“Willofain is my name.” The girl raised the cup. “That was the best meal I have had in two moons’ passage, Master Derufin, and here’s to you. All that time, and more before, I was on the road from my village. My Aunt Manta and Uncle Balec, well ... I ran away.”
When Derufin made no reply she said, “They took me in when my parents died. Our village was on no map, of course, but we gave it a name. ‘Go-Fast’ we called it, because if you left it, you had best go fast. To linger in the Mirkwood was perilous. They call it Laesgalen now, yes? Anyway, the thought of spending my life in Go-Fast scared me more than the woods or the loneliness. So I devised a plan and ran away, just in time.”
She saw a question in Derufin’s eyes. “ No, they did not mistreat me. They, we, were just so poor. It took all their energy to live, and they had none left over for laughter or love. But it was not their fault and I lay no blame.”
Behind her, Willofain heard the thump of hooves on dirt: newcomers approached on two horses. She bowed and took the reins.
“What a fine brown mare and a lovely golden stallion,” she said. “By your leave, ladies, I will pump fresh water for them and take them to their stalls. Note how sweet the stable smells with its new hay? Later I would like to hear your tales of the road., and perchance, news of Orcs.”
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