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.

"Preparation makes a long journey easier, lad." The Rector began, in his smooth baritone voice, still tinted with the accent of the Northlands. "But over worrying about simple things will lead to the stomach fires." Even without looking, Harrod could hear the familiar smile in his voice. The man was always ready with a smile, slow to anger and quick to forgive. "Its only two days, afterall."

Harrod jumped a little at the sound of the Rector’s voice, but the boy quickly composed himself before he turned to face the man. The boy’s hair was a little unkempt, yet there his blue eyes shone as bright as ever.

“You’re right, Master,” he replied. “It’s just. I don’t know what to expect. What the other will expect of me.”
And there it was. Urnan Schenwar heard those words and understood. The boy was already thinking of himself in the terms of a flock. In the terms of The Faith.

The Rector shut one eye, and studied the lad with the other, a quirky expression he used when he was weighing his thoughts before he spoke.

"You know, son, they probably just expect you to pull your share of the weight of those plates, honestly. I think your real question is what you should expect of yourself."

Urnan crossed the room, and sat down on a chair, extending his legs and crossing his left ankle over his right before he continued. "You're a fine boy, with a level head, and much as I'd like to take some credit for it, since you've been my charge, in good faith, I cannot. You were that way when you came to stay here. Some gift from the Creator, I'd imagine. Rely on it, Harrod. Lean on it and you won’t go astray. He gave it to you for a reason."

Harrod sat for a moment in silence as he carefully considered the Rector’s words. Deep down, the boy knew that the Rector was correct. Of course, that didn’t stop the butterflies that flitted about his stomach. He reached down within himself and sought that place of peace. He felt it as he always had. He felt that calm, quiet spot of a tranquil embrace. It was the Creator. Harrod slowly lifted his head and looked directly into the eyes of the man who had saved him had raised him.

“Master,” he began. “I have never told you this, but thank you. I know not what would have become of me had the Creator not seen fit to lead your steps to my family’s farm. You did not have to take me in as your own, but you did. You have been a father to me, and you have shown me what goodness lies within me.”

The boy, burgeoning upon manhood, rushed to Rector Schenwar’s side and threw his arms around the neck of the holy man in one last moment of a childlike embrace. He held him tight for a moment as the warmth of the Creator filled them both.

“Thank you,” he said before finally adding the words that had been missing from Harrod’s life for these past twelve years. “Thank you, father.”

The Rector held the boy in an embrace, his hand lightly patting between the shoulder blades. "You don't need to thank me, Harrod," he began. "It was the right thing to do, as you say, the Creators will. When you see it, you should recognize it, and act on it from your heart. If all men and women did so, this world would be free of strife and warfare. As it is now, though, well... we can only show them the right of it, we can’t force their actions."
Urnan stopped for a moment, then added as an afterthought. "Nor should we."

Harrod pondered the last thing that the Rector had said. The young man hadn’t considered this before, and it opened his eyes to a new view of the world. Tolerance. He smiled as he looked back at Rector Schenwar.
“Yes, father,” he began “I think I see what you mean, and I shall remember this.”

He looked back at the bed and the pile of things that were entirely too much for such a short journey to the widow. Laughter burst from the boy’s lungs as he realized he had enough clothes for a two-week camping trip. He was finally able to speak once the joyous tones of mirth finally receded.

“Maybe I better put some of this back.”