curin mused to himself. He ran to the aid of the distressed carters, finding they were largely in need of a confident voice to tell them everything was fine, and to laugh, and scare away their fright with a bit of good spirit.

In the mean time Curin did not turn his attention over-much toward the young woman who had so captured his attention, after all he deemed she was appalled with what had happened, and at pains to help and aid in any manner possible. He did not want to trouble her with his curiosity while she was flushed. Rather he waited until the carters were put to rights, and the young woman turned back towards the village by way of the road. Thusly Curin eased beside her, his voice as rich as condensed milk sweetened with autumn honey, his eyes as bright a daylight on polished silver. And yet talking as much with his hands, as weathered and gnarled as the roots of an ancient willow, since Neiroch would not abode even so much as a bridle. Curin related what he had witnessed, and found himself telling her her own story with as much enthusiasm as if it was his tale."I must say, my dear girl, never in all my days! That was a sight, make no mistake. I must know your name, if you please."


^* Sindarin. vb. Leap!

Rièle was quickly overcome by friendly wagoners, full of apologies for blocking the road and wondering whether she was all right. She assured them that she was, and apologized profusely for nearly running them down. On reflection it had been foolish of her to gallop at such a speed down the road, and she felt that she was completely at fault and that she should have exercised better judgement. Jack, oddly enough, was behaving like a calm, normal horse, and Rièle decided to take advantage of the moment to tie him to a nearby tree while she helped the wagoners. Another stranger came to help as well, he graciously reassured the wagoners with an easy confidence that her scant apologies couldn't hope to manage. Her only source of relief from her guilt was that the wagoners were willing to let her help. Together they were soon able to right the wagon and load the scattered goods back into its bed. Rièle directed them to their destination in town, and after apologizing at least six more times went to retrieve Jack so she could be on her way back to town.

Jack was grazing where she'd left him, a fact for which Rièle was eternally grateful. She patted him appreciatively on the neck before gathering the reins and remounting. He was still breathing hard, and with such cool weather would need a long walk to cool off.

Rièle directed Jack back toward Estolad and waved good-bye to the wagoners. As she settled Jack in to a steady walk she was joined by the stranger who'd helped the wagoners earlier as he rode up next to her on his horse. The stranger was an older man, probably at least 60, and he began talking almost excitedly about her near-collision and amazing leap over the wagon.

At first Rièle felt embarrassed, and was too shy and withdrawn to do much besides listen. But the man's conversation was neither judging nor accusing, and he relayed the event from his own perspective in a way that made Rièle wonder how she could possibly have considered herself at fault for such a happenstance. She found herself smiling slightly at the man's sweet enthusiasm, and the tension quickly faded from her face.

As the man spoke she found herself recognizing in him a familiar demeanor. Both his manners and his dress suggested he was a man of the outdoors who belonged under the sky and amongst the trees... much like the father and brothers she knew back home. She studied the details of his clothes, and admired the light and sturdy gait of his horse. The animal walked without a bridle, Rièle had seen such a beast before but only rarely. They make a good pair, she thought to herself. Jack, on the other hand...

....was behaving perfectly. In all aspects contrary to his personality, even when exhausted, he wasn't the slightest bit anxious. Rièle experimentally let him have all of the reins, and he gratefully stretched his neck forward and blew his nose. He wasn't spooking at any rocks, trees, or bushes, and his ears were tipped slightly back in a relaxed position. Even more amazing, he was walking contentedly alongside the stranger's horse. Jack had a separate paddock away from the other horses for because he always had to be in charge, and notoriously left telltale bite marks and often damaging hoof scars on the other horses that their owners didn't tend to appreciate. Yet he was easily taking a submissive posture next to the taller draft horse. It was as if some wave of calm had swept over him, allowing him to realize that he didn't need to fear everything so much.

As a spontaneous curiosity, Rièle closed her eyes for a moment. She heard the wind rustled the dew-covered grasses, and the horses' hooves clattered softly on the dirt road. As she listened to the stranger's words she turned her mind's ear inward to her own feelings. It struck her how relaxed she was. It was as though the same thing that had affected Jack was helping her, too. But she couldn't put a name to it... it was strange, as though she could almost hear the thoughts of the living things around her. She had never felt this attuned to other creatures before.

Slowly she opened her eyes, and decided to test this sensation. She gathered Jack's reins and gently pressed her legs to his sides. He didn't tense or panic, instead he moved forward into the bit and lowered his head in soft response to the pressure, just as she'd asked. She'd never been able to get him to walk like this for her before. Pleased beyond words, she smiled.

"I must say, my dear girl," came the voice of the stranger riding beside her, "never in all my days! That was a sight, make no mistake. I must know your name, if you please."

Rièle smiled, flattered by the man's compliment and excited re-telling of her ride. "Rièle," she said, "Of Anan Isl, to the east. My father is a farrier, and my brothers are rangers of the wood. I grew up handling and caring for horses at my father's forge, and running in the woods with my brothers...." Rièle found herself surprised by how easily she spoke to him, but was pleased at this discovery. As easily as if she'd known him for years she began speaking of the town she grew up in, the woods she and her brothers had hunted in as children, and how animals had always seemed to get along with her. When she was sixteen she'd decided to travel, and since then she'd been taking jobs as stable hands or trainers.

They rounded a familiar bend near the town, and Rièle stopped her narrative. "Sorry, I never asked your name. Are you staying long in Estolad?" She asked her question almost hopefully, as she found she enjoyed the man's company.

(OOC: The "sensation" was meant to refer to Curin's presence. Not sure that got through in my description, I'm a little sleepy-headed this evening.)

The God of Nature delighted and revelled in the company of the gelding, as Neiroch sidled in beside him, even as the greater part of Curins' mind was devoted to the attention of the rider, a part of Curin was intent upon the exchange of the horses. Neiroch, it proved, had also bent his Will toward the gelding. Curin felt a vast glowing warmth at this notion.
And why not? Curin mused.Sheep get like shepherds, and shepherds get like sheep!
I guess my horse is probably turning into a deity himself!
The two horses breathed at one another, and Curin caught the traces of that phenomenal exchange. The breath of horses was their speech; and into it they poured their thoughts and memories. Through their sense of smell they could share what was similar to visions, for the sense of smell, and the intricacies and nuance a horse could layer into their breath was every bit as detailed as seeing, they could paint pictures which Curin perceived now.
Neiroch, in introduction, blew the open wold into the geldings mind, and a cress choked stream bright with their bitter golden flowers. This was Neirochs' own perception of himself.
The gelding blew all his fears and apprehensions at Neiroch; phantasms as painful as a spark landing on ones eye in the pitch dark, the geldings muscles screamed to run, and to fight, and conquer. His blood was like fire, and everywhere men, men, men, and their fences, and straps of leather, under his belly, in his mouth; the gelding poured out his choking claustrophobia; and Neiroch breathed it all in, and blew it back, filling everything out with his vast calm and wide perception.
Long ago Neiroch had come to understand the union between men and horses: when he was able to use his strength and speed to aid a man, they were well pleased, and they rewarded him handsomely, and they defended him, and brought mares to him so that he could father a great line of horses. Men could not spice the air with their wants and needs, for the herd to catch the scent of; they only had their sharp voices, and their hands and feet. This was all they had to try and show what they were asking for. A touch to the side, was a request to shift that way. To lean forward, and to stand up on the stirrup, was to move faster. It would take practise, but when they were one, the body language was almost as good as sharing breath.
Curin smiled, and reached down to pat Neirochs vast velvety neck, listening in to his stallions translation of the Union of Men and Horses.

Turning his attention wider Curin continued to watch the rider, he perceived her increasing calm, which he deemed to be drifting up from the gelding to a large extent, but which was allowing her to wind down, and expand. Once she was truly calm, he saw that she closed her eyes, and let go. Let go of the gelding ultimately, but in that act, let go of it all! And now, as fully as horses exchange their vast perceptions, Curin poured his perspective into her receptive mind. He only had a moment to share his beautiful world with her, but he poured forth the subtle rhythm of the little hearts of the birds, so tiny and vital; the endless breath of a living tree, the sharp little mind of the ferret, rooting for snails, the selfless communal sense of purpose of the bees.
"Rièle. A fine name for a maiden such as yourself!" Curin beamed at her, his bright eyes glinting from beneath his bristling brows, white as clouds upon a face as careworn as that of a mountain. He delighted in their journey, learning of her home and childhood; for in all the world, Curins' greatest joy was to hear the lives of free-beings told in their own words. And he perceived the touch of sadnesses, when they were glossed over, and he sensed the quiet ambition in his young companion, like that of a glacier: for a glacier, though it cuts a mountain in two, and carves a new world, never realises that it is changing the world at all. A glacier never realises that as it makes its quiet way through its life, that it is one of natures mightiest agents.
At length, even as they watched the unveiling of the village from around the last hedgerow, his companion seemed to pop out of the glowing contentment from which her tale had come spilling."Sorry, I never asked your name. Are you staying long in Estolad?" Said she.
Curins smile began as deep within him as his stomach, getting warmer and more filled with delight by the time it had reached his heart, and was positively glowing and fond by the time it reached his weathered face, to express his gratitude that young Rièle even cared to ask.
"I daresay I will. Neiroch here has only been leant to me; and I must meet, and come to terms with a new companion. There is a stable here, the little one, not Turokkos, though he is a fine chap, and has fine enough horses." Curin flushed now, looking back to Rièle, who he was certain had perceived his moment of shyness. "And there is a woman; to whom I owe a debt of gratitude, and whom holds a great part of my heart. Perhaps you know her? She goes by the name Ezra. In our youth I called her Esgalserin." For a time it seemed as if the old man had turned to stone, but slowly, at first a murmur, he began to sing, a deep dark song of an old man whose feelings run as deep as the roots of the mountains

I have seen dawn and sunset on moors and windy hills
Coming in solemn beauty like slow old tunes of Neiruthaun:
I have seen the lady Spring bringing the daffodils,
Bringing the springing grass and the soft warm early rain.

I have heard the song of the blossoms and the old chant of the sea,
And seen strange lands from under the arched white sails of ships;
But the loveliest thing of beauty life ever has shown to me,
Are her voice, and her hair, and eyes, and the dear red curve of her lips.

Curin looked down, at his gnarled old hands, as if counting the spent years with his fingers, his pinched brow the only tell tale of the grief and toil of his youth.

