[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine had been making his slow way to the kitchen, and stopped by his eorl's chair when the boy, Javan, the culprit, the arson, had come up to him.

Eodwine had just been thinking about how court would be held the next day, and how it would not be out of the way to bring charges against the boy, to make him work for years to pay the debt of the lost stable and the horse and all else that had been lost in the fire. It would make the boy his serf for a long, long time, and amply deserved; but it was not something he cared to do. Better to send the boy on his way back home. He would see to it that Kara provided bread and drink for Thornden, and coin enough to find an inn or bribe for a stranger's bed.

The boy had nerve, or such desire. Of course he could not stay. It did not matter what promise he might make right now, he had little self-control, even for one of his own age. Apparently he had been spoiled back home, and not trained to do what he was told and earn his way. Eodwine was not moved by his plea. He was young, and would recover given the right circumstances. But for Eodwine the decision had been easy and would not be easily changed. The boy was too reckless, too out of control, too in need of constant supervision, to be --- and suddenly Eodwine was caught in a possibility. He looked over the boy's head, allowing the silence to stretch on, no doubt uncomfortably for the boy.

"I will think on it this night and decide in the morning. Send for Thornden, boy. I must talk to him. Do this one thing now and do not delay, and perhaps it may go well for you."