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Léof
A look of amazement and gratitude slowly crossed Léof’s face as he took in what Erbrand was saying. The saddle was not for the Hall’s general purposes – it was for him. Speech temporarily left him, long enough for the other man to ask with some uncertainty, “Do you like it?"
“This is fine work!” Léof exclaimed, now surveying the saddle with greater attention, running his hand over the stitching and appreciating the craftsmanship. “Far nicer than – than the one I lost.” A shadow crossed his face at the words. The one he lost – Herefola would always be “the one he lost.” Léof hurried on, not wanting to dwell on it. “For all the time and work you put into this – it must be worth far more than ever I could pay you–”
“It is a gift, Léof,” broke in Erbrand. “If you prefer, consider it thanks for your care of Traveller.”
And Léof again had no words, unaccustomed as he was to such tokens of kindness. More often than not he kept to himself and went relatively unnoticed by the others of the Hall, and since the fire he had receded even further into himself as a general rule. He did his work, and it was enough; the horses were his companions. “Then I accept your gift,” he said finally, “and I thank you for it. I shall have to try it out soon; it has been a while since I have taken Æthel out riding anyway.”
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