The winds shifted from the West to the South, as they did every Spring. They carried warm air up over the Dry Horn, past the city of Okarop. The land rose after that and the winds dumped rains, and melted the snows. Birds returned, bears woke from their long slumbers, and humans, well, in the Four Rivers, the humans emerged from their homes and began preparing for the warm growing season ahead.

The unusually short winter had been a blessing, and the folk of Lanburg were already out repairing roofs, and trimming hedges. Some painted, others were working on spring cleaning. Smiles were an abundant commodity as the first truly warm breeze of the year rolled through town.

The local mischief maker, Ash, was involved in a heated debate her chum, Grissim. They were playing a game of marbles and were arguing about whether or not she had crossed the line. The argument came to an abrupt end when the rogue swiped her chum's hat off of his head and spit in it, before sprinting off towards the center of town. Her friend was right on her heels as she ran away, laughing merrily as she threw the hat behind her to gain some ground.

The outlying farms were busy as well. In addition to repairs and maintenance to homes and barns, stock had to be looked after, counted, and sheep needed shorn. Fields were being tilled and sown, and gardens planted.

Marissa hurried through her chores on this fine spring morning. Nathan had said that all three of them would go into town today, if they could get enough done in time to be in Lanburg by lunchtime. It was time for her practice with Garrick and Jordan and maybe, just maybe, she could find enough lace or ribbon to spruce up one of her dresses for the first spring social.

Everywhere the the rivers rolled, the birds sang and flitted from ground to branch in their annual construction of the summers nests. Children skipped rope, and sang the ancient rhyme in their falsetto voices.

Night falls fast on the longest day,
through the dusk Morgonth comes your way.
From aerie high, and cavern deep,
Evils will haunt your sleep.
Run through the forest, hide behind the moat,
His teeth will find the flesh of your throat.

Day shines forth from longest night,
from the dawn shines Chimera's might.
From widest sea to smallest streams,
You'll see his power even in your dreams.
Flee through the valleys, fly through the dales,
when the world breaks, it's no avail.

And so the days went as the Peddler's wagon topped the bridge and rattled into town, as always before, it was an event. Rync Worine was a slight fellow, with a patch of dark hair, and a foreign accent, but he came to the Four Rivers usually twice a year, his wagon laden with trade goods that couldn't be produced locally. An honest enough sort of fellow, he would take coin, or barter for his wares. He also brought news of the outside world, and this made him a popular fellow indeed in Lanburg.

Even as the the team stopped near the central well, before the clattering of the cast iron pans faded from their ears, the towns people had stopped their good works and begun to gather to see what Master Worine had to offer this spring.

Both Ash and Grissim came to a breathless stop at seeing Master Rync, their argument immediately falling away in their excitement. They both doubled over trying to catch their breath as the town folk surrounded him with their home town warmth.

Lucas recognized the commotion but didn't approach the peddler's cart, not right away. There were a few things that he needed to fetch for Grom that perhaps Worine carried, but he decided to wait until most of the fuss had subsided before browsing. Instead, he tucked his book under one arm and lingered back, content for now to watch.

"Hail and well met Master Worine! Any new seeds? Last years gourds were excellent!" This from Thyt Ghahore, a farmer in town on other business.

"Mister Rync Mister Rync, did you bring any books?" came the call from Alestine Lemdonder, a pre teen girl with a voracious appetite for tales.

"What news, Master Worine? What has gone on this winter past?" From Yinhu Warriat, the towns Thatcher, and a member of the Council of Elders.

The questions fell in a storm, and Rync held up his hands in a forestalling gesture, smiling and trying to answer a few that he could pick out of the tumult. It was always the same, twice a year, almost like a ritual. "One at a time." He would implore. "Business first." He would say as he set up his wares, and conducted his business. Then he would sell... and sell and sell... and answer the questions as they arose, all except for news of the outside world. These tidbits, he held till business was done and he could retire to the Plowman's Rest Inn, to ply those assembled with the recent doings of the world over a tall mug of ale, or three.

But for now, it was all business, and business seemed good. After a good while, and once most of the townsfolk had done their business and went to store away their purchases before going to the Inn to await the news, Rync Worine seemed to take notice of the group of young adults who were penniless, but waiting to see if he would let slip any tidbits prematurely.

"Well well.... look what we have here. You ruffians have grown like Bradweed in a manure pile!" He exclaimed taking each of them in his narrow but sharp eyes in turn.

Oran turned his attention from the peddlers team at the comment. He'd sliced up a pear apple into quarters and had been feeding it to the pair of greedy quarter horses while the man had been involved in his trade with the townfolk, and now he really looked at the loose group of friends he'd known most of his life.

It was true: they had grown, each true to themselves, and for just a moment the young Druid could almost see the meandering lines of fate that tied each of them to the Balance, and surprisingly to each other - could feel a sense of purpose tugging them forward into... what?

