(One year later)

“Jethro, Jethro, I found some!” Ellion waved a bundle of long green leaves above his head as he skipped over the foliage near Lanore’s east road. He stumbled over a ground root and fell face first. Jeth interrupted his own foraging to help the four-year-old back to his feet.

“Careful there, wee lad.”

The Fae boy sprang back up without complaint and handed Jeth the leaves he carried. 

Right away, Jeth knew they weren’t what they were looking for. “Close, but....” He showed Ellion the vera leaves he had already collected. “Vera's long and rubbery, see?” He took Ellion’s hand and grazed his fingers over the leaf. “You think you can find leaves that feel like that?”

“Aye!” The boy nodded eagerly and dashed back into the bush.

Jeth smiled and returned to the vera bush at his feet, breaking the remaining leaves off then tossing them in his open satchel.

He didn’t normally volunteer to collect wild plants for the commune healer—making arrows, training fighters, and hunting kept him busy enough—but if he didn’t do something to help her, they would never have any time together during the Spring planting season. 

What he didn’t expect was to have to take her son along.  Sure, it got him out of her hair and satisfied the kid’s incessant need for adventure. And Jeth was happy to take him out and teach him a few things—even if he couldn’t get him to stop calling him ‘Jethro’—but the more time he spent with him, the more his heart ached for what could never be: What would it be like doing this with your own son... the one who still remains nameless?  

Ellion ran up to him again. “Jethro, what about this?” He held out another plant that resembled a clover with elongated leaves.

“No, that’s not….” The savory scent was unmistakable: Fae grass, a substance that Jeth rarely turned down the opportunity to smoke. “Whoa, wait… where’d you find those?”

The boy took Jeth’s hand and led him to a modest patch behind a dead oak. 

“Great find, little lad. Let’s pack some of this up.”

“Will it help mommy heal people?”

“... In a way.” Jeth chuckled as he and Ellion pulled the fragrant plants out by the stems and plunked them in the satchel with the vera leaves. The bag now bulging, Jeth walked Ellion out of the woods and back to the road where his dapple-gray waited patiently with her lead tied to a low hanging branch.

After he secured the satchel around the horse’s neck, Jeth said, “Time to go.” He hoisted the four-year-old onto Torrent’s soft suede saddle pad and prepared to climb up behind him.

“Can I ride Tor by myself?”

“Hah.” Jeth shook his head as Torrent expelled a puff of air from her nostrils. “Tor’s not a kid’s horse.”

“Please.” He stretched the word so long Jeth had to cut him off.

“Tell you what. You can ride one of the ponies in the corral at home.”

“But I want to ride Tor! She’s the best horse and my favorite, please, I can do it... like you.” Ellion’s pleading blue eyes grew three sizes bigger, just the way his mother’s had done when she begged Jeth to take the kid out foraging in the first place. There was no refusing him now.

Jeth rubbed the back of his neck as Torrent munched the long grasses along the path. She was well-behaved overall... provided Jeth was with her… most of the time.

With a leery sigh, Jeth said, “Alright, but do exactly as I say.”

Ellion wriggled with excitement, making Torrent raise her head and start dancing side to side. 

Jeth quickly tightened his hold on her lead. “... Which is don’t fidget.” He put a hand on Ellion’s leg. "Don't give her a reason to buck you off, now.”

Jeth took Ellion’s hands and forced them onto the thin rope that weaved throughout the mare’s gray mane. “Hold on tight, and no matter what, do not let go.” He gave his little leg a pat. “Stretch those legs down, so you don’t slide off.”

Ellion nodded keenly and did what he was told. Once Jeth felt satisfied the boy was secure, he clicked his tongue over the back of his teeth and led Torrent forward, keeping his palm against the side of her neck. She bobbed her head up and down a few times but otherwise was calm. Ever since Jeth decided to stay in Fae’ren, his Tezkhan steed had taken to the tranquil forests rather well. This place had been good for both of them.

“Look, Jethro, I’m doing it, I’m doing it!”

“Yeah, you’re doing great up there.” 

Jeth kept his senses honed as they continued their plodding pace toward Lanore.