"Alas," The old man gathered himself with an effort. "The long years have gotten awfully quick as passing; and I have missed her now for long, long seasons indeed. It was she that named me, in turn: Cururýn, but you may call me Curin"


Esgalserin, Sind. Hidden-love.
Cururýn, Sind. Master-hound of the Hunt

Curin responded with a smile so deep and genuine that Rièle found herself feeling nostalgic. She suddenly remembered her home and her family, so far away, and how much she missed them. She recalled days spent in the heat of her father's forge, and the familiar smell of hot metal and burnt hooves. Her mother's voice would drift through the window as she sang in the garden outside. In the evenings her older brothers would return home with tales of their grand adventures in the woods, fighting imaginary beasts and dragons or tracking some elusive prey. Sometimes Rièle and her brothers would hike to the ocean, three days' walk over the mountains. They camped under trees at night and tried to guess the names of the plants and the birds singing as they walked during the day. Rièle had always loved the ocean; the sound of the waves on the sand and the smell of salt in the air. It seemed every time they went there were different creatures to see from the shore, whether it was a new species of bird or dolphins playing in the surf.

But Rièle's independence was important to her. She wanted to travel, and learn, and visit places she'd never been. She loved nothing more than the freedom to be who she was. And, most of the time, she was happy.

"I daresay I will." Curin replied. "Neiroch here has only been leant to me; and I must meet, and come to terms with a new companion. There is a stable here, the little one, not Turokkos, though he is a fine chap, and has fine enough horses."

Rièle's eyebrows raised at the description of the stable, but she quickly masked her reaction and she didn't think Curin had noticed. He seemed distracted, and she noticed that his face was flushed. "And there is a woman;" he continued, "to whom I owe a debt of gratitude, and whom holds a great part of my heart. Perhaps you know her? She goes by the name Ezra. In our youth I called her Esgalserin."

It took a great deal of concentration for Rièle to mask her delight. That Curin was an old friend of Ezra was as happy a coincidence as she could ever remember. Not only would she get to see more of Curin during his stay, but Ezra would doubtless be delighted to see him. However, Curin spoke of Ezra with a notable sadness. Rièle sensed longing and regret in his words, and surmised that he and Ezra must have been more than old friends. They were both wonderful people, from what she knew of them, and Rièle thought that they might have made a compatible couple. But she knew Ms. Ezra's sense of loyalty to her home and her work, and suspected that Curin's lifestyle might have kept them apart. She felt a little sad, in sympathy with Curin's feelings, but also understood the need to be oneself and the sacrifices a person sometimes had to make to do so.

And then Curin began his song. The tune was soft at first, but soon it relayed a depth of love and feeling that Rièle had never experienced. It was as though she'd found a hole within herself, one she hadn't noticed before, and Curin's words brought her nearly to tears over the absence of something she hadn't known was missing.

As he finished, Rièle waited several moments for these emotions to fade, and considered how to respond to Curin's question about Ms. Ezra. She decided to surprise him, and leave the fact that she was good friends with Ms. Ezra unsaid until their arrival. "I've met Ms. Ezra," she said. "I even saw her this morning, she's doing quite well. I can take you to her after I've cared for Jack, if you'd like."

They arrived at the barn and pens, and Rièle dismounted. Jack was satisfactorily cooled off, but his coat was covered in dirt and dried sweat. A sponge and bucket of water were lying out for her, and she quickly cleaned his coat and brushed his hair until it was clean. When she was done she turned the gelding loose in his paddock, where he immediately proceeded to the softest patch of dirt and rolled in it. Rièle winced as the dirt stuck to the water on his back and created a layer of thick brown mud. Grooming him later was going to be time-consuming.

"You can leave Neiroch here, if you like. He and Jack seem to get along really well." Rièle smiled at this, and was still mystified as to why Jack had suddenly decided to make a friend. She was proud of him for the accomplishment, however, and glad that he was making progress.

She and Curin walked past the barn and open grass pasture to the little house where Ms. Ezra lived. Rièle knew that Ezra would've been out for most of the morning working with the horses, but by now was back inside warming her aching joints and making everyone something to eat. She didn't bother knocking, and walked straight into the kitchen.

"We're back," Rièle announced as she brushed the dirt off of her boots on the entrance mat. Something that was cooking in the oven smelled delightful, and Rièle sniffed the air appreciatively.
"Who did you bring with you?" asked Ezra, on hearing a second set of footsteps. The woman was preoccupied chopping vegetables, and hadn't yet turned around.
"An old friend. Ezra, you remember Curin?"

Ezra's knife stopped in mid-slice, and for several moments she remained frozen, staring into nothingness. When she finally turned around her expression bore an indescribable glow of warmth. Rièle drew back as the two were reunited, and quickly made an excuse to go outside for a few minutes.

She walked slowly back toward the pens with a handful of carrots that she'd snatched from the table. Thoughts from earlier returned to the front of her mind. How did Curin make such a decision, to leave someone he loved for a life that he wanted? Rièle found herself ready to make the same decision with her own life, and suddenly she was feeling excruciatingly alone. What if she did made the same decision, and the loneliness consumed her? Or would she regret it more if she denied her own ambitions? Couldn't she have both, or was that even possible? She felt so confused, and worried.

A whicker alerted her that she'd reached the paddock, and its occupants had noticed the offering she'd snatched from the table. She divided the treats among the two horses, scratching each on the neck and behind the ears as they ate from her hand. Things were so much simpler between her and horses. Being with them was reassuring, and always made her feel as though her life was over-complicated. Happiness is found in the moment, she told herself. And it's been a good morning.

Rièle made her way back to the house, and re-entered the kitchen a few minutes later.

Before them the village of Estolad widened, held in a wide basin of the rivers ancient course. In the past Age the river, Finneldhuinath it was called in Curins youth, The Streams of Braided Silver, had tarried here to fill a wide lake-country, where willows grew too numerous even for Curin to count, and where swans, red as copper, nested amongst the little islets; long ago Estolad had been the stronghold of a forgotten folk. Only one thing remained, the fog. No hint remained of that wide country, but for the ageless memory of the God of Nature, and perhaps the breathing fog, and the lively wind from the west. Finrill the River was called now, whose waters all washed away to Alulanta, where it was too cold for the willows or the swans.
The Westering sun was already losing its warmth, where a dark front of cloud, like a ravens wing, covered the mighty plains, and the bright face of the sun. Curin, having strangely spent himself, shrugged down into the folds of his cloak, appearing even more than usual, an old man; and he knew the melancholy was reaching for a hold of him. He looked to the west, from whence came a gust of wind, flinty and clean, wilder than any beast, and freer. Curin let that mournful part of his spirit soar away with it, where it carried him over the meandering hills, and fretful grasses whipping into a silvery flurry by the winds flight. He was breathed in the horses and the folk, and the trees.
At length Rièle lifted her own thoughtful face. "I've met Ms. Ezra," she said. "I even saw her this morning, she's doing quite well..." Curin could not mask his pleasure, and was grateful for Rièles' reassurance."I can take you to her after I've cared for Jack, if you'd like." Curin only nodded, his gratitude explained perfectly well by the sad knitting of his brows.

Estolad was once a mighty stronghold; but the village had changed as much as had the land itself. The timbers and stones of the forgotten fortifications were now the building-blocks of a cluster of narrow house-holds three or four storeys tall; these were all largely taverns, and way-houses; and a few good Inns.
Passing through the Village proper, the houses changed into low sod-houses, with golden thatch, or roofs made from turves of living grass, green as the coastal seas; These half-buried long-houses betrayed the Northern heritage of the Ancient Families of Estolad: built with deep-seated windows shuttered both inside and out, and wide eaves stacked with fire-wood and peat to endure the long freeze of the Salquedor winter. Such a household as this is where Curin followed Rièle; the familiar stable, with its carved wooden façade, and hanging from the lintel of the stable door, a charm of hammered copper, of little horses that seemed to dance and run as the wind shifted them, and amidst them, a man bearing a staff. Curin reached up to this, and renewed his link with it.

The God of Nature settled in beside Rièle, and brushed Neiroch down as he deserved. Quite content to work in silence beside her, and, that done, turned the two out into a pen within sight of the house. They entered the house, and Curin felt the familiar thrill before he saw Esgalserin."Who did you bring with you?" Asked a voice that was familiar, and yet not.
Rièles' ruse was played out."An old friend. Ezra, you remember Curin?" Beamed she, smiling gorgeously at the two of them, and disappeared with a pocketful of carrots. Curins' worn face smiled at her, but could not possibly express the mix of gratitude, and sorrow: Curin would have laughed; but a fateful thing had come to pass.
Esglaserins' head hung, as if strangely heavy, or as if she wished to conceal herself in the action of hunching. When slowly she turned, Curin felt his heart breaking. Esglaserin looked at Curin sadly, and feined to curtsy then leant against the bench, knife still held in her leathery hand.
"Beloved, you've grown old. The god of Nature said brokenly; his voice filled with as much cracking pain as the pine-tree as it breaks before the onslaught of an avelanche; for long had she resided in the protection of his love, a thousand years or more, Curin could not recall precisely, and the passage of time could not age her.
Esgalserin shook her head, her eyes pleading Curin to understand."Now Curin, come and make yourself useful over here. I'm trying to cook your roast, and I'm not doing as good a job of it. Come here and show me how to do it again." She said.
Curin did as he was asked, taking her knife in a shaking hand, and tending to the sauce carefully. She was doing a beautiful job.
"But-"
"Come Curin, you are wise enough to understand my choice. You have been away for a two hundred years; I've had a family in the mean time, and watched Fate take them all one by one. Their mounds grow with flowers by the riverside. I'm not like you Curin, I can't endure it. I'm going to join them."
The God of Nature did not speak, the ache in his throat would not allow it. But he was grateful for Esglaserins hand in his shoulder, for it helped the tears to stop.
Now it was that young Rièle returned from seeing to the horses, and Curin gathered himself with an effort, and he and Ezra shared a last smile for the Old Days; for Curin did understand, and she was right, he could endure such sadnesses, even one such as this. For he was God of Nature, and such tears, at the end of things, were but the seeds of something new. "I'm glad you don't have young Rièle here stuck in the stable, wasting her talent on the mundane. I've never seen such natural talent." Curin threw himself into recounting the mighty leap of Jack and Rièle while the light faded outside, and the roasting smell from the oven grew ever more tantalising.

Rièle was enveloped by a welcome blanket of warmth as she entered the kitchen; during the short time she'd been outside the sun had begun to set, and it had grown quite cold. She rubbed her hands together to restore warmth to her fingers, and regarded Ezra and Curin with an apologetic expression for intruding on their reunion. The couple's eyes were wet from recent tears, and her heart went out to them. In an almost sisterly gesture she took Ms. Ezra's wrinkled hand in hers, and squeezed it tightly. The woman smiled at her and returned the gesture, and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.