And then the moment was gone, and it was just another dusty afternoon, and his friends were just his friends. He nodded, knowing that he'd sensed true and listened for what else the peddler might have to say.

While many of the others swelled with pride, and stood to their full height, Ash kind of slinked back a bit into the crowd. She had been a bit self conscious of late, when it came to her development. Apparently her body refused to succumb to her demands and some of her chums had been relentless of late when it came to teasing her about it. The thought had passed as soon as she settled herself behind the much taller Garrick, and she grinned in excitement to hear what news Master Rync would have for them.

Marissa stood between Garrick and Lucas and grinned a little. "Most of us haven't grown much in the last six months or so, Rync!" she chuckled. "'Sides, Papa said he's been thinkin' of puttin' an anvil on my head to make sure I don't grow anymore. Anyway, how have you been? Business been good?" she asked politely. Despite what the Knitting Circle feared, Marissa did have manners and a certain easy charm to her that made you like her, once you got her to open up, at least.

Garrick smiled. At twenty winters, most young men would have been fully matured, but as a half-elf, Garrick was still growing. Due to his gradual development, the other boys had grown much quicker than he had, and had caused a bit of a complex for Garrick about his height for much of his adolescence. But things were different now. Just in the past couple of years, he had grown over four inches, reaching an impressive height for one of his ancestry. With his hair covering the tips of his ears, he looked like a sixteen year old human, and had the emotional maturity to match.

Harrod had wandered away from Rector Schenwar once the peddlar approached. The boy, barely over 16 summers, worked his way through the crowd. He smiled when he saw Jaspar Cogwyn wave at him, and Harrod waved back. He had been anxious for news, himself, and wasn't sure he would be allowed to remain at the inn to hear the stories. He didn't know if it was restlessness, or what, but the orphan noticed that most of the girls seemed different after this past winter. He shrugged it off as he worked his way to the peddler's cart.

The merchants eyes appraised each of you before he nodded a bit at Marissa's polite remarks. "An anvil may not do the job, lassie. You look like you could toss one from here to the river! And business is good. Everyone wants to haggle me, and I'm too kind hearted to be a good haggler." He grinned, his teeth stained from kaffee gave his smile an unseemly feel, but it was genuine, nonetheless. "Seems the rest of you have grown quiet, as well as taller, No matter no matter. I have a business proposition for you straplings." He rambled, as he turned and began to dig through the crates in the back of his wagon.

"The Widow Denellon, up on Ramhorn Ridge, she special ordered some fancy chinaware last fall, and I'd promised her that I'd bring it back this spring you see." He stopped digging through the crates for a moment, and looked up, as if reconsidering what he was about to say. "But, I am behind my schedule already, and still have to make Ghal by the end of the week if I expect to be back in Okarop for the Salmog festival... so.... I was a wondering if you young ones would be kind enough to deliver the set out to her. I'll pay you for your time, of course, let's see, one day out to the ridge, if you don't dawdle... and one day back... I'll make it 5 pieces of silver, for each of you, if you'll take the job, less one piece (each, mind you) for any chip on any saucer or plate. Do we have a deal?"

Marissa's eyes lit up briefly at the prospect of an outing. Quickly, her mind went over the possibilities. There would be two days she'd be gone from the farm, but if she hustled and maybe got someone to help out and paid them a bit, there might be some left over for her to use, too. "I'll have to square it with my Pa, first, but I'd be glad to help!" she smiled, eyes twinkling.

Harrod tried to hide the excitement that suddenly took a hold of his emotions. He hoped Rector Schenwar would let him go, so the young boy quickly began to mentally tick off the chores he might have left to complete. "I would love to go, Master Worine. I would need to speak with the Rector for my permission. When would we need to be setting off for the Widow Denellon?" Harrod tried hard to contain the excitement of a potential overnight trip, but he wasn't all that successful.

Garrick turned over the offer in his mind. The smithy was caught up on its orders, and his father had him busy cleaning, hauling wood, and other such busy work. He had a free day coming up. If he finished his chores early in the morning, he could probably swing it, but he knew he'd have to check with Jordan first. He was looking for a way to earn a few silver to buy a set of decorative hair pins for Lhana, the storekeep's daughter over in Ghal. She was his latest interest, and he wanted to buy the set to give her at the next festival. He waited to hear Master Worine's response to Harrod's question.

The local mischief maker, Ash, grinned broadly after she recovered from the shock of being offered a paying errand. "I know Ramhorn Ridge. I can git us there, been out that way with the Warden, rangin'. Ya can rest safe knowin' that Ash'll be there."

From the back of the group, Lucas chewed anxiously on his bottom lip. It wasn't the reason he had come to the peddler's cart. Was he really included in this venture? He cast an eye to the rest of the kids, some he knew only in passing, others better. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and fantasized about joining them.

"Of, course, of course you'll need your permissions, and I'd wager you'd like to be hearin' the tales of the world at large. The sooner the better, though, leaving in the morning would be my preference. The sooner a job is started, the sooner it's finished, after all." The thin peddler finally found what he had been digging for, and pulled a large crate to the drop down gate on the back of his wagon, his smile wavering as he straightened up, arching his back as if it was sore.

