[Nurumaiel]

"I thank you, ma'am," said Andhun as he set his breakfast aside. He studied her face carefully, and found warmth and compassion in it. Not pity, but compassion. Andhun was not wholly opposed to pity, but he felt he did not need it. The weak ones had ever been the ones who wanted pity, wallowing to make themselves seem worthy of pity, trying their utmost to gain it. His master was like that. He forever complained of the boys who worked for him, saying they were lazy and slow, and making it seem as though he were the one with the miserable existence rather than they. And always, always, whenever someone came to the master's home they would pity him and believe he was right, and often he, Andhun, or one of the other boys would merit an extra kick as the visitors passed by.

He passed his gaze on to Rochadan and smiled, just a little hesitatingly, for he still was not absolutely certain that Rochadan was indeed a friend. "And, sir, I thank you for your offer," he said, "and I would express how much my delight would be to work for you in the stables, but I fear I cannot. I must return to my master, for soon he will be looking for me. I feel I should leave even at this very moment, but I wait because Mister Cynan is not come back yet and I think I should wait for him to bid him goodbye, and thank him for his kindness."

"Can you not leave your master to work here?" Rochadan questioned.

"I wish it were so, sir, for I would dearly love to work here. You are all so kind..." He faltered in his speech, and felt he was speaking too warmly to them. He recalled an occasion when a young woman had come to his master's house, only three months ago, and she had been very kind to him, unlike other guests, and he had thanked her for it, and, feeling that he should make some attempt to be kind to her as she had been to him, he chanced to compliment her upon her fair face within his master's hearing. The young woman had seemed pleased at his compliment, and the master had restrained himself, but as soon as she was out the door he had sprang forward like a wild beast pouncing upon his victim. A shudder went through Andhun's body as he recalled this. He had been beaten so badly that he thought he surely must die of pain, and all the while the master had shouted into his face that he had no business speaking to the guests, let alone say anything friendly to them.

He closed his eyes and could feel keenly in his mind every pain he had endured then, and he swayed in his chair. A strong, gentle hand fell on his shoulder, so gentle that it did hurt the sores upon his back, and so strong that he was kept from falling over, and he opened his eyes. Rochadan held him steady in his chair and smiled gravely into his eyes. The stablemaster, however, wisely made no reference to Andhun's temporary faintness but continued the conversation in a level tone. "Tell me, Andhun, why you cannot leave your master."

"Because," said Andhun, wincing upon the reflection of what he was going to say, "the master owns me."

"Owns you?" Rochadan's brow furrowed. "Surely he is no relation to you?"

"No, he is not, but when he took me in nearly a year ago he gave me a paper that said I would serve him until he chose to release me from that service, and made me sign it at the bottom, though I am not good at writing." He started and suddenly stared into Rochadan's face wildly. "Oh, sir, my master will surely never release me, and what will I do for my poor little sister when I find her? What will I do for her? Will she also have to live with my master?" He looked in a panicked way from face to face, and then his pale face became grave and he closed his eyes as if weary, and put his head against the back of his chair, just barely wincing when the burns on his face met with the hard wood.