Note: This occurs the last full night before the group left Lanburg to take the book away. It was late whenHarrod had finally drifted asleep. Peace did find him, but not when the dream began... Harrod stood upon the hill as the rain fell and the house burned. He felt utterly alone even as the old man held the shivering boy's hand. Young Harrod, all of four years, turned and looked up at the priest. The tears of the sky mingled with the tears that streamed down the young child's cheeks and washed the soot from the fire down his neck. Within the little boy a voice spoke...

Where are you going? Where are you going? Can you take me with you? For my hand is cold And needs warmth Where are you going?

An older Harrod knelt in the woodshop all alone.

The Story of Sottie

 The young boy had not adjusted at all since the night of the storm 3 years ago.

Has it really been 3 years already, Rector Schenwar thought to himself, since I took the boy as my ward?

The priest looked into the next room where the boy sat in front of the fire as if mesmerized by some unseen festival show.  Young Harrod MacElvoy, all of 8 years, slowly rocked back and forth as he had every night for the last year. He had sat in front of the hearthfire every winter night since he had lost his family in the tragic fire that destroyed their home during the night of storms.  When there was no fire in the hearth he sat and stared out the open window. The priest slowly rubbed his hand over his face and exhaled softly.

Harrod was busy sorting through his belongings when Rector Schenwar returned home from the inn. He was so focused on what may come tomorrow that the boy, his ward, hadn’t heard the old man enter. Harrod had some clothes laid out upon the bed and he inspected them diligently as his mentor watched him prepare for “the adventure”.

It occurred to Urnan Schenwar that Harrod had never truly been away from his side since he saved the boy after the loss of his parents in the fire. Urnan stood there in silence, for a while longer, as he marveled at the young man before him.

The sun was still high enough when Harrod finished cleaning the woodshed. He glanced around the workshed, satisfied with the way it now looked, and put away the broom and pan. He didn't mind cleaning here. It was actually one of his favorite places to be, if he had to be somewhere other than fishing or defense training with Rector Schenwar. The young lad nodded approvingly before he left and grabbed his longpole that he had placed outside. He reached down and picked up the bucket of dirt that was next to the pole. He plunged his fingers inside the moist soil of the bucket and felt the wriggling of the bait that lay just below the surface.