Curin, Rièle was learning, always seemed to know how to put awkward situations aright. He gathered his emotions and spoke with cheery conviction, lightening the mood of the three companions. "I'm glad you don't have young Rièle here stuck in the stable, wasting her talent on the mundane. I've never seen such natural talent."

Rièle winced visibly as he began relating the tale of her ride on Jack that morning. He told it as he had before, with an excited and admiring tone, but Ms. Ezra read between the lines far too astutely to be fooled by his tactful wording. She caught on to Rièle's attempt to sidle to the far side of the room and froze the young girl in place with a motherly glare. "You ran down a wagon? Good gracious girl, you're lucky to be alive! And those poor people! I hope you learned a lesson today." The woman's words were scolding, but her eyes twinkled brightly. She was clearly fond of the girl, and proud to have been one of her teachers. "Now get to cleaning those dishes before I box your ears for the trouble you’ve caused! And keep an eye on the vegetables while I get us some bread to go with dinner. And don't burn yourself on the pan this time, for pity's sake..." Ezra trailed off as she left for the storage room.

Blushing with embarrassment, Rièle headed over to the kitchen counter and rolled up her sleeves. She took a moment to wash her hands, and then started cleaning dishes. While far from adept at cooking, she managed to move the vegetables around in their pan periodically enough that they didn't burn. As she worked she stole a glance at Curin, whose expression was one of sad introspection.

"Thanks for coming to see her," Rièle interrupted Curin's thoughts, hoping to cheer him up a little. "I could see it meant a lot to her. She was happy to see you." Rièle smiled encouragingly, and went back to her cleaning.

Ezra soon returned, and the three of them sat down to dinner.

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Rièle awoke the next morning with a stiff muscle in her back. Leaping wagons and sleeping on a hay pile apparently was a combination for soreness, even for someone who was used to riding every day. She stretched her stiff muscles and yawned broadly before rolling out of her warm blankets, and found that she felt much less well-rested than she had yesterday. Her dreams had been filled with confused thoughts and images, of Curin and Ms. Ezra, and a horse named Jack. She remembered feeling lost, and unable to achieve something important, but couldn’t recall what or why.

Her morning feeding and cleaning went as usual, and she went about her work alone except for the company of the horses. There were fewer boarders today, so it took her less time to clean the stalls in the barn. The mornings were steadily growing colder, and she was glad that Curin had been able to spend the night in Ms. Ezra's spare room. It was much too cold at night for someone his age to be sleeping outside.

Rièle had snuck some leftovers from the dinner table the previous evening, and nibbled at these when she became hungry. She imagined Curin and Ezra together inside the little house, enjoying breakfast and the warmth of the wood stove. Ms. Ezra didn't often get such company, and she wanted the woman to be able to enjoy herself as much as possible while Curin chose to stay. Though she hoped that later in the day she'd be able to spend some time with Curin as well.

As she finished the last of the stalls, Rièle was relieved when she finally worked up enough of a sweat to take off her coat. As she went to hang it up, a commotion out by the paddocks alerted her that something was going on. She walked outside, and found the local baron and his son, Jack's owners, leading Jack out of his paddock tacked with saddle and bridle. The baron's son, who was about 17 or 18, was wearing riding clothes and looked prepared to mount.

Rièle jogged over, a worried expression on her face. "Are you taking Jack home?" she asked, with a hint of distress to her voice. Jack might have been improving, but he wasn't ready to have an inexperienced rider on his back.
"My son wanted to ride his horse," replied the baron. "It was his birthday present, and as today is his birthday I saw no point to denying him. Ms. Ezra's had care of the horse for two weeks, he should be trained enough for a gallop around the pasture."
Rièle's eyes widened. "Sir," she said with all the deference and politeness she could muster, "I don't recommend that your son take the horse out yet. Please, he can still be very strong and needs more time and training before someone tries to ride him."
The baron regarded Rièle with a judgmental stare. He glared disdainfully at the mud and manure on her boots and skirt, and the straw in her hair. "Listen here girl, my son is a fine rider and we own this horse. Keep to your own business and show your elders some respect."

Rièle, still fearing for what might happen to the youth, opened her mouth again to plead with the baron, but before she could begin to speak the son mounted Jack. He swung his leg over the horse's back and allowed himself to land hard in the saddle. Jack threw his head up at the impact, and the youth clung hard to the reins in response to the tension of the animal. He spun Jack around and kicked him in the sides to send him forward, but with the pressure on the reins Jack was confused, and didn't know what to do. He threw his head up again, trying to escape the pull on the bit, and this only made the youth uneasy in his seat. His legs came forward and he tried to urge the horse forward with no sense of balance whatsoever. Quickly he became frustrated with the animal.

"Come on you stupid horse, go!" But Jack only responded to the confusing signals by backing up. The youth yanked purposefully hard on Jack's mouth in anger, causing the horse obvious pain. "No! Just go forward!" He took out a riding whip, and struck Jack repeatedly behind the saddle.

Panic engulfed Rièle. She was forced to admit that she had no authority to stop the baron's son from riding Jack, but she was distraught at what to do. "Stop pulling on his mouth!" she pleaded, but this only earned her a condescending glare from the baron and several inappropriate phrases from his son. She looked at Jack, who only wanted to do what his rider was asking but was too confused, and now frightened, to understand what that was. Rièle was engulfed by an overwhelming sense of futility.

It was then, staring into Jack's eyes as he danced about the stable yard with the baron's son on his back, that an unexpected image flashed through her mind. At first she was confused, for the image wasn't anything that she recognized as coming from her own mind. But then the image flashed again, and her breath caught as she realized what it was. She swallowed nervously, but a sense of determination grew within her. She continued staring at Jack, and concentrated harder than she could remember in her life. In her mind she recalled the character and beauty of the horse she knew as Jack, and suddenly she felt as if she'd released a wall that had been around her mind her entire life. Images now flashed intensely through her mind, of pain and confusion and a desire to flee mixed with fear for the consequences of defying the human. Rièle swayed slightly, feeling overwhelmed, but was determined to maintain her composure. She took a deep breath, and formed the image she wanted to send back.

The baron's son was gripping Jack with his knees, and using Jack's mouth to balance himself in the saddle. As if given perfect instruction for how to dislodge him, Jack leapt forward and stopped, then threw his head down and brought his hind legs up above his back. The baron's son lost his stirrups and his grip on the reins, and allowed himself to tip forward so that when Jack's heels came up he was sent flying across the stable yard.

Jack was instantly relieved when the youth was dislodged from his back, and even pricked his ears with forgiving curiosity as the baron helped his son up from the dirt. The boy was furious, and walked up to the horse and grabbed the reins. He yanked repeatedly on the bit, and began beating the horse in the face with his whip and shouting at him.

But Rièle wasn't finished. She was not going to let sweet Jack be abused by these people. She sent a second image toward Jack, and the horse used his great strength to pull the reins from the hands of the baron's son and canter towards her. As Jack passed Rièle she grabbed his mane and leapt upon his back. She gave him his head, and they galloped away.

Hours later Rièle pulled the tired horse to a halt. She dismounted and was so exhausted from riding across country at such speed that she nearly fell to the ground. She'd ridden almost to the next town, but they were still far enough into the wilderness that they wouldn't be spotted by passing travelers. Rièle scratched Jack's neck and spoke softly to him. She gently removed the bridle from his tender mouth, and pulled the saddle off his back as well.

"Ok, Jack," she said sadly. "You'll be better off out here on your own. Find a herd of friends to keep you company, if you can. And stay out of trouble. And stay far away from Estolad, or they'll catch you. You hear me?" Jack, however, was preoccupied with licking the salt from her sweaty hand.

With a tear running down her cheek, Rièle lifted the saddle and bridle and headed away toward the town. Jack proceeded to follow her, pushing his nose to her back and checking her pockets for snacks. "No!" she said adamantly, turning around. Jack stopped at the familiar word, but still regarded her fondly. "Don't you understand?" she said, knowing full well that he didn't. "I've stolen you! And I have to go back, because they might blame Ms. Ezra if they can't find me. But you can't come with me."

Jack, of course, showed no sign of understanding, and was clearly prepared to follow his friend wherever she was going. Rièle tried concentrating again, and formed an image in her mind of Jack running away, but found that she couldn't send it as she had before. It was if her mental walls were back in place, and the connection between her and Jack had completely gone. Maybe she'd imagined it? After all, Jack could have bucked the baron's son off on his own.

Frustrated and desperate, Rièle snatched up a thin, fallen branch of a tree. Using it as an extension of her arm she waved it at Jack, who circled around playfully at the sight of the whiplike object. As he turned away from her Rièle picked up a small rock, and threw it as hard as she could at him. It hit just above his tail, and Jack bucked and ran off in fright.

Quickly, before Jack could turn around and remember he was following her, Rièle made her way toward the town. She shivered as a cold wind started to blow, and wished that she’d still had her coat from that morning. In her thoughts she was terribly worried, and ardently hoped that nothing she'd done had hurt Ms. Ezra in any way. If it had she only prayed that she’d be able to rectify whatever wrong she'd done by going back and turning herself in to the baron.

Curin related his tale of The Leap of Rièle and Jack with as much gusto as he was capable; lacing the tale with sharp reminders of a certain youngster who had captured the Gods of Natues' heart long ago.
To her credit Ezra noted every last nuance, and her mood lightened enough that she genuinely enjoyed the tale, and allowed Rièle the grudging respect she deserved. The telling-off was not nearly as whole hearted as it might have been, and Ezras' humour glittered away in her lovely eyes just as brightly as firelight playing upon a river.
But the wind was somewhat gone out of Curins' sails, and it was only the force of Will that enabled him to smile and play with his companions. When they were not watching him, busy with their tasks, the sadness came flooding in at the God of Nature. And he found himself staring at the floor, running his hands through his beard.
He was caught at such a moment as this: a keen-eyed Rièle reading him like a book from where she stood scrubbing. "Thanks for coming to see her," She said consolingly; which made Curin smile instantly, if still sadly, his bottom lip curling up, making his beard bristle."I could see it meant a lot to her. She was happy to see you." Rièle smiled encouragingly, and went back to her cleaning; and the God of Nature felt a terrific flood of love and admiration for her; for above all things he admired the selflessness of free-beings who placed above their own gain the benefit of others. And perhaps because of his sentimentality, her nut-brown skin, glowing from the kiss of sunlight and the sweat of genuine labour, seemed the loveliest sculpture in the world; her light brown hair, mousy at the roots, and paler where daylight had bleached it, more precious than Mithril; the freckles across the bridge of her nose and across her shoulders as lovely as the blossoms of briar rose upon the wold.

