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Léof studied Crowhair as they walked out the horses. He seemed to be in his late twenties, but he had a sort of worn look about him. He didn’t say anything to Léof until they were finishing up with checking the legs and hooves of the horses, when he suddenly spoke. “You don’t look much like a stablemaster.”
“Well, neither do you,” Léof shot back, sick of the suggestion that he was too young for his role.
Crowhair hardly seemed to notice the jab at his heritage. “Who ever said I was stablemaster? That’d be old Edric.”
“Then why isn’t he out here helping? It seems like it would be his job, not yours,” said Léof. “Or are you his assistant?”
“I said he was old, didn’t I?” said Crowhair. “So I help with the horses sometimes. I just do what I’m told. It’s always, ‘Crowhair, muck the stalls,’ or ‘Crowhair, clean and polish my armor.’”
“So why don’t you leave?” asked Léof.
“And go where? Would you take me in, if you were a lord? You said it yourself, that I don’t look much like a stablemaster – I suppose what you meant by that is that I don’t look like I belong here at all.”
Léof’s hesitation gave him away – Crowhair had him trapped. Crowhair didn’t seem to expect him to say anything though, since he continued to talk. “I did not mean for you to take my earlier comment so badly. I was just wondering how someone as young as you got to be stablemaster. You’re not related to the lord, are you?” Léof shook his head. Any pity he had begun to feel for Crowhair was beginning to ebb away. He didn’t have to stand here and be insulted – insulted by a Dunlending, no less! But then Crowhair said, “I guess I was wondering if someone who might give you a chance also might give me a chance. Maybe looks aren’t so important to them.”
Léof didn’t know what to feel then. He still felt rather insulted – but he also knew what it was to want a chance for another life. “Lord Eodwine probably would give you a chance. I think he’d give anyone a chance. But he’s taken sick, and is away in Minas Tirith. We don’t know if he’s coming back. Now Lord Athanar’s the Eorl in charge, and I’m not sure he’s as fair as Eodwine.” Léof shrugged. “He might give you a chance, and he might not.”
Crowhair’s shoulders sagged. “Well, I thought I’d try. But if your Eodwine ever comes back, do you think you could get word to me somehow? Or if you hear of anyone else who might give someone like me a chance.”
“Well – sure, I suppose I could do that,” said Léof. What else could he say? He wondered how bad it really was for Crowhair here. He remembered again the old man they had seen upon arriving, and decided he probably didn’t really want to know.
“Thank you,” said Crowhair, and he did not say another word until the soldiers came back out of the hall for their horses.
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