Talon remained quiet a long time, then he went back to working on the harness leathers. After more time passed, he said, “I was to be wed. I was to have joined the men in the long house, and I was to have joined in the hunt, planted crops, fathered children. I know what it was I was born to be, Pasko.” He stopped and looked at the servant. “A man was to guide me in those things. But none of those things matter now. I’m here, in this barn, with you, and I do not know my lot in life. What is to become of me?’’
Pasko sighed and put down the leather he was working on. He looked Talon in the eyes and put his hand upon the boy’s shoulder. “Things change in an instant, lad. Nothing is forever. Remember that. For some reason the gods spared you among all those of your race. You were given the gift of life for a reason. I do not presume to know that reason.” He paused as if thinking for a moment about what to say next, then added, “It may be your first task is to learn that reason. I think tonight you should speak with Robert.” He put down the leather harness and started walking out of the barn. Over his shoulder he said, “I’ll have a word with him and see if he’s of a mind to speak with you.’’
Talon was left alone in the barn. He regarded the work before him and remembered something his grandfather had once said to him: tend to the work at hand and set aside worrying about the work to come. So he turned his mind to the leather in his hand and concentrated on making the stitches as tight and even as he possibly could.
Weeks passed, and summer became autumn. Talon sensed the change in the air as might any wild creature who had lived his entire life in the mountains. The lowland meadows around Kendrick’s were different in many ways from the highlands of his home, but there were enough similarities that he felt one with the rhythm of the season’s changes.
When he hunted with Caleb he saw the coats on rabbits and other creatures thickening, anticipating winter’s approach. Many of the trees were losing leaves, and soon a cold snap would turn them red, gold, and pale yellow.
Birds were migrating south, and those beasts that spawned in the fall were in rut. One afternoon he heard the roar of a male wyvern, bellowing a challenge to any other male who might trespass on his range. With the shortening days came a melancholy that threatened to overwhelm Talon at times. Fall was the harvest, and putting up salted meats and fish for the winter, gathering nuts and mending cloaks, blankets, and getting ready for the harsh winter to follow.
Winter would bring more sense of loss, for while the harsh mountain snows could isolate a village until the first thaw, it was that time when the villagers grew close, huddling in the long house or round house telling stories. Families would often crowd together, two, three, or even four to a house, comforted by closeness and conversations, old stories being retold and listened to with delight no matter how familiar.
The songs of the women as they combed their daughters’ hair or prepared a meal, the scent of cooking, the sound of the men telling jokes in low voices. Talon knew this winter would be the harshest so far.
One day when he returned from hunting, the coach of Count Ramon DeBarges was again visible in the courtyard. Caleb took the brace of fat rabbits they had trapped while Talon deposited the carcass of a fresh-killed deer on the back porch of the kitchen.
Caleb paused a moment, then said, “Good hunting, Talon.’’
Talon nodded in response. As usual they had hardly spoken throughout the day, depending on hand gestures and a shared sense of the environment. Caleb was as good a hunter as Talon had seen among his own people, though there were a dozen or so in the village who could . . . who had matched his skill.
Caleb said, “Take the deer into the kitchen.’’
Talon hesitated a brief second. He had never set foot inside the inn, and wasn’t sure if he should. But Caleb would not ask him to do something forbidden, so he reshouldered the deer and mounted the broad steps to the rear door. The door was solid oak with iron bands, something more expected on a fortification than a residence, but Talon didn’t pause much to think on it; he was certain that Kendrick’s had been designed as much for defense as for comfort.
He lifted the heavy iron handle and pushed inward, the door swinging aside. He followed its arc into the kitchen and discovered a world unlike anything he had seen before.
Orosini cooking was done over open fires or in large communal ovens, but never in a central location. Talon’s first sense was one of chaos, and as he paused a moment, order emerged.
Lela glanced up and saw him, greeting him with a quick flash of a smile before returning her attention to a large pot hanging before one of three huge hearths. A stout woman saw Lela’s glance and followed it, seeing the rawboned boy holding the carcass.
“Is it dressed?” she demanded.
Talon nodded. Then he thought to add, “But not skinned.’’
She pointed to a large meat hook over in the corner, above a large metal pan he assumed was to catch blood and offal. He took the deer over and hung it by the strap holding together its hind legs. Once it was in place, he turned and waited.
After a few minutes, the older woman glanced his way and saw him motionless. “Do you know how to skin a deer, boy?” she demanded.
He nodded.