Curin was more consoled than Rièle would ever realise.
Years later, whenever he was asked to relate the tale of that first fateful day, he would still struggle to sum the young Rièle up in mere words.
It was from that moment I wondered if my Word of Command had gone awry: and when I had intended the Word to empower Jack, rather it was in Rièle that the power was placed.
But, perhaps most remarkably, it did not wither, that little seed.
It seemed to take root!
Even by the end of that night its effect was felt in her voice.
"Leap", that is the word I'd used. But these words can be steered and shaped by the Speaker. The same word might be used to say Overcome; or Rise-Up!
You see the significance? In but a few hours she'd turned its power into Cheer-up!

After their meal Curin pushed Rièle aside, pressing the weight of his considerably wider hips so that she could not resist him, and he washed those few dishes she had meant to wash himself; she looked at him with a familiar thoughtful frown, at which he looked right back at her with frank stubbornness, so that she relented, and let him have his way.
He did not consider himself a guest, and he would bear his own weight. He smiled at her back, assuming that she staggered away toward a bed. Ezra came and stood in silence beside him, drying that which he washed; then squeezing his shoulder, she also moved off in search of sleep.

Curin slipped outside later, his breath billowing as pale white as the moonlight all around him; ambling along with his hands tucked into his clothes. He moved toward the breathing sounds of the wary horses; leaning against the railing, exchanging Neirochs' breath, and running his hands along the vast velvety muzzle. Young Jack sidled in too, not wanting to be left out. His breath encouragingly filled with depth and perception. No human would ever be the superior of this beast, whose noble mind was the vessel of the most simple and effective relationship between any beings. Jack radiated the gladness of his understanding, champing and prancing with his willingness to perform the fruit of his new understanding.

Curin kissed the noble brow, like silk-velvet, and held the vast throat in his hugging embrace. His hands feeling the shifting muscles and breath; the great strength and the softness. They two sensed that he was going away walking, and snuffed forcefully at him their names, to reaffirm their bond, and shifted away in the chilly dark to some windless corner, to weather the night.
By dawn Curin realised he had covered a great distance, following the Finrill to its ford what any mortal would have to travel a half a days ride to the south.
But his sense of peace, enjoying the play of sunlight and water over the rapids was disturbed. He felt the push of magic against his mind; raw and unrefined; but of considerable strength.
He reached for it and recognised the soul.
Curin stood still as a statue, his mind bending across the distances: and in the eye of his mind he saw what he could do nothing to prevent.
It was then, staring into Jack's eyes as he danced about the stable yard with the baron's son on his back, that an unexpected image flashed through her mind. At first she was confused, for the image wasn't anything that she recognized as coming from her own mind. But then the image flashed again, and her breath caught as she realized what it was. She swallowed nervously, but a sense of determination grew within her. She continued staring at Jack, and concentrated harder than she could remember in her life. In her mind she recalled the character and beauty of the horse she knew as Jack, and suddenly she felt as if she'd released a wall that had been around her mind her entire life. Images now flashed intensely through her mind, of pain and confusion and a desire to flee mixed with fear for the consequences of defying the human. Rièle swayed slightly, feeling overwhelmed, but was determined to maintain her composure. She took a deep breath, and formed the image she wanted to send back.

The baron's son was gripping Jack with his knees, and using Jack's mouth to balance himself in the saddle. As if given perfect instruction for how to dislodge him, Jack leapt forward and stopped, then threw his head down and brought his hind legs up above his back. The baron's son lost his stirrups and his grip on the reins, and allowed himself to tip forward so that when Jack's heels came up he was sent flying across the stable yard.

Jack was instantly relieved when the youth was dislodged from his back, and even pricked his ears with forgiving curiosity as the baron helped his son up from the dirt. The boy was furious, and walked up to the horse and grabbed the reins. He yanked repeatedly on the bit, and began beating the horse in the face with his whip and shouting at him.

But Rièle wasn't finished. She was not going to let sweet Jack be abused by these people. She sent a second image toward Jack, and the horse used his great strength to pull the reins from the hands of the baron's son and canter towards her. As Jack passed Rièle she grabbed his mane and leapt upon his back. She gave him his head, and they galloped away.

Far away, too far to even bend the rules to aid her, Curin rubbed at his brow; his mind reeling with the many options of what, in all his vast power, he could do. But not wanting to use power. Not for the love of any creature, nor especially a free-being of free thought.

Across the distance Curin turned his hearing toward beloved Rièle, and he anguished with her as dear Jack failed to perceive the complexity of his stolen freedom. Walking with eyes more than half closed he perceived her pain, and her guilt; and if he could take it upon himself, to spare them all of the suffering, he would.
But he had learnt that futile lesson long ago.
The redemption of the free-folk had to be hard-won through the passage of their own days. He knew that all too well now.

It was not magic that would save her now; but the reality of plain-and-simple gold. And even as he spanned the distance in a phenomenally short span of time, Curin felt deep-buried by the sadness of the situation; that the wanton and reckless ignorance of one noble-born would cost the freedom and dignity of both Jack and dear Rièle. But the God of Nature was not without the Weight of his Word. And as he looked into the young nobles' eyes, even as he handed over payment for Jack twice more than the geldings' worth, Curin conveyed the extent of his scorn and displeasure, which was as the weight of a continent.
He burned into the young fools mind the perception of his ignorance in such a way as Jack had perceived it. A willing beast abused by one who was not worth the dung scraped from the horses' stall.

Even as the Baron carried his stunned heir away in a costly carriage, Curin still scowled; and especially at Ezra's expression, who looked at him all too knowingly and said."So Curin: You're going to save my Rièle are you? Just like you saved me I imagine?
"Ask yourself: what is it going to cost her in the long run?
"No! You stop and look me in the eye! What are your actions going to cost her? Her life? Like mine?"
Curin turned upon Ezra like the threat of avalanche. "I loved you; I kept nothing from you! And you loved me in return; but when it cost you, you refused to pay what fate asked of you! Do not blame me for your weakness! The God of Nature panted, his heart breaking anew, his own words carving a rift between himself and the one he loved most; his heart wanting to break down on his knees and beg forgiveness for his angry words; but his pride making him stand silent and glare.

Ezra, for indeed she was loved most of all for good reason, looked upon Curin with wisdom and sadness mingled. "Very well Curin, take my heart away from me again: for that is what you do if you lead Rièle off into the wild. And this time may the lesson sink into you: you are immortal, and your love, even your friendship, burns us. Consumes us just like fire. Go! Go, now, and may my words haunt your peace!"
Curin paused long, he hesitated long indeed, knowing the sound of wisdom when he heard it; but his blood burned too fiercely, and Ezra misread his agitation for anger, and turned her back on him. Then he left, feeling scorned and disoriented, and he looked at Jacks' ownership tags in his hand, fully intending to hand them over to Rièle, but wondering, as Ezra had challenged him, what they would cost her.

Rièle made her way slowly across the grasslands toward the little town. The recent rains had made the ground soft and muddy, and by the time she saw smoke rising from one of the town's few houses her legs were aching from the effort of walking. Her stomach growled from hunger, and though she'd dug up several roots she knew to be edible, the meager meal had hardly satisfied her hunger after hours of riding and walking. She had no coin to purchase food, and would be forced to wait for her next meal until she returned to Estolad.

At the edge of town was a small crossroads, and Rièle sat upon a wooden fence and waited. She was exhausted, and fought the urge to close her eyes. The emotions welling up within her were intensifying her fatigue. A pain of loss, and guilt, and shame bore a hole into her gut and lodged itself within her, consuming every thought and feeling and twisting them to sorrow. Had she the choice again she would trade Jack's freedom for it all, but still she suffered. Jack had been special to her, the connection she'd had with him being so much more than with any other creature. And Ms. Ezra was special to her too, the warmth and wisdom that the woman freely shared was so unique among humans, that Rièle loved her for it. Even more, Rièle regretted putting Ms. Ezra's home and her good name at risk. She thought about her decision that morning, and realized that she should have gone into the house and asked for help from Curin and Ms. Ezra instead of stealing Jack and running off. But what could they have done? she asked herself. They wouldn't have had any more authority than she to stop the baron's actions. But at least had she consulted them, Rièle's choice would have felt far less like a betrayal.

Soon a cart came along, and Rièle hailed the driver with a quiet voice and asked if she might ride to Estolad. He wasn't going that far, he replied, but she was welcome to ride part of the way. Rièle nodded, accepting the offer.

Her legs dangled behind the cart as it made its lazy way down the old dirt road. The driver hummed a nameless tune, and Rièle stared mindlessly at the ground as it passed beneath her. She cried a little, and thought about what she would say to Ms. Ezra when she returned, and to the Baron and his son when she turned herself in as a thief. She cared little for what would happen to her, as long as she could apologize for the wrong she'd done her friend before she was taken away.

A light, misting rain began to fall, and Rièle huddled up next to the goods inside the cart. Soon, however, the driver pulled his horse to a stop, and it was time for them to go their separate ways. Rièle hopped down from the cart onto the muddy road, thanking the driver, and began the long walk back to Estolad. Her boots, shins, and skirt were soon coated with mud, and she wrapped her arms around herself for what little warmth they offered. The slight rain eventually relented, though the clouds remained, and Rièle kept her pace as brisk as possible to help herself stay warm.

There were few travelers on the road, but soon after Rièle had left the cart behind she heard a carriage passing down the road. She moved onto the shoulder and out of the main tracks, and waited for the carriage to pass her by. The vehicle drew closer, and Rièle's heart soon leapt in panic as she recognized the occupants as the baron and his son. This is it, she thought despairingly, and fully expected for them to arrest her where she stood. The baron, however, besides sparing her a brief glare of contempt, kept his eyes forward on the road. His son regarded her with a smirk so vile that it sent a shiver down Rièle's spine. He knows something, thought she, and thinks himself victorious. What must have happened to poor Ms. Ezra? As soon as they had gone Rièle redoubled her pace, and practically jogged down the road toward Estolad, her heart filled with worry.

It was after dark when Rièle finally rounded the last bend into the town. She saw the dark outlines of horses grazing, and smelled the familiar scent of alfalfa and manure coming from the paddocks. The barn doors were closed, and a lantern was burning inside the little house. Nothing seemed amiss, and the horses were content and peaceful.

Still not free of her concern Rièle couldn't reach the kitchen door fast enough, and nearly fell as she tripped upon the step. The door swung open to reveal Ms. Ezra, in perfect health, eating soup at the dinner table. Rièle's heart glowed with warmth and relief at the sight of her. This was nothing, however, compared to Ms. Ezra's reaction. The woman leapt up from the table and swept the cold and muddy girl into her arms, refusing to let go.

