[Gwathagor]

"What I meant to say was that people need a good lord. But they also have to be able to recognize a good lord from a bad one, and dreams and wishful thoughts won't help them to do it right," Hilderinc blathered pointlessly.

"Obviously not," retorted Crabannan in a non-committal attempt to be biting.

Dreams and wishful thoughts? he thought sourly as he kicked another pole onto his chopping block and split it with a single blow. Just because I'm a harper, he's pegged me as a head-in-the-clouds and a dreamer. Soldiers are all the same! And they're worse when they think they're not.

These and similar thoughts ate at him as he worked. He thought he could feel the soldiers smirking at him behind his back, which was salt in the wound. He wanted nothing better to stomp off and leave them to the only stupid, brainless work they were fit for besides sticking swords in people. He wanted to point out to Hilderinc that bluster, noise, and force of arms did not a good ruler make and that if Athanar could not master his own spoiled, bullying leech-sons, he was hardly to be entrusted with a village, much less an emnet.

But something held him back. Maybe it was an idealistic desire to see something through for once, even if it was something as small as a dirty sheep-shed in a muddy field. Maybe it was morbid curiosity as to whether or not he could. Maybe it was stubbornness.

So all he said was: "Any man can learn to lead, but not every man is born to it."

Dreams and wishful thoughts, indeed! Some people never change! he inwardly railed. But as he fell into a rhythm of work, his mind drifted to distant lands, times, and regrets.