“Can we go faster?”

“If you let me up there with you, I’ll show you how fast this girl can go.”

“Yeah! Faster, faster.” Ellion’s thick brown mop of curls bounced back and forth over his pointed ears, longer than most Fae ears due to his half urling heritage. 

“Alright, alright.” He brought Torrent to a stop, then—lead in hand—sidled up to her in preparation to climb on. A distant rustling in the bushes stilled Jeth for a moment, but Torrent’s ears didn’t turn toward it. Too far away for her to hear, perhaps. Then came a sharp metallic clang. 

Her ears jerked up, and she tottered backward. “Whoa, girl...,” he murmured reassuringly.  

The horse let out a low nicker before settling down. 

A flash of gold and silver fur shot out of the woods and bolted across the path right in front of his anxious steed.

Torrent jolted violently and took off at a dead run. Her lead rope ripped out of Jeth’s grasp, burning his entire left palm before sending him face down into the dirt. When he lifted his head, the dapple-gray was galloping full speed down the path, the screeching child hanging on for dear life.

“Hold on, Ell!” Jeth scrambled to his feet and broke into a sprint.

No other horses could keep pace with a Tezkhan bred steed, but Jeth was not a horse, and this was his home turf. He sped forward until the forest blurred into a collage of greens and browns around him. He kept his heightened vision trained on the mare ahead. 

Torrent turned sharply, following a deer path into the woods. Jeth’s heart leaped into his throat at the sight of Ellion’s little body bouncing over her back. Please stay on, little lad, please stay on. 

With another burst of speed, Jeth reached for her tail, but she zig-zagged just out of his grasp. He whistled, but the sound was lost in the trees, not that she would respond in her panicked state.

She broke into a grassy clearing, spooking several unsuspecting deer and scattering them across the field. Jeth took advantage of the open space to push himself harder, enough to reach Torrent’s left flank. “Ell, let go.” 

“I can’t.” His little knuckles were white, his eyes clamped shut. 

“I’ll catch you.” 

Torrent took a hard left, spinning toward Jeth. He flailed back, nearly colliding with a frightened stag. Fighting to regain his balance, he dove forward as Ellion slipped off Torrent’s left side with a screech. He caught the boy, twisting in mid-air, so he hit the ground on his back with Ellion on top of him.

The two lay in the moss, breathing hard. As Torrent’s hoofbeats faded into the underbrush, the little boy’s heartbeat drummed strongly in Jeth’s honed ears, indicating he was alive and well. “Is he okay...? Please, Jeth... Jethril?” He could still hear Anwarr’s desperate cries and the cavernous silence of her womb that came with them. Two lives you failed to save that day.

“Again! I want to go again!” Ellion giggled until he snorted.

“Oh no, we’re going straight home. And you are never to speak of this to your mother, you hear me?”

“Aww, why?”

“Because she’ll dismember me, that’s why.”

“What’s dismember mean?” Ellion scrunched his face.

“Something too horrible for a wee lad like you to be learning about.” Jeth brushed a few leaves from the boy’s fluffy hair.

“I won’t let anything bad happen to you, Jethro.” Ellion beamed up at him and took his hand, the terror of a disaster since averted melting away.

Jeth couldn’t help but grin wide despite his exhaustion. “Thanks for having my back. Now help me sniff out our steed, aye?”

He put his nose to the air and took in sharp breaths, with Ellion emulating his every move. He locked onto the runaway mare’s scent straight away, and the two continued north across the field. 

Before they reached the tree line, Jeth’s ears picked up someone approaching. “Hey!” An adolescent boy, wearing a foxtail hat, jogged toward them from the west with a silver and gold wolf at his heels. “Jeth,” he panted. “I thought I saw you back there.” The boy, Tomas, stopped short and stood silently before Jeth as if expecting him to continue the exchange. 

 “Uh... yeah, that was us. Mind telling me what your wolf was doing out there, Tom? He scared Tor halfway to Ingleheim.” Jeth raised his red and peeling hand, the skin broken at his finger joints.

Tomas lifted up the dead rabbit by its long hind feet, not seeming to make the connection between Jeth’s accounts of a spooked mare and his rope burn. “I was trapping, and Pup got overexcited, as he does.”

