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Old 02-05-2006, 10:37 PM   #45
Firefoot
Illusionary Holbytla
 
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Join Date: Dec 2003
Posts: 7,646
Firefoot has been trapped in the Barrow!
"Yes, I will take you to the Eorl," Gárwine was telling the Dunlending. “Come, follow me.” Despite the polite, almost friendly words, Léof thought he could detect a new tone in Gárwine’s voice that he had not heard before – and stronger than wariness. Was a man truly to be hated simply because of his race? This was something almost new to Léof – he had rarely left his farm except to occasionally go into the nearby village for supplies, and while his father had fought in the war, he never spoke of it, not that Léof had ever heard. In truth, Léof’s life had been all but untouched by the events of the war, and the fervent hatred of his people for the Dunlendings had never been deeply instilled in him. Wariness and mistrust, yes, but never hatred.

And it was not as if the man had been openly hostile. His eyes drifted down to the copper coins that he still held in his left hand. He had never seen anything like them, but they should still be worth something since they did seem to be real copper. Pleased at his earnings, he pocketed them and recalled suddenly the horse whose reins were still grasped in his other hand. He tugged gently and gave a click of the tongue, and the horse followed him willingly into the stable.

After unsaddling and unbridling the horse, he gave him a quick brushing and looked him over. The horse had no obvious health problems and did not seem inordinately tired. Whatever else he may be, the man had taken reasonable care of his steed and that meant something to Léof. He settled the horse into a clean stall and filled a bucket of fresh water. Unsure whether the horse had eaten anything that morning, Léof gave him a part ration of hay. The horse seemed content, so he continued on his earlier intention to get a feel for the stable.

He found a few horses that, judging by their fresh and alert appearance, had obviously been stabled here for a while. Perhaps they belonged to the mead hall’s employees or local people. All were fairly ordinary, and Léof moved down the aisle steadily. But that last horse he found made him stop and look closely: a large chestnut, no longer young but still of noble bearing. Léof felt as if the horse was sizing him up, making sure Léof was worthy of his job. Here, he knew, was a horse worthy of one of the proud Riders, and the logical assumption was that he belonged to Eodwine. Right then, Léof resolved to pay extra care to this horse; he seemed to deserve – nay, expect, no less.

Realizing that he was gawking, Léof backed away from the stall and headed for the tack room. After all, his saddle and bridle – and now the Dunlending’s as well – required care much more than this horse needed his admiration. This brought back the troubling thoughts of the Dunlending, and as he set himself up to clean up the leather, he found himself hoping that the strange man was not being treated too harshly inside. The mead hall's people had seemed like kind enough folk; surely they would not turn away the man simply because of his culture. Léof hoped they would not; every man deserved a chance, and after he had worked so hard to find a job for himself, he could not bring himself to wish the same on another. But recalling Gárwine's reaction made him wonder what was really going on inside, and whether his faith that the man would not be turned away was wholly unfounded. He only wished he knew for certain.
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