"Rièle, my girl, you're all right."
Tears ran down Rièle's cheeks, soaking the back of Ms. Ezra's shoulder. "I'm so sorry, Ms. Ezra. I couldn't bear the sight of those men hurting Jack. I just couldn't. I stole him, and set him free. I shouldn't have done it, I'm such an idiot. I couldn't have lived with myself if they'd blamed you for what I'd done; if something bad had happened."

Ms. Ezra realized how bad the girl was feeling, and held back any reprimands about her behavior. She ran her hands through the girl's hair, consoling her. "Shh... it's all right, nothing's happened. You're back with me now, and everything is right as rain." As she touched the girl's forehead she realized that Rièle had a slight fever, and quickly directed her to sit down at the table. "Here now, have some soup. You need to get your strength back, you've had a hard day."

Rièle allowed Ms. Ezra to wipe the tears from her face, and ate a few spoonfuls of the soup. She didn't taste the food at all, but the warmth of it ran down her throat and spread throughout her chest.

Ms. Ezra watched the girl for several minutes, and gathered her thoughts quietly before she spoke. "You didn't see Curin on your way back, did you dear?"
Rièle stopped eating, and looked at her friend. "Curin? No. I walked back on the road. I didn't see him. He wasn't... out looking for me, was he?"
"I think he was," replied Ms. Ezra, appearing slightly relieved. If Rièle hadn't spoken with Curin yet, it meant there was still time to open her mind a little.
"I passed the Baron and his son, on my way back," Rièle said. "But they didn't stop, they just ignored me. Why wouldn't they want to arrest me? Did something happen after I left?"
Ms. Ezra ran her hand through Rièle's hair again. "Yes, dear. Curin payed them for Jack. That's why the baron isn't after you for stealing him."
Rièle dropped her spoon on the table, in shock. "Curin? He did that? For me?"
"He did."

Rièle practically glowed. The hole that had been eating at her soul since she had galloped off that morning disappeared, and a slight rosiness returned to her cheeks. She smiled, and tears of happiness filled her eyes. In her heart Curin was as the stars to one lost in the dark on a moonless night. His kindness seemed so endless and heartfelt, she wondered how his heart didn't burst from his chest. "Oh, Ms. Ezra, is he coming back? He must've realized that I came back here... I have to thank him! How can I pay him back for this?"

Ms. Ezra's expression grew concerned again, as she observed the girl's obvious feelings of warmth and trust for Curin. "Don't worry so much about that, dear, for gold means nothing to him. Your gratitude will warm his heart more than any payment you can give." She leaned forward, and kissed Rièle's warm forehead. "But you need to be careful of your heart with him, my girl. His love brings pain as much as joy."

Her words became soft, and full of sadness. Rièle sensed that the woman was trying to tell her something important. "What do you mean?" she asked.

The older woman sighed, and smiled. "Curin is-"

A loud crash erupted outside and interrupted Ms. Ezra. A horse screamed, and suddenly the sounds of panicked animals and breaking wood filled the little house. Ms. Ezra threw open the curtains and looked outside. "Fire!" she shouted. "Quickly, we must get the horses out of the barn!"

Rièle forgot her exhaustion and leapt to her feet, following Ms. Ezra out the door with a lantern. She emerged into darkness, for the night was overcast and no light from the moon or stars shone through the clouds. The light from the lantern obscured her vision in the dark, and she was instantly knocked backwards by an unseen and unexpected blow to her face. Her vision blurred, and she found herself lying on the ground, staring up at the three attackers who'd been waiting for them to exit the house. Ms. Ezra had brilliantly dodged the ambush, and was standing over Rièle defensively. Rièle quickly stood, tasting blood in her mouth, and exchanged glances with Ms. Ezra. There was no need for words, one of them needed to get away from these men to free the horses from the fire.

The attackers closed, and struck at the women with their fists. Rièle knew little of fighting, but defended herself with the ferocity of a trapped wildcat. She punched and kicked and bit, and inflicted as much damage as she took. Ms. Ezra was more adept at fighting, to Rièle's amazement, but was slowed by her age.

As two attackers closed on her, Rièle suddenly turned and tackled Ms. Ezra's opponent. She and the man rolled to the ground, but Ms. Ezra was freed from their trap and ran to escape around the side of the house. With an impressive burst of speed the woman headed for the barn, counting on Rièle to keep them busy until she could free the horses from the fire. None of the attackers chose to pursue her.

I just need to buy her time, thought Rièle, as she fought the man before her as hard as she could. She broke free of him momentarily, and took a moment to catch her breath. The three men then surrounded her, and started closing in. For the first time since the attackers had struck she looked closely at the face of the three men... and recognized the Barn's son. Her eyes widened, and he returned her look of shock with a horrible glare of hatred and mirth.

It was then Rièle realized what they planned to do to her.

Fear gripped her, but her mind stayed sharp. I mustn't cry out, she thought, and fought down the urge to scream. If she screamed Ms. Ezra might come back to help her, and Rièle could only imagine the trapped horses burning to death inside the barn. She clamped her jaw shut and charged the baron's son with fierce determination. Her fear grew as he seemed to enjoy the pain she caused him, and suddenly she was grabbed from behind and her arms were twisted behind her by the other two men. The baron's son approached her with a victorious expression on his face, as Rièle struggled to get free. She knew she was strong, but the men holding her handled her like a young kitten, and she was powerless against them. I mustn't cry out, she told herself, as futility swept over her, yet she still faced the baron's son with defiance. It doesn't matter, she told herself. Jack's free. Ms. Ezra isn't hurt. It doesn't matter. She winced as her legs were forced apart, and tried to fight to get away.

An explosive crash shook the ground, as though a building had crashed down. Rièle closed her eyes in terror, and for several moments blackness filled her mind and she remembered nothing. Her next conscious thought found her free of the attackers and lying on the ground. Without hesitation she leapt up and sprinted for the barn.

The flames spanned at least a hundred feet into the air. Rièle slowed as she approached the barn, and sank to her knees. She knew throughout her being that Ms. Ezra had been inside. Nothing could survive in such heat, the smell of oil was heavy in the air and the building had been engulfed in flames. It was now little more than a pile of flaming timbers.

Shouts surrounded her, as villagers came to control the fire. They quickly formed a line of buckets, but there was little they could do besides prevent it from spreading. Rièle didn't even notice them. Tears and blood stained her cheeks, and she fell from her knees to the ground. Her eyes closed, and her mind fled from despair and pain and embraced blackness.

A hard march north of the village Curin pressed into the gathering chill and rain, making for the sole proper hill in that reach of Salquedor. He pressed his mind through the earth, and through the air, and could find no clue of Rièles' whereabouts; and upon the weathered hill he stood, bent with care, and allowed himself the indulgence of summoning swarms of bees to pass in every direction to search. He waited, filled ever more with disquiet as the day lost its light, and the west turned a burnt orange through the rainclouds.
At last he thought he sensed her, and abandoned the Laws, and ran, as fleet as a wind. His body steadily filled with his mana, until at length he pounced; and his leap carried him high into the air, shot forward like an arrow. On his descent he crashed through a tree; breaking it to smithereens, every bit as much as if it was struck by the shot of a catapult; and he sprung forth again without losing his stride, lightening and fire in his eyes.
He homed in on the mind, alighting in the belly of a tree-shadowed dell with a noisy stream running through it; and breathing hard, his hair stood on end. It was Jack. Not Rièle. Quickly now Curin went to Jack, and through the bond the horse shared with the girl, Curin pressed his Will toward her; and the entire dell erupted into an unseen inferno of power.

It was then Rièle realized what they planned to do to her.

The God of Nature howled, and across the realm every ear heard it, but mistook it for the clap of thunder. Curin burned, a living pillar of fire as Rièles' appalling realisation seared through his mind, so that he wished he could tear his own heart out, so as not to feel that hellish feeling.

He had made a terrible mistake, and he had no time to manage things mortally. He would pay a terrible price for eschewing the Laws, but Curin was willing to endure the suffering, as long as Rièle was spared that. In his wake the air was stung into a roiling black cloud; as he wrenched the North Wind from its place in the upper atmoshere to speed him to Ezras' estate. There was sheet lightening and endless thunder, and Curin was encased in ice, such was his speed, and the terrible effect of wrenching the total freeze of the Great Wind into the warmer and humid airs of Salquedor.
Curin was transformed by his rage; he landed as heavily as if a house had been thrown through the air; and he had become bestial; something between a man, and a bear, and armoured almost as a bee. His voice was thunder, his glare lances of ice; for the God of Nature was beside himself with rage, and he held none of it back. He made them pay; he made them pay for even the thought of what they were intending, let alone the attempt. But it was not enough. Wrath never was.

He found Ezra, trampled and broken by the very horses she had successfully saved from their fiery deaths; and looking into the dark behind her eyes he almost wished to follow her where she had gone. Taking his knife he cut a single strand of her hair, and blessing it, so that he might never lose it, he tied it around his wrist. He carried her away from the fire, and as the neighbours gathered, he placed her in their care.

He found Rièle, but she would not rouse to his call. Already the pain and the weakness was coming upon him, through the abuse of his power; but Curin paid the agreed price willingly; forcing his body to stand; and he walked into the darkness with Rièle, making for where Jack galloped mightily to meet them. The gelding hauled up, breathing hard, and lathered. His vast muzzle pressing toward Rièle, breathing in her scent, trying to rouse her with the bright image of his breathed name. Curin carefully put her up on Jacks back, and they walked to a place beside the river, where Esgalserins family was buried; and where in a day, she would join them. Curin wanted to stay for that, then he knew not where he would allow the winds to blow him.

He was as one who walks in a dream; only half aware of his tireless care of stricken Rièle. Feeling neither heat nor cold; nor desiring food; nor even drawing a single breath. He felt as if he was more than half dead; but knew that it was just remorse, and sense of failure. That once again, in spite of all his power, Curin had failed the ones he loved. His only light in that dark place was the promise that Rièle would wake; and that she would need looking after. That he would do; he fingered the pale strand of hair and swore, and renewed the oath time and time again. He would not fail Esgalserin again.

Rièle dreamed of home. She raced through the fields with her brothers, and they dared the wind to challenge them. Wildflowers sprung up beneath her feet, and birds sang in the trees above her. The sounds of her father's forge rang through the air, and was echoed by the whinnies of horses in the pasture. Her mother looked up from the garden by the house, and smiled at Rièle. The woman's face expressed the warm, contented happiness of one who was truly home. Except that the face of the woman wasn't her mother. It was Esgalserin.