“Guess we both have trouble taming our beasts,” Jeth grumbled.

The young Fae’ren snapped back. “Pup’s no beast. He meant no harm.”

Jeth lacked the energy to coax down the adolescent’s defenses; he flashed him a wry glare and sighed. “Don’t worry about it, lad. Just try not to trap so close to the road next time, aye?” 

Tomas’s cheeks flushed as he hung his head. “Right. I-I’ll get to skinning then.” He wiped his nose with his sleeve of animal hides then looked about the field as if he had somewhere to be.  “Um... bye.”

Tomas and his wolf scurried back into the bushes before Jeth could say anything. What was that? No apology? he thought, but quickly dismissed his harsh judgment of the lad. Tomas had spent most of his childhood fending for himself in the woods until recently arriving at Lanore.  All he’d had before that was an abandoned wolf pup that hardly left his side. Jeth remembered what it was like to be that isolated when he was his age, and he’d wager that fairies were better at teaching basic social skills than a wolf. 

It took almost an hour for Jeth and Ellion to locate Torrent, who had been drinking her fill from a creek, calm as could be. He spent a few minutes soothing her even though he wanted nothing more than to whip her silly for taking off like that. He took a vera leaf from the satchel and squeezed the clear jelly onto his red, raw palm to help it heal faster.

“Can we race again?” Ellion jumped up and down.

“How about we get you home in one piece instead?”

***

Later that afternoon, with Ellion secure in front of him, Jeth rode into the Commune of Lanore. 

“Aye, Jeth!” An archer waved at him from the watch post, built high up in the sprawling oak branches where he could see the entire eastern road. 

“Aye, Leif,” Jeth and Ellion waved back as they made their way into the forest village. Once the site of a bloody naja brawl, it had returned to its former peaceful state, only with one important difference. Its population had ballooned from a mere seventy to well over a hundred. Orphans from all over the province migrated to Lanore, many of them having arrived the same day Jeth survived what had since been coined the Battle of the Deep Wood.

He handed his steed off to the stable boy Finn. Then, with Ellion and their satchel of the day’s pickings, he headed to the healer’s cabin, nestled between two sizable oaks on the commune’s east side.

Henna leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed and tongue pushing out the inside of her cheek. Jeth instantly began to sweat. To him, there was no other woman that could simultaneously freeze the blood in his veins and warm his heart with a single look. She was nearly unrecognizable from the scared orphan mother he had helped on the muddy streets of Fairieshome. 

“Remember, Ell”—he bent down and whispered in his ear— “don’t say anything about your little ride, aye?”

Not hearing a word from Jeth’s mouth, the boy sprinted full tilt toward his mother and wrapped his arms around her woven skirt. Her dour expression transformed into a beaming smile in the blink of an eye. “There you are, Pumpkin.” She laid a loud smooch on the top of his head. “Did you find lots of vera for mum?” 

“We found this much!” Ellion stretched out both arms as long as they could go.

Jeth handed her the sack, and she took a quick peek. “Great job, boyos, but....” She eyed Jeth suspiciously. “I’d expect twice this much by how long you took. I was starting to worry.”

“Take another look, Hen.” Jeth nodded to the bag. “There’s a surprise in there for you.”

She rifled through the vera leaves then pulled out a sprig of Fae grass. Her face lit up. “I had no idea we had wild grass so close.”

“All thanks to your little lad here.” Jeth took the bow and quiver off his back and rested them against the cabin’s outside wall.

Henna let out a playful grin, swaying side to side. She turned to her son. “Here, Ell. Dump all of this in the bin, the big one by the counter.”

“Aye!” He took the sack in both arms and scuttled into the cabin.

When the boy was out of sight, Jeth took Henna by the waist with one hand and, with the other, brushed aside the dark brown locks that had escaped her wool hairnet. 

He took her by her chin and leaned in to kiss her. Without missing a beat, Henna snatched his hand off her face and stared at his palm. “Your hand.”

Jeth winced and pulled it back. “It’s fine.”