Garrick stepped forward to take one side of the crate and glanced at Marissa to see if she would help. "I'll check with my Pa and see if I can borrow the handcart to haul it with."

His frequent sparring partner grinned and picked up the other side easily. "Good idea, or I can get our smaller wagon, maybe, depending on the condition of the road up to the ridge."

The crate was not heavy in the least, no more than 12 pounds. When hefted by the two buck-strong youths, it almost flew into the air. "Probably no need for all that, split them up evenly in your packs, and save the axle-grease." Rync said, obviously struggling to find the self control to hold a straight face.

Ash elbowed Garrick in the ribs playfully. "Them's too delicate fer all that showin' off. We jist need ta make sure they're wrapped up good n tight."

Plates, shiny and colorful and looking more than worth a neat ten-pence were being dispersed. Without more than a thought, Lucas' hand was outstretched. And just like that it was full of a heavy glass platter. He drew it back and examined it with nothing short of awe, wondering idly how much it might fetch.

Oran took his share of the flatware with a nod. Much like the other's he'd need to inform his family of this little mission, but he doubted they'd mind. Larena Denellon was one of those he regularly went to visit, both to check on her health, and partake of her wisdom, and he suspected she'd be happy to see him and the others.

Then they were leaving. The other kids were parting ways, seeking their permissions and Lucas was left standing in the trail holding a plate. Maybe he would take it back to Grom. Maybe trade it for a pony. Or maybe... Maybe...

He stared at it, heavy in his hands. In the shine, he saw his face. It was the face of a boy. It was suddenly more than fancy chinaware: it was an opportunity.

...Maybe he would just go with. Ramhorn wasn't that far off anyhow.

Lucas felt a familiar hand on his shoulder. Looking up, he saw Marissa's brown eyes twinkling at him. "C'mon, Lucas," she encouraged. "It'll do us all some good to get out of our ordinary routines, for even just a couple of days, huh? I'd really like it if you came along with us."

The boy looked up at her, one brow raised in question. Then he smiled wide and flushed a little. "Yeah, okay," was all he said, his attention drifting down to his shoes.

Harrod quickly looked around at the others that had gathered near the visiting merchant. He tried to determine who would be here in the morning as he looked at each of the eager ones. He knew of most everyone, as they knew of him. To the village, he was simply poor Harrod, the Rector's ward. He realized that they were as much a mystery to him, and he hoped that would change soon.

"Thank you, sir," he said eagerly. "I should go home and pack if I am to meet them at sunrise. I shall be most respectful of the Widow, Rector, as you have taught me."

The young boy made ready to dash home and begin the tedious task of what would obviously turn into a long night of overpacking and unpacking.

Leaving in the morning? As the last of the youths left, Lucas wandered slowly away from the peddler, having forgotten the Hermit's list all together, and wondered what he might do until then. He made a mental list of supplies as he walked. By the time he had returned home, he was working up a grin from excitement.

*****

"Five silver?" Jordan Quopol asked. "Since when do you care so much for money that you'll spend your time off earning more?"

Garrick shrugged and resisted giving his father a defiant glare. That might earn him a "No" from the strict disciplinarian. At twenty winters, Garrick didn't feel that he should have to even ask permission, but as a half-elf, he matured more slowly, a fact that his father often reminded him of; not to mention that he was the blacksmith's apprentice. If he was going to be neglecting his duties, he needed permission. It was at this moment that it dawned on Garrick that what he really wanted from this trip was to be away from his father's watchful eye and to enjoy the company of his peers. A few extra silver wouldn't hurt, but it wasn't the true reason. Not for the first time, Garrick wondered if he was cut out to be a blacksmith.

"Well, I suppose there isn't much to keep you busy here tomorrow. We're all caught up," Jordan continued. "And the next day is your day off. Go ahead. The exercise will do you some good." He nodded approvingly, "Glad to see you're starting to take some responsibility for yourself around the village without me breathing down your neck to make you do it. Take the handcart...and bring back some wood from the cutter while you're at it."

Garrick smiled and darted off to pack a few supplies.

******

Harrod ran over to Rector Schenwar and told him of the job offered by the merchant Worine. Urnan could see the excitement in the lad's eyes even though the boy did what he could to try and contain it.

"May I go, Master," he asked and waited for the priest's response.

Urnan Schenwar was not an especially large man, and for the first time, he realized he was looking slightly up into his protege's eyes. His instincts were plain on his face, and it was easy to see that he wanted to say no.

"You would like to go? I suppose it will be alright, son. The Widow Denellon needs her chinaware, afterall. She is of the Ode Faith, so make sure you're a gracious guest." The concern on his face broke into a smile, and he clapped his hand on Harrod's shoulder. "I know, I don't have to tell you, you're a fine young man. Go and earn your coins."