She awoke to the warm breath of a black muzzle gently nudging her face. At first Rièle thought she was still dreaming, but when she reached up to stroke his soft black fur the touch of Jack was real, as was the excited whicker that sounded in her ear. Smiling, she scratched Jack under his chin, and felt as though a missing part of her had returned.

For long moments she delayed moving, and forced herself to remember what had happened. She knew she was hurt, and exhausted, and that Ms. Ezra had died in the fire. But she didn't know how she could possibly be alive and whole, with Jack to greet her as she woke. Someone must have helped me, she reasoned. She knew she could never have escaped her three attackers on her own. And, now that she had time to think, she also knew that Ms. Ezra would never have abandoned her to those men had the woman not known that Rièle would be ok.

There was only one person Rièle could think of who might have helped her, and she knew that he must now bear a grief greater than her own. More than anything she wanted to thank him, and console him, and help him through such a hard time. It was the least she could do, given all he'd done for her.

Tentatively she lifted herself up, and was pleased to find a small tree nearby upon which she could lean. The effort of the small movement was tremendous, and the muscles in her arms trembled in their weakness. She found her chest and forearms covered in cuts and bruises, but all her wounds were bandaged and tended meticulously. Her face must have looked terrible, she felt her left cheek and eye were swollen from the impact of her attacker's fist.

Jack stayed close to her, concerned for her well-being and glad for the return of her company. She continued to stroke his nose, which he was more than content to allow. As she recovered from her small feat of movement she looked around, and took in her surroundings.

The place in which she lay, she knew well. It was beside the river, near where Ms. Ezra's family was buried. The grasses here grew green and lush, and life teemed in the surrounding brush and trees. Farther away lay the ruins of the burned barn, and the few remaining paddocks. The rescued horses had been stabled there temporarily, some she could see had injuries. The smell of ash still hung in the air, and Rièle discerned that it must still be the day after the fire. The afternoon was growing late, and she had slept an extremely long time.

One thing, however, was missing from the scene, and she looked around for Curin. Nearby, before a recent grave, crouched a man who by height and build and the manner in which he held himself, Rièle took to be the man she sought. But her eyes must have deceived her, for this man was in his youth. He had a short brown beard where Curin's was long and grey, and wore strange armor that she hadn't noticed on her friend before. Still his eyes were somehow similar, as was the warmth of his face, and she wondered who this man could be.

"Curin?" she called, wondering if her friend would respond.

In his hand a tiny briar-rose; four petals of pale white brushed with a hint of gold. Even in his hands, the God of Nature, the flower, once picked, began to wilt in the sunlight, pale as it was. Curin looked down as if through the gloom of a vast distance, picking up ahandful of new-laid earth that buried Esgalserin. And after a time; in which he relived every moment he had known her, he let the earth slip through his fingers. To the side he heard the encouraging sound of Rièle stirring, and a pleased whicker from Jack. They needed to start moving, not immediately, but soon.
Half the world away Curins' enemies were beginning a desperate pursuit, and they had been gifted a terrible advantage; for his use of magic had broken the spell of concealment, and for that long while, they had been able to perceive precisely where he was; and his abuse of power had tipped the balance vastly to their advantage: Curin had flouted the balance, and bent nature to his Will; now his enemies were able to do so too, and they were coming for him.

Curins' body felt raw, and not yet wholly his own; and it had been wrought out of his inner-manna, leaving him appallingly weak. So it was for him; the gift of new life each time he transformed, or each time he allowed himself to die; he was remade. He was sent back. But always as he had been. He had never been remade younger; or perhaps he was growing deeper in his power.

The wind whispered to Curin, an encouraging sign, he was already recovering, and his enemies must be squandering magic themselves for the balance to be returning some of his power to him. Curins' eyes glittered, as blind hope evolved into a definite chance.

Knowing the the Will of his enemy would be roving for him, Curin dared not even reach out his Sight, to see where the hunting party was, or how close. He was still too weak, and would not be able to resist a stonger Will in an outright combat. Once again, Curins' fate came down to the one simple fact: no-one could match his skill in the wild; skills which had been born in him as a skinny-legged and freckled boy in Neiruthaun long Ages ago.

Rièle got shakily to her feet, slowly taking stock of herself and her surroundings, and Curin allowed her, though a cold sweat already formed down his back, for his enemies had entered the area of his perception, she needed just a moment; and when she had summoned her own strength, it would be ten times better than anything Curin could hope to inspire in her through words, or fear. "Curin?"
"Aye, child..." Curin caught himself, reminded of his apparent youth by the broadness of his hands. "...Rièle . It is me. As I was, when my power came to me." Curin creakily stood, aching from every muscle in his newly made body, and drew a deep breath, steadying himself; he smiled, seeing the bravery in Rièles' eyes as she looked down on the grave, knowing full-well who lay at rest there."Rièle I'm so sorry. I tried so hard, but I was too slow." Curin bit back on his words, lest they gush from him; his eyes burned, and he clenched his fists, wishing only to hit himself. He shut his eyes, then screwed them closed, his anger and disappointment with himself like the onset of colostrophobia. Then his hair stood on send. Time was up. "Rièle, I used magic to try and reach you. I saw what those men were going to do you from afar, I couldnt live with that; I used a lot of magic, all of it. Now my enemies have perceived where I am, and they're coming. We have to go; or rather, we both have to leave, immediately, if they find you, they'll know you've spoken with me... but if you wish, I would take you with me." Curin held out his hand, knowing his eyes would speak as lengthily about the impending terror as any length of words; knowing that Rièle had the right, and certainly the wisdom to run in her own direction. But in his deepest heart, he hoped she would come with him; he had a promise to keep, and it would be harder to watch over her, if she no longer wanted him in her life.

Even at a distance, Rièle could see the pain the man was feeling; the loss of Esgalserin, now buried under the earth. Rièle knew all too well that feeling. Who was she now, without this person in her life? What did her feelings and obligations to Ezra mean now that she was gone? A hole was left within a person, filled with questions, and because the only being who could answer them was gone, one's mind filled the hole with guilt, self-doubt, and sadness.

But Rièle, being mortal, had felt these emotions many times before. She knew the answers to these questions, and knew what Ezra would expect of her. Rièle embraced those individuals who were important in her life life, and felt as though her beloved friends and family comprised parts of her own soul. It was never as hard for her to be parted from someone, whether by death, or by great distance, when she only had to conjure up an image of them in her mind to know what they would say if they were there, or how they would encourage her. Ms. Ezra would be angry with Rièle for thinking of her as anything other than happy, as she had lived a long and beautiful life and was finally reunited with her family in her death. Ms. Ezra would expect Rièle to embrace her independence and be happy, and to think back on her and everything she'd learned from her teachings. With these thoughts, Rièle looked lovingly at the fresh grave, and smiled for the happiness of the woman whom she missed.

The young man who strangely resembled Curin rose stiffly from beside the grave, and came to stand beside her. "Aye, child... Rièle. It is me. As I was, when my power came to me."

Rièle at first was skeptical. How could this man, who was so much younger than the kind old traveler she'd met only days before, be the same Curin? She stepped slowly toward him, and tilted her head upward to better study his face. His eyes, though sad, had the same depth she remembered, and looking into them she saw the open grasslands, and the shaded woods, and the vastness of the ocean, and the ends of the earth to which she'd never traveled. Was his youth then, perhaps, the illusion? Tentatively she reached out with her hand, and gently touched his cheek. She felt the smooth imperfections in his skin, and the scratchiness of his beard. She took his hands in hers, and turned them over slowly. His palms were dirty and callused as though he had spent the day in the fields, and she ran her fingers along the creases. Releasing them, she consented that the man was real enough. Perhaps he was a magician, and the appearance of the older Curin had been the illusion?

"Rièle I'm so sorry," he continued. "I tried so hard, but I was too slow." Curin's words were pained, and Rièle saw in his eyes how much he hurt and blamed himself for Ezra's death. A wave of sympathy washed over her, and it hurt her almost as much to have been a part of something that caused such a kind and generous friend such pain. But Curin seemed worried as well, as though something else was going on, and the urgence of his concern was apparent to Rièle from his tone. "Rièle, I used magic to try and reach you. I saw what those men were going to do you from afar, I couldnt live with that; I used a lot of magic, all of it. Now my enemies have perceived where I am, and they're coming. We have to go; or rather, we both have to leave, immediately, if they find you, they'll know you've spoken with me... but if you wish, I would take you with me."

He extended his hand, but somehow didn't seem as though he expected her to accept it. Rièle regarded it for several moments before responding. Why didn't Curin understand? He seemed capable of such great power and kindness, why couldn't he see that he had her friendship?

She ignored his hand, and instead stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, pressing her face to his chest. How could she explain her feelings? She could only try. "Curin, thank you. You saved me. I was an idiot, I ran off with Jack, and you paid the baron to keep me safe. I was lost, and sad, and alone, and you came looking for me. You are the greatest friend I could've hoped to meet. And you loved Ms. Ezra, your love meant so much to her. She knew you would come back, when we were in trouble. I don't know how she knew, but she wasn't frightened. She had such faith that you would help me, or she wouldn't have been able to leave me by myself. You were a true friend, you came back, you were there when she needed you. She would never blame you for her death, Curin. It's not your fault. She chose it, it's what she wanted. She counted on you to help me instead."

Rièle released Curin then, trying to fight back tears of gratitude. "It was her time, Curin, don't you see? She's with her family, she's happy. You know what she would say to you if you blamed yourself. You can't do it Curin, I won't let you."

She smiled then, stubbornly but genuinely, and finally took the hand he'd offered. "Now, if we're going to be leaving, I need to get something to eat first." In truth she was starving, as she hadn't eaten but a few spoonfuls of soup since the previous morning. She led him to the little house, and put the pot of yesterday's soup on the stove to heat. While they waited she grabbed an old cloth bag with a strap and packed some food, water, and other small things. She insisted Curin share a bowl of soup, and not half an hour later she was ready to depart.

Jack would carry them both, and Rièle was silently glad that they would be riding tandem. Though the meal had revived her to some extent she was still very tired, and it took a great deal of effort even to remain upright as she rode. She wrapped her fingers in Jack's mane and leaned a little on Curin, allowing him to help her keep from falling. The day quickly grew late, and Rièle found herself yawning and fighting to keep her eyes open.

The wind shifted out of the west, bearing with it the rumour of panic and terror; but Curin stood still as a stone soaking up the sunlight. Two arms shot around him, and held him tightly; and he the veil of his misery was broken. Curin lifted a hand, holding Rièles' head, more dear to him than he even understood. And listened to what he was told.
"...You can't do it Curin, I won't let you.
"Now, if we're going to be leaving, I need to get something to eat first." Curin wiped the single tear from Rièles face with his thumb, and nodded at her silently; knowing that the benefit of food meant more to both of them, than the few moments of flight.