“What happened?” Her lips pursed; blue eyes steeled.

“Uhh....” Jeth rubbed the back of his neck with his unscathed one. “Tor sort of... acted up.” 

Henna tried to pull him inside. “Come in. I’ll get you something for it.”

He resisted. “I put vera on it already.”

“Is that not your bow hand? At least let me wrap it for you.” 

“Do what you will with me then.” Jeth playfully relented.

Henna led him by the arm into the cabin and placed it over the counter. She tore a strip off a linen roll she kept in her deer hide medicine pouch, grabbed a honey jar from the shelf above the counter, then yanked off the cork. 

She had grown to be quite the accomplished healer in such a short time. Since Henna moved to Lanore, the Elder Healer, Leena, was more than happy to take her under her wing.

Creaking hinges distracted Jeth from Henna’s full-figured form as Tomas entered the cabin. 

“Puppy!” Ellion pointed at the lupine, squeezing his head between the doorframe and his companion’s leg.

“Don’t let that wolf in here,” warned Henna.

“Pup, out!” The wolf bowed his head and shambled away as Tomas continued his way inside.

“What can I do for you, Tom?” Henna took out a flat wooden stick and dunked it into the honey jar before spinning and stretching the golden-brown blob at its tip.

“I, uh... wanted to check on Jeth.” Tomas pointed to Jeth’s hand. “Will you be up for the hunt tomorrow?”

“You bet, as long as you tell the lads to refrain from the wanking jokes. I do that with my other hand.”

Henna snorted as she spread the honey over the linen strip on the table.

“You sure?” Tomas replied, Jeth’s quip flying right over his foxtail. “That nasty rope burn might make it painful to hold a bow.”

Suppose that’s as close to an apology as you’re going to get from this lad. “It’ll be fine. Right, Hen?” He flashed the healer an endearing grin.

Henna didn’t respond, only put down the stick, and turned to Tomas. “How do you know about his hand?”

“Uh...” Tomas scratched his head under his hat. “Pup and I were trapping, and he spooked Torrent.”

“That’s not how it happened,” said Ellion. “I made her run all by myself.”

Henna blinked, looking back and forth between Jeth and Ellion. “What?”

“A wild imagination, this one,” Jeth said with a nervous chuckle followed by a severe look to Ellion. It only seemed to urge the boy on. 

“Jethro said I could ride all by myself. Tor ran really, really fast, and I held on the whole time just like Jethro said. He raced us, and he almost beat us, and he told me to let go, and I did, and he catched me, then Tor was gone, but we found her with our noses.”

Jeth prayed the floor would swallow him.

Tomas cleared his throat. “See you at the hunt, Jeth.”

“If he survives the night,” Henna said in a low voice that sent chills down Jeth’s spine. Tomas was out the door before her full fury rained down on him. “You let Ellion ride Torrent by himself?”

“Not by him—I mean... sort of. I was right beside him.”

“He’s too young to ride, Jeth.” Henna crossed her arms. “And you put him on Torrent of all beasts.”

“She’s been good lately. I didn’t think she’d react like that.”

“How did you expect her to react to a wolf?”

“Alright, I know, it sounds bad, but he’s fine, aren’t you, little lad?”

Ellion nodded, but his mother was far from calming down. “That’s not the point.” She turned back to the counter and pulled out a clay flask from the drawer. After tearing a new linen strip, she dumped a hefty dollop of the sharp-smelling contents over it. “If you’re going to put my son in danger, at least run it past me first.”

She grabbed hold of Jeth’s wrist on the counter and took in hand the alcohol-soaked fabric. “Hey, what about the honey?” He clenched his fist.

“I’ve decided you need something stronger.”

“Hen, come on—” 

“Do you want that burn to fester?”

You don’t stand a chance, just take what she gives you. Jeth sighed and opened his palm up to her, ready to weather the sting of Del’Cabria’s number one cure-all. He winced as Henna wrapped his hand tight.

“You’re right,” Jeth rasped as she tied off the bandage. “It was reckless, and it won’t happen again.”

“You’re damn right it won’t.”

“No!” Ellion’s pitched wail made Jeth’s sensitive ears ring. “I want to ride horsies with Jethro!”

