[Firefoot]

Léof roused as early as ever, though for once he wished he had not. He cracked open his eyes and could see out his small window that the sky was just barely beginning to lighten. He shut his eyes again, flipped over to face the wall, and burrowed deeper into his blankets. Just for one morning, the horses could wait… why did they have to eat so often, anyway?

But there was no help for it. This was the hour his body was used to waking up at, and though his scratchy eyes begged otherwise, Léof soon gave up on trying to go back to sleep. Bracing himself for the chill, he threw back his blankets and jumped out of bed before he could change his mind. He splashed some water on his face from his small basin and got dressed, his movements somewhat more sluggish than usual. After a moment of fumbling with his breeches, he realized that he'd pulled them on backwards. Ugh, he really was tired. How late had he stayed up last night, anyway? He wondered as stripped them back off to put them on right, then sat down to tug on his boots. It hadn’t seemed so late at the time, with laughter and tales in his head, mead in his veins, and dancing in his feet.

All of his clothing properly in place, he stood up, unlatched his door, and let himself out into the stable aisle. He drew in a deep breath, smelling the wonderful mingled scents of horseflesh and cold, crisp mountain air – and breakfast beginning to cook. He shivered, and wondered if the women might oblige him with something warm. He could sure use it this morning.

The horses were only just beginning to stir; they could wait a few more minutes. His mind made up, he set off for the kitchen. As he emerged from the stables, he saw the kitchen door open and shut as someone went inside, briefly splashing the yard with a rectangle of light. He made his way quickly over and opened the door wide enough to stick his head in. “Good morning, ladies,” he said. “Might I bother you for something warm before breakfast?”