Curin ate distractedly, for he could perceive a strange thing. Where the tear had touched him, there was growing vigour spreading through him. His right hand, and arm were the first, then as the tear suffused him, Curin felt as one wholly renewed, if without the full extent of his power. The food weighed comfortably in his stomach; and he had begun to feel fierce.

This was the mighty cycle of his life. Power swapping hands; loved ones going almost as suddenly as new ones arrived. He was made for this, it was what gave him purpose, and joy to mingle with the dark moments of the mortal world. Soon enough they swung up onto a prancing Jack, and Curin checked the western horizon, seeing there his enemies, but he laughed and shook his fists at them. He was young, and free; in his hands was strength, and riding before him was friendship. He was the God of Nature, and the entire world lay waiting for him. "Drego lim! Piligor!" Curin bellowed to Jack, who skipped a few dancing steps, and threw his head down, into as wild a gallop as any horse has managed.

Curin bent his Sight before them on the road, and further across the land. He let Jack run hard for the first mile, but then encouraged him to ease up completely. They had drawn near to where Jack and Rièle had managed their great leap. There were two advantages for them here. A great slow arm of the river drew near to the road, at the banks of which grew great stands of coppiced willow and every imaginable fruiting tree. Curin slid down from jacks' back and went to the river. Of course with the lateness of the season, everything was barren, and grey, and the sound of the river, trickling sluggishly by, was mournful. But amidst so much life and movement, and especially running water, it would be hard for the Hunters to close in on Curin.
He would run due north for a time, as the grasslands grew more stepped and terraced, and with more hills and densely grown trees, then cut east, making a beeline for Lómëdor.
His enemies would endeavour to cut off the escape to the east; they knew he had friends in the city; powerful friends. They would hope to force him north, and west; forcing Curin into the Realm of the Dead, Dori'ba, where he would be hard-pressed.
They had many weeks of journey, with a hard-worked horse between them, and no provisions. Curin reached a hand down to drink, the water was cool, and flavoured with the muskiness of fallen leaves, but good. He felt the water shiver at his touch. Another power had been restored to him. His enemies must truly be squandering power in the hunt.
Curin grinned like a wolf, wondering what Rièle would make of it.
For the greater part of the day Curin allowed Jack to pick his own pace, while the daylight coloured at their left-hand-side. "Rièle, I will keep watch to night, and in the morning, when you have rested, we need to teach you a few fighting skills. Curin thought aloud, and leant to the side, to see what Rièles' expression might be. He felt a shiver up his spine, and overhead a shadow passed, bringing a chilling wave of fear with it, seeming to drain all colour and sound from the world. Jack shivered, and the whites of his eyes rolled. Curin breathed as much calm and understanding as he could toward Jack, and frowned. You're going to need them. Curin mused darkly and drew a deep breath.

*
Drego lim, Flee, fly on!
Piligor, Black-arrow

Rièle remembered fleeing. Jack sped across the grasslands, and the ground flew by beneath her. She leaned forward beneath Curin as they encouraged Jack to run, and held on with all she had. They galloped for what seemed forever, and through her exhaustion Rièle had no idea how far they'd come. She was relieved when Jack finally eased his pace, and allowed herself to doze upon his back. Curin asked Jack to stop and slid down from behind her, and Rièle quickly forced herself awake and alert while he rested. The lazy sound of running water filled Rièle's ears, and mixed with the rush of the wind in the leafless trees. They were on the road that headed north from Estolad, near the very place where they had met just days ago. Rièle smiled sleepily at the memory.

She watched Curin crouch by the river, not daring to get down herself and reveal how tired she was. He reached down to drink the clear, cool water, and the surface reacted strangely to his touch. Was this more magic? He grinned broadly, and Rièle wondered what it meant, but was too tired to form a question. Soon Curin remounted Jack and sat again behind her, and they continued their flight northward.

Jack picked his own pace along the road for the rest of the day, a fact for which Rièle was grateful. She lazily watched the countryside go by, and dozed as occasionally as she could manage. Finally the air grew cool, and the light from the sun that had shone its warmth on her left cheek for the day began to fade, and turn shades of red in the western sky.

Curin had remained silent for most of the day, Rièle suspected because he sensed her exhaustion. But as the sun finally set he spoke, as if thinking aloud. "Rièle, I will keep watch to night, and in the morning, when you have rested, we need to teach you a few fighting skills." Rièle jolted to near-consciousness, alarmed at the thought of this. She loved to run, and climb, and dance, and ride, and perform any other form of athletic challenge she could find for herself. But she was not a fighter, she knew this. She couldn't imagine herself running someone through with a sword, or a dagger, and killing them. Even in self-defense, she didn't know if she was capable of it. And she knew enough about fighting to understand that such a mentality made it practically pointless to learn. How was she going to explain this to Curin? Or was she doomed to let him down? She glanced up and caught him leaning to look at her expression, and knew he'd seen the unease on her face.

Fortunately Rièle's exhaustion overwhelmed her sense of worry, and she quickly put thoughts of fighting to the back of her mind. A shiver from Jack alerted her to a strange sensation; a presence, somewhere nearby. A flood of images entered her tired mind, of unseen fearsome creatures, and of the instinctive need to flee. Rièle's mind wasn't ready for such a barrage, and she put her hand to her head as she was disoriented. Curin, she sensed, was trying to comfort Jack, and he lessened the intensity of his connection with her. She felt that he was reaching out for comfort, and she sent calming thoughts to his frightened mind.

As the light finally faded and the sky turned to dark Curin finally selected a place to rest for the night. Rièle could not find thoughts or words to express her relief, and she swung off of Jack's back with such weariness that she nearly fell to the ground, save for her hold on his mane. She managed to walk to a tree near where Curin sat and settle herself up against its trunk. They had little food, but she pulled out some dried bread and meat, and cut herself a piece of cheese before passing the meagre fare to her friend. She ate slowly and methodically, and watched Jack graze nearby in the moonlight. Questions began to formulate in her tired mind, and she filed them away for later when she could better comprehend their answers.

Rièle finished her meal and curled up on a patch of nearby grass. The cold night air sent spines of cold along her body and the ground was terribly hard, but she fell instantly asleep as naturally as if she'd been in a feather bed with a dozen warm blankets stacked atop her.

She awoke at first light, and stretched broadly in her bed of grass. Her mind was refreshingly clear, and Rièle listened to the chorus of the early-morning thrushes singing nearby, and remembered with a little sadness the passing of her friend the day before. Curin, true to his word, had kept watch for the night, and Rièle greeted him with a sleepy and grateful smile. She felt herself again.

After excusing herself briefly, Rièle returned and ate the breakfast Curin had rationed for her. Jack was awake and grazing, no doubt smart enough to realize that he should eat while he had the opportunity. Questions that had formed in Rièle's mind the previous day returned to her, and Rièle decided that it was time for her to ask Curin about who he was and why they were fleeing Estolad.

"Curin," she began slowly, thinking carefully through her questions. "Before Ms. Ezra passed away, she started to tell me about you. She seemed to think it was important that I know something, but she never had the chance to finish what she wanted to say. After all that's happened, I know you have some magic, and I think this was part of what she was trying to tell me. But how you can change from looking closer to my age than to hers, and which is truly you, I do not understand. And what sort of enemies could haunt such a kind person, and give us cause to flee across the realm. They must have great powers, for you to fear them so." She hesitated for a moment, and thought to herself that perhaps these were very personal questions, and it wasn't right for her to pry. "I think that maybe some of these things might not be right for me to ask..." she added, "but I do trust you, and I would be glad to know as much as you feel willing to tell."

Curin drew camp in a place long-familiar to him. Here the river pooled at the face of a rocky bank, overhung with aspens, whose rustling voices went up into the night like the sound of falling silver. And carved into the living stone, a very powerful rune, which Curin had put there himself long ago. No-one would find them here. Tree-like Curin took the time to stand still and put down his unseen roots, drinking up all the life and movement around them, taking back what he had squandered in his haste, and poor planning. At length, he leant against a tree, preparing to wait out the fireless night.
Rièle was beside herself with exhaustion, but showing the mettle of which she was made, and Curin smiled at her, and offered her his hand as she slumped down beside him.
He refused food, no longer needing it to sustain himself; rather he drank in the pale light of the moon, and the laughter of the river. Nearby an owl leant down in interest of them, blinking intensely, and tilting his head. This, and every other living thing began to appear in Curins' widening perception, suffusing him with renewed strength. He was returning to rights. Such was the power Curin had invested in this place.
He stood and paced quietly about the clearing, and noticing Rièle shiver, Curin dared to reach for his control of the winds, enveloping her in a bubble of warmth. He smiled, seeing her relax, and walked to her side. Over the night, as he hummed quietly to himself, Curin bent his Will upon her, easing swelling, and mending irreparably damaged tissue. When he was satisfied that her own young body would mend her injuries, he indulged himself to suffuse her joints and muscles with healing; and in doing so, for kindness -even his own- greatly empowered him, he somewhat healed himself.

In spite of the danger, and the sadness, Curin felt alive and content, moving to the water. He crouched beside it, scrying the where abouts of his enemies, scoffing at them. They had squandered the best chance he'd ever given them. Now they had reduced themselves to his own level of strength, and would need to outnumber him physically if they hoped to take him.

Unbidden, thinking of Esgalserin, Curin sang quietly to himself, words which he had never sung before, the words of some lusty poet, a world away, but whose words came to Him, who delights so deeply in the craft of free beings:

Here the white-ray'd anemone is born,
Wood-sorrel, and the varnish'd buttercup;
And primrose in its purfled green swathed up,
Pallid and sweet round every budding thorn,
Gray ash, and beech with rusty leaves outworn.
Here, too the darting linnet hath her nest
In the blue-lustred holly, never shorn,
Whose partner cheers her little brooding breast,
Piping from some near bough. O simple song!
O cistern deep of that harmonious rillet,
And these fair juicy stems that climb and throng
The vernal world, and unexhausted seas
Of flowing life, and soul that asks to fill it,
Each and all of these,--and more, and more than these!*


Curin stood erect and still as a carven statue, as content in his unmoving stance as a mountain. Arched upon his long neck his bearded chin fixed ever more firmly with his mounting resolve. Beneath the shadow of his brow, a glitter was seen, as of stars upon some brightly polished thing. His shoulders drew themselves further down, and back, until by dawn they were square, and spoke of his proper strength; and his reeling mind took solace from the chill peace of the night. There was much he must do, and no one to do it but himself.
He had oaths to fulfil, to loved ones, and to the land itself. And now he had a friend to quicken him, and who already inspired him. Even as his thought turned to her, Rièle stirred, and Curin was pleased to see that she had almost completely healed of her wounds, and that her skin once more shone from within.

