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Theolain
Were they showing him a game? Theolain did not understand. Why were the boy and the man crouching next to him with a bucket of water, telling him to put his hand in?
Theolain reached out and dipped the fingers of his left hand into the chilled water. “No, your other hand,” the boy corrected him and guided his right arm – the burnt one – to the bucket. The water was soothing, but stung at the same time; it was a different kind of pain. Theolain made to draw his hand away from the water to escape the queer feeling.
Ledwyn
The wails from outside made Ledwyn freeze in the middle of crossing the kitchen, causing Gina to almost run into her. Looking around, she did not see Theolain where she left him. The other wenches seemed to understand her thoughts. “Your son?” asked one of them. Ledwyn nodded. She hastened to finish her task at hand and rushed outside, forgetting to close the door behind her.
Theolain stopped crying by now. This was some unusual quality that she noticed in her son only, not in any other children. They were all always at the wrong place at the wrong time, and all ran around the village grabbing things and knocking things over, and all tripped and all fell. But the difference was that Theolain never cried for long over his cuts and bruises. He never dwelt on any one thing for long if it held no interest to him, not even crying.
Ledwyn spotted him next to two young men who were speaking soothingly to him. “What happened to my son?” she demanded, approaching them.
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