[Firefoot]

Before any conversation with Trystan could really be started, Thornden had come to the stables requesting horses saddled. Léof had smiled apologetically and left, and by the time he had finished Trystan was gone again. He shrugged to himself. It wasn’t as if there had been anything in particular that he had wanted to say.

His stomach rumbled loudly, reminding him that he had yet to see to his own breakfast, but once more he was interrupted as a lad walked into the stables; Léof placed him at about twelve or thirteen years. “Excuse me,” said the lad, “but are you the ostler here?”

“That I am,” Léof confirmed as he approached the lad. “I am called Léof. Can I help you?”

He nodded. “My sister and I have just arrived… she’s waiting with the horses outside.”

“Then let’s relieve her of that duty, shall we?” said Léof, letting the other lead the way. “Will you be staying long at the hall?” he asked.

The lad answered vaguely over his shoulder. “A while.”

Léof asked no more until they emerged into the sunlight where, just as the lad had said, a woman waited with two horses. “Good morning,” Léof said and repeated his introduction. “Neither the lord of the hall nor his almbudsman is around at the moment, I’m afraid,” he continued, “but if you’re hungry, I’m sure the cooks would be happy to find you a meal, and if you’ll be wanting rooms or aught else, the Lady Saeryn can help you.”