[Orual]

Early in the morning Arethin shouldered his pack and left his house, careful to make as little sound as possible so as not to wake his family. He'd said all of his good-byes; he couldn't stand to do it again.

The day was clear and cool, a good day to set out on. Arethin avoided his old haunts, any of his friends' meeting-places, and most of all Avaran's booth at the market. He made straight for the Rusty Hilt--he was early, but maybe he could catch some breakfast before it was all gone.

He had stayed up almost all night, making a final decision. Elethil had complained of being kept up and finally Arethin pretended to sleep, well after midnight, but sleep didn't come, and the young man simply agonized more over the matter. Then his mother began to cough, one of those awful spells that seemed to last forever, and Arethin made up his mind. He would go: he would find the book and cure his mother. Everything was in order. There was nothing else that Arethin could do with a clear conscience.

So it was with an air of determination that Arethin entered the Rusty Hilt. He grabbed a roll and went up to the company--his travelling companions. They didn't notice him for a moment, and he looked them over carefully. He'd be, basically, putting his life in their hands by going on this journey. There would be hardships, and if he was in a tight spot he'd be counting on them to pull him out. Would they?

He watched as they talked, and realized that he did trust them. He wouldn't be coming along if he didn't.

He walked up to them. "I'm ready when you are," he said by way of greeting.