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Javan
Athanar had disinherited his eldest son? Javan had not known that. Perhaps it had been common knowledge in the hall at the time, but Javan had been a mere boy, and had spent every free moment he had outside with the Cnebba and Garmund. They had not paid attention to the heir of the eorl, for they felt no love either for him or his offspring. Still, the information came something as a shock. It certainly proved Javan’s words unfounded, and left him feeling more than a bit foolish after all.
He was grateful for the interrupted that the stranger brought. He would have felt inclined to retract his words and possibly apologize, and that was an idea he did not much care to think about.
“Léof’s up there,” Javan said, waving somewhere past the young man. “I can tell you where to take the mare, though. If she’s good tempered, as you say, she can go out into the yard with some others. You can rub her down here first, if you’d like.” He walked down several paces from the stall where Wilheard had stabled his mare and indicated a ring set into the wall where the mare could be tied while groomed.
“I am Javan,” he said, as the boy tied the mare to the ring. “What are you called?”
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