Chapter 69 - The Road Beneath her Feet

Wherein we gently leave our friends to their futures.

Elbows on the railing, Bosra beheld what happened in the ring. Ilyas, son of Azat, Knight of the Realm, sat astride his destrier. She was training him. The Knight, not the horse.

"Attention," she remarked, loud enough for Ilyas to hear. She watched as, with a minor shift in the reins, he returned the wandering attention of the horse back to himself. 

They would get there. Give it a day or two, maybe three, but they would get there. 

"Attention. And do something else. He's bored." And Beast getting bored was bad news. Ilyas had the bruises to attest to that. The Knight had been flung to the rail, and had nearly escaped being trampled twice. His cuirass had stopped a bite-attack, but the metal plate sported a new dent.  

After the training session, as Ilyas washed sweat from Beast’s coat, Bosra went to check the stables. She made sure every animal was safely locked in, so Beast could pass without incident.

A soft mewl from between two crates caught her attention. She had a few scurvy slinkers to keep the rats away, but nothing that sounded quite like... 

"Miew." 

That.

She dropped to her haunches and held out a big grey palm. Muttering under her breath in what she knew would be an encouraging tone to the hidden animal, she pulled out a scruffy-looking kitten the size of a sack of potatoes. 

"How'd you get there, hm?" She knew the kitty wasn't going to answer. She looked around. Dire-kittens this old - probably a week or three - didn't leave themselves in barns. She hadn't even heard about dire-cats being a thing in the city. "Where's your mama?"

"Miew," it said again, looking at her with big green eyes. The little bit clawed at her, attempting to free itself from the scruff-hold she had it in.

"Spicy," she grinned. She couldn't leave it here. Starvation would kill it, if Beast didn’t catch it first.

With the kitty nestled in the crook of her arm, she stepped aside as Ilyas led the biggest, blackest horse in existence into the barn.

"Remember, send him." 

Ilyas nodded, his expression grim, yet his posture relaxed and in control. He sent his destrier into the designated stable and closed the door behind him, letting the cross beams fall into place.

He relaxed at her encouraging sound. With a grin, he turned to her, yet in his eyes she saw the haunts of war. He had lost friends.

His eyes dropped to the oversized kitten that looked exactly the right size for Bosra. "Who’s that?"  

Bosra looked down into its big green eyes. It looked up at her with a pleading gaze. "Styx." She rubbed its extremely soft belly.

"You want a cuppa joe?" 

Ilyas looked up, surprised. He held her gaze. She didn't know what he read in her eyes, but she knew what she read in his. A need for unforced companionship. The beginnings of attraction.

A small smile tugged up one corner of his mouth. "Why not." 

Valentina spun around in her new living quarters. They were so small, she could walk from side to side and front to back in less than ten steps. A smile tugged up the corners of her mouth.  

The rectangular house only had two rooms and the tiniest of attics; she could barely sit up on her knees. There was a little kitchen counter with a drained sink, though she would have to step out for water. A hand-pump sat outside on a gravel lot. Past that, was the outhouse, with heart-shaped cut-out in the door.

The little dining area seated two. Then there was a standing bookcase and a nook with an armchair and stool, though the wood stove took centre stage. She could put a kettle or pot on the flat top and prepare her own meals.

A thin wall separated the bedroom from the living area. Woollen blankets were piled high on a bed with a cast iron frame. A fur rug covered rush mats, made with this year's hay and spring herbs. It smelled fresh, yet cosy.

A clothes chest sat at the foot of the bed, and two crates were shoved under.

Heavy curtains would block out light in summer and cold in winter. Shutters folded over the windows on the outside to keep the thin panes safe during storms.

It was quaint. It was hers.

Never in her life would she have thought she would be happy with so little.

She looked out the window above the kitchen counter and could see a vast expanse of land, with the dark of the Wold in the background. Cows and sheep grazed in their field. Rose’s oldest brother lounged in his saddle, keeping an eye on the flock.

This was where she would be her own woman.

Rose had waved one last time. She had said her goodbyes.

With her lute slung over her shoulder, her travel pack hoisted up on her back, she set out for the King’s Road. She had a good pair of boots on her feet, a short blade strapped to her hip.

She would let the road take her where it may. Adventure would find her, of that she had no doubt.

Rose was ready to meet old friends for the first time, ready to make new friends, ready to learn from unlisted masters, ready to teach where she could. All this, knowing there would always be a home to return to. The home of her youth would be a safe place to rest her head, rest her soul, if she needed it.

Her friends in Splendor waited for tales and songs of her exploits. She would never forget them, though it may be a while afore she travelled that way again.  

There was no dread this time, as she arrived at the King’s Road. No want to avoid the unknown. She knew her roots. She knew the earth from which she had grown. She knew not the gardeners that would prune her on the way, but she trusted Nightsoul and Sunfather to steer her true. 

She set her foot down on the white stones. 

There was no bumping into a big grey woman and getting tossed again. Instead, the road rose up beneath her feet and carried her westward, into the uncharted lands.

Fin