"Curin. Before Ms. Ezra passed away, she started to tell me about you. She seemed to think it was important that I know something, but she never had the chance to finish what she wanted to say.
"After all that's happened, I know you have some magic, and I think this was part of what she was trying to tell me.
But how you can change from looking closer to my age than to hers? And which is truly you? I do not understand. And what sort of enemies could haunt such a kind person, and give us cause to flee across the realm. They must have great powers, for you to fear them so. I think that maybe some of these things might not be right for me to ask... but I do trust you, and I would be glad to know as much as you feel willing to tell." Curin waited for Rièle to reveal the fullness of her mind. And he looked at her with admiration.

He stood quietly, and began to speak; "When I bent the North Wind to reach you; I burned my body away. In my rage I embodied myself in a shape of pure wrath, and senseless anger. Once my rage passed, I was as shapeless as wind itself; and but for the Will of the Lady, would have remained, as bodiless as that. But I have a task to do; and I hold within me a vast part of The Balance. I do not know why I was remade young. Not yet, at any rate. But there is always a reason, and we shall see all too soon, I have learned.
"Come, the day is getting up, and I plan to go far. But first I have something to show you."

Curin went to the river, and beneath his hand, there appeared as if reflected in it, an array of weapons. "Reach into the water Rièle, and take your time. Reach for each weapon in turn, if you like. Then tell me how each has made you feel."

Curin had invented this test for his Priests long ago; sword, axe, stave, bow and arrow; knife, club; they were all there, reflected in the water. The use of each kind of weapon cost the user a unique price.
There were some people that could readily process the bloodshed and suffering of hand-to-hand combat with sword or knife.
Some that fought in an entirely defensive manner; even with nothing but their hands, seeking only to disarm, and deflect their opponents attacks, since they could not live with slaughter on their conscience, and were willing to endanger themselves with this manner of combat, rather than sully themselves with messier combat.
Curin understood each of these approaches, and did not judge either.
He himself wielded an axe: somewhere in between stave, and sword.
He did not blench away from the bloodshed of war, and had long reconciled himself with it.
But he would never be drawn to the artistry of swordsmanship, seeing it as the ultimate celebration of bloodshed; even when he used his own Brithilmagol; he felt sick in his stomach. These ethereal weapons in the water induced such reactions with great power, some healers had even broken out in fever having touched the sword.



*William Allingham

Rièle listened carefully to Curin's words, though in truth she did not understand their meaning. His description of embodying wrath and anger sounded terrible, and her heart went out to him for the pain he must have felt. The rest of his explanation left her confused, and with more questions that she'd had initially. How did a mere magician have such power? What did he mean that he held 'a vast part of the Balance'? Who was he really, and who were the enemies that pursued him?

But it was clear that they had little time, for Curin eagerly followed his explanation with the business of the day. She spared him an irritated glance for his lack of a complete explanation, but allowed her questions to be postponed until a later time. Curin stood up, and indicated that she should follow. "Come," he said, "the day is getting up, and I plan to go far. But first I have something to show you." He led her down the bank to the edge of the river, and together they knelt upon a bed of soft moss between the rushes. Rièle looked into the clear depth of the running water, and saw a small fish flit away towards the far bank.

Curin stretched out his hand above the water, and beneath it, as though reflected, appeared an array of weapons. Rièle's heart sank at the sight of them, and she made as if to draw back away from the magic. She remembered now Curin's statement the day before, and her trepidation about his plans to teach her to fight arose to the surface. "Reach into the water Rièle," he said, "and take your time. Reach for each weapon in turn, if you like. Then tell me how each has made you feel."

Rièle had every intention of saying 'no'. She didn't want this, it wasn't supposed to be a part of her. But as she looked into Curin's eyes, to tell him that she would have none of it, she realized how much faith she had in him, and the bond of trust that had grown between them. She knew in her heart that if she wasn't meant to carry any of these things, that he would never make her. There may be a better reason for this that I can understand, she told herself.

Tentatively, she reached her hand into the water. To her surprise it was lukewarm, and though she felt the eddies and currents of the flowing water it was as though they were heated by some unseen source. She felt the impulse to close her eyes, and hence did not see each weapon that she touched in turn.

Her hand first fell upon the sword. She felt the solid metal in her palm, and was surprised at the sensation, as the sword had appeared only a reflection. At first she felt nothing, and for several moments the weapon glimmered in her hand, reflecting the shifting light that passed through the moving water. Then the shape of the sword slowly shifted, and Rièle felt as though the weapon was adapting to her mind. The reflected image gradually elongated, and grew thinner, its length and weight better matching Rièle's own height and strength. The hilt took on a pearly sheen, and when it finished its transformation it couldn't have looked more as though it truly belonged in her hand. She sensed a magical connection between the weapon and her mind, as the magic forged impressions of the sword upon her soul.

Suddenly, and without compassion, Rièle felt a pain in her chest, as though she had been stabbed by the very sword she held. Her eyes remained closed, but she cried out, and reflexively reached for the source of the pain with her other hand... to find nothing. She understood what was happening, the magic was showing her the repercussions of this potential choice; what it felt like to be wounded by such a weapon. Determined not to allow something that was only in her mind overcome her, she clenched her teeth, and bore the pain. For the sword had more to show her.

Her inner eye turned to her own heart, and she struggled to find the words that would tell Curin what he wanted to know. "My heart feels.... heavy. But more than that... alone. It's as if I've lost something, a part of myself that I had before. And there are new feelings... like confidence. I feel like I have set myself apart from other people. I don't... I don't love anyone... I chose to embrace a purpose, and I know my actions are for the better good, but it's taken so much of who I was in exchange. Oh...." Rièle dropped the weapon, her own mind rejecting this reflection of herself. The pain in her chest vanished as soon as the metal hilt left her fingers, and she breathed freely for several moments before stiffly moving her hand to the next weapon.

She grasped the wooden hilt of the axe. Again the weapon seemed to shimmer beneath the water, before it, too, changed its shape. The hilt grew longer and the blade smaller, and a tassel braided from horse hair appeared at the base. Rièle winced suddenly and her eyes watered, as she felt the impact of the weapon on her left forearm... and all feeling below the wound went numb. She felt as though she should have only a bleeding stump in its place, but she told herself forcefully that it was only the magic acting on her mind.

"I feel...." Rièle hesitated and grabbed her stomach, as she fought down a surge of nausea. "I feel sick... and afraid. I am ashamed. I cannot protect myself because I loathe the pain I cause to others. I.... am a burden to those I love. I hate myself for it." Rièle hesitated, feeling the horrible self reflection and hating it; hating herself. She let the weapon drop, and hoped that the short interpretation she'd given had been enough. The pain disappeared from her arm, and she moved it reflexively to reassure herself that it was actually there.

As she'd held the axe in her hand, Rièle had realized something: that she did not want to be a burden to those she cared for, or those who cared for her. She wanted her friends to think of her an equal, not as someone weak and needed protecting. This, she now realized, was the opportunity Curin was giving her, and she knew now why it was important that she work with him. But not with this weapon, she thought to herself. Surely Curin would not want me to change myself like that? She only hoped he wouldn't.

Tentatively, she reached for the next weapon, hoping that at least one sensation of herself that she felt from this magic would be bearable. As she lifted this object she recognized that it was much smaller than the previous two. The knife narrowed as she touched it, its blade turning a strange, moon-reflected shade of silver and the hilt a dark, dull black, contrasting strangely beneath the water. As Rièle's fingers closed around the hilt she felt a hard, sudden, stabbing pain in her back, followed by a heat that mimicked wet blood dripping from the wound. She flinched forward as the pain hit her, but tried to focus on her feelings. "I am... strong. I fight my enemies quickly, and kill them quickly. I am formidable... but.... arrogant. I find beauty in my talents, and it changes me. The burden this time... it's easier. But my heart still aches of loneliness. It's as though... I am loved by those who don't know me, and feared by those who do." She dropped the knife, again with a feeling of dislike.

The next weapon was the bow and arrows. Rièle touched the solid wood bow, and its image quickly extended to a light and sturdy longbow that suited her height exactly. The ease of the weapon's touch was quickly disrupted by the sensation of a thick arrow shaft piercing her gut, hard enough to make her double over. "This one is familiar." Rièle had hunted often growing up, and could shoot quite well with a bow. "I feel... just. And this time... it's as though I can accept responsibility for the burden, without it changing who I am. But there's something else..." Rièle struggled for several long moments with the sensation of the magic, trying to puzzle out what she felt was something important. "My strength.... fails me," she said softly. "I think I can see...." several feelings came at once then, and she struggled. "With this I stand alone. It's important that I stand with others. Does... that make sense?" Rièle released the weapon, her breathing again returning to normal as she felt she had explained all she could to Curin.

The next weapon Curin's magic reflected on the river was the stave. Rièle reached for it, and the weapon seemed to shift differently from the others, as if unsure which form to take. Rièle's brow seemed to concentrate, as if she felt this indecision, but soon the weapon's length and diameter changed to suit her size and a long, curved blade appeared as a spear at one end. She braced herself in anticipation as she felt the tip of the spear plunge through her chest, and the other end ram into her shoulder, dislocating it. "Power, again," she said to Curin. "Skill, and confidence. But... it's like the knife again, though not as painful. I cannot retain myself. Pieces of my soul slip away like sand through my fingers." She sighed again, and released the weapon.

Rièle moved to reach for the final weapon, but hesitated as her hand was inches away from it. Instead of grasping the club she went back to the stave, and placed her hand on it again. This time she shifted her concentration, and the indecision of the magic took a different form. The staff this time was bladeless and plain, and she felt a sudden barrage of impacts from all sides; bruising muscle and breaking bones. She thought she coughed blood, but told herself it was nothing. "Responsibility," she said, seeming almost surprised at the word. "And confidence. Not powerful at all... but... comfortable? ...with the power that I have. And with my ability to control it. Skillful, as though my self... or maybe the abilities of my self... are somehow extended. But it's like the axe again, only for different reasons. I work to be better, but I know the limit in myself. I feel unworthy of those I stand beside. Not because I can't stand myself, but because I am myself."

She released the weapon, and felt the pain in her body vanish. The magic lifted, and she opened her eyes to see Curin sitting beside her. Rièle wasn't sure what the test had shown him, but she was relieved it was finally over.