“That’s enough, Ellion.” Henna snapped.

The boy’s bottom lip quivered as tears trickled down his small cheeks. “He said I could. It’s not fair.” He threw open the cabin door and sprinted away.

“Ell!” Henna called after him. She stopped by the doorway and watched him run toward the cottage next door that they shared. 

He was circumvented by three of the commune’s teenage girls on their way to the healer’s cabin. “Oh, little Ell, what has you all in a fuss?” said Jule as she kneeled down to dry his tears. 

“I’m not allowed to ride horsies anymore,” he blubbered.

“Oh dear, let’s get you all washed up. How does that sound?” Two of the girls took each of his hands and walked him toward the well.

Jeth cautiously approached Henna from behind and put his arms around her. “I’m sorry, I should have told you.”

“If only you knew what I had to go through to keep that boy alive for this long.” She rested her head back on Jeth’s shoulder, finally disarmed. Mother Oak be praised.

“You know I wouldn’t let anything happen to him.” 

He kissed her small pointed ear, and she nodded. “I know.”

At that moment, the third and tallest of the girls, Silese, walked up to the cabin carrying a short bow and quiver over her lithe shoulder. “Jeth, I’ve been waiting for over an hour. Now, I can see why.”

He immediately let go of Henna. “Shit, was that today?” 

The blonde Fae’ren girl nodded with a knowing sneer. 

“What’s today?” Henna asked. 

“My archery lesson,” Silese replied.

Grabbing his bow and quiver, he kissed Henna’s cheek. “See you later tonight... unless you’re still planning to rake me over the coals. Not that I wouldn’t enjoy that, but the lads are going to need me at my best for the hunt.”

Henna twisted her lips in an attempt to hide her smile, which only made Jeth grin wider. She always strived to maintain a serious demeanor, while Jeth liked to make that difficult for her as often as he possibly could. There was something irresistible about that face she made; it presented a challenge as exhilarating as the day he tamed his untamable steed. 

“I suppose I’ll let you live...this time.” She cast him a devilish look, eyes smiling where her mouth would not. “Just don’t be too long.”

***

The arrow wobbled in the air, tilting down just as it hit the dirt under the target where three other arrows lay scattered.

Silese huffed. “I can’t get any lift. Should I angle it higher?”

“No, no. Here,” Jeth cautioned the fourteen-year-old. “You’re not following through. Let your wrist continue back as you release.” He nocked one of his own arrows and demonstrated, exaggerating the flick of his wrist as the arrow was loosed. Despite the soreness of his injured hand around the bow, his arrow found the center of the target with ease. “That should give you the lift you need.”

The archery training area was one of Jeth's first projects after deciding to remain in Lanore. He had erected targets on tree stumps, hung them from branches, and nailed them to trunks, dispersed around the deep pits that had once housed a naja contingent a year ago. 

Silese and her brother, a woodcutter, lived nearby, and after months of her watching Jeth train some of the other orphans, she insisted that he let her try as well.

She adjusted the bundle of blond locks atop her head and pulled another arrow from the quiver. This time, her shot gained the necessary height, sailing right over the target. 

“That’s it!” Jeth cheered.

“But I still didn’t hit the target,” she whined.

“That’ll come with practice. Don’t try so hard to hit it, or you never will.”

“Don’t try to hit the target?” She raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

“I know it sounds strange, but yes. Trust your form, it’ll get you there.”

With a sigh akin to a horse’s snort, Silese pulled out another arrow. While she practiced, Jeth shot a few of his own, aiming for the targets hidden amongst the trees on the far side of the field. The sound of Dayne chopping wood a few feet away echoed off the bark. That and the steady thunk of Tomas’s throwing knives piercing the target next to Silese’s brought Jeth into a meditative state before each release. It was in this one fleeting moment where he truly felt whole, and nothing could hurt him or anyone he loved. But then, the arrow would launch out of his fingertips, and the pangs of loss and grief would cloud around him to fill the space.

Thwang Silese dropped her bow and shot her arms up into the air. “I did it!” Her arrow quavered on the outer