Marissa slumped down against the embankment of the dry creek bed with a sigh.  She looked over at her friends and noted that every one of them had dropped off into a deep sleep almost immediately.  Except one.  Saeyll had somehow managed to coax the book from Harrod's safekeeping so she could study it.  The singer looked almost frail compared to Marissa and the stockier young woman didn't know how she kept going.  With a shake of her head, Marissa pulled out the various implements needed to tend to her blade.  Her cinnamon-brown eyes looked over at the pretty singer.

The day's work finally done with the hanging of the dish towel, Nathan Errald re-settled at the kitchen table.  He still tried to digest what Garrick and Marissa told him of their trip and the subsequent Council meeting.  After dinner, Garrick beat a hasty retreat to the barn, not only to get out of doing dishes but to give the two of them time to talk.  The reason for the barn was also two-fold.  Even though there was an extra bedroom in the house, thin walls did nothing to promote privacy and his and Marissa's talk before they left town still played in both their minds. Distance would be a good thing, tonight.

"So what's on your mind to do, Missy?" Nathan asked his daughter.

After leaving Lucas, Marissa trudged back the way she came. Lucas's question and the subsequent lack of answer from either of them left her with a confused expression on her face.  That, along with the information they got from Jordan Quopol at the Council meeting left her in a quandry.  There was something about what Jordan said, and the book, and their experiences on the mountain that pulled at her. Something she should go take care of.  But on the other hand, there was her family and the farm...

The day began for the Lanburg blacksmith and his apprentice much as it usually did. Fire up the forge, haul the water, start firing the ore. They had a new plowshare and a bunch of nail stock to make today. Mid-morning gave them both a surprise, however. A young woman, maybe fourteen or fifteen by her height and build, walked into the shop carrying an old broadsword in it's sheath. Her brown eyes were a little haunted, but determined as she walked up to Garrick while his father was in the back of the shop. Russet-colored hair lay in a plait down her back, enhancing the wide oval of her face.

He never looked forward to the Harvest Festival. Not even a little. It wasn't simply his aversion to physical sports, no real art or craft or knack with the livestock; he was never the competitive sort, so these contests never inspired him. He hadn't his older brothers' strength or dexterity, or his younger brother's creativity, or even his sister's dashing looks or charm. And he had long since accepted his father's disapproval for it, as well. Despite this gnawing feeling of inadequacy, however, it was rather, above all else, yet another affirmation that he was alone that festered this dislike of the annual event.