Javan
Javan attended to the duties Léof gave him in a methodical way. He often helped in the stables though it was not his only job, and he knew what must be done. He noted where the men who brought their own horses stabled them and then went and fetched hay for them.
He approached the latest stalled horse, thinking more of his own upcoming supper than the one he held in his arms for the mare, when the man addressed him.
“It’s Javan, isn’t it?”
Javan stopped, the hay hanging rather limply in his hand. He raised his head and looked at the man. He knew him at once and frowned, not at all pleased to see him.
“Are you still in the habit of beating women?” Wilheard asked with an unpleasant sneer.
Javan’s lip curled with disgust, and he dropped the bundle of hay at Wilheard’s feet.
“She was more a brat than a woman,” he replied, turning on his heel.
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