laneys.info Beware of Yankees, drunks, and loose women.

Once gaining her horse, Amphelice rode the short distance to Milford along the sole, well beaten pathway which had been widened by frequent traffic over the years. Not only heavy laden carts from the various ships which visited the port, but also from the many farms that dotted the northern side of the walled town.
Her faster, chocolate covered mount easily caught up to the small wagon ahead and the longer she lingered behind them the more she took in the scene. Mother, father, and three children in the back who all eyed her from the safety of the low walled vehicle. She had never thought about family until now and the sight sobered the young woman. One of the young girls - probably no more than eight - waved to her and smiled. Amphelice found herself grinning back uncontrollably and nodded back. Perhaps it was time to settle down, she was already twenty-five now. It sounded odd to her herself say that, as if she was missing out on something. Amber eyes gazed back to the young boy in her arms. He could be hers. Archantael had sent her this gift for.....

No.

She sighed, looked back to the road and spurred her mount to approach the wagon to the left and ignored the approaching convoy of wagons from town. As they nervously watched her near, the lead driver pulled on the reins and she steered between both they and the family's horse.

"What's the rush," the driver's passenger angrily yelled as she kicked in both heels into the horse's muscles and they were off in a thunderous shower of kicked up dirt and pounding hooves.

Her eyes misted, eager to reach the church and rid herself of this package. The sooner the better, she surmised as tears welled in desperation. As if Milford was on the other side of the kingdom instead of just a short distance away.

Through the busy, packed streets of town the pirate soon wound her way down a few side alleys to avoid the market's normal chaos and arrive at the back of the modest stone building dedicated to Arhus. She climbed out of the saddle and approached the stables as her mount quickly moved to the nearby trough and drank. Two male voices could be heard at the far end as the stench of horses, manure, and the gods knew what else assaulted her nose. How she hated the city.
Beyond the last stall, she spotted the source of the activity and rounded the wooden stall to see both teenage boys rise as they turned to her.

"How can I...," one of them began.

"Here," she shoved the little boy at him, still wrapped in the white cloth she had found him in. "Take this to the priest." Without further commentary, she turned and headed back through the shadowed aisleway towards the entrance.

"What's their name?"

"Not mine, how in Nurmes should I know?!" Once back out into the daylight, she wrenched the reins towards her and climbed back into the saddle, then turned her horse around and headed for the nearest tavern.

* * *

Eight years came and went as the little boy grew under the tutelage of the church's few patrons. Days filled with chores before and after he learned his lessons were accepted along with the growing number of others just like him.
Mason carried the heavy bucket full of water to Father Andrew as the priest comforted the husband at the table in the main room.

"...And you must allow yourself this moment, Patrick. For everything, there is a season," he grinned sympathetically and patted the grieving man on the shoulder.

Brown eyes took in the scene that was becoming all too familiar lately as he stood near the hearth and gained the cleric's attention.

"Place that there, Mason. Thank you, son."

"Yes, sir." He set the bucket atop the low, stone base of the hearth and watched as the broken man soon wept. Another would be buried in the town's cemetery tomorrow, one among many claimed by the mysterious sickness that seemed to take young and old alike. He sighed, helplessly watching as another home was broken apart by loss.

"Why don't you wait outside for me," Father Andrew quietly directed and Mason turned and headed back out into the street as most passed by on the opposite side. Were they afraid that the house was cursed? His eyes soon drifted up to the gathering clouds and suddenly his spirit lifted as it usually did with the promise of rain. Days like today, he wished that he was one of those birds as he watched a group of pigeons flutter through the air between house tops and ignored the approaching footsteps and closing door.

"Mason, let's head back now," the middle aged priest interrupted.

He nodded and followed towards the marketplace. "Is the sickness in the air?"

Andrew's kind, blue eyes turned and looked down at him. "I don't think so, but it's possible."

"Hmm," brown eyes rose to the sky once again to the puffy, white towers which slowly seemed to approach Milford and he smiled.

Following his attention, the priest chuckled. "I don't think I'll ever understand you, son." The young attendant's joy soon turned to apprehension as the cleric glanced back to him. "Though, I guess we all have our havens of retreat." Mason's brow furrowed in confusion and Andrew motioned back into the sky. "I used to wish I could fly when I was your age too."

"Really?"

"Indeed," he nodded, then greeted a couple who passed them.

"Does Arhus ride in the clouds?"

"No. But, his champions fly to us with his wishes and I imagine they can sit upon one of those while they wait for his answer." A reply that made Mason smile again as he tried to imagine an army of beautiful, winged females sitting and resting in the embrace of the immense puffs of wool.

"I want to go up there one day..," his voice trailed off, knowing that Ghevond was never explained in that manner during the sermons.

Andrew chuckled as he lay a comforting hand on Mason's shoulder. "Perhaps one day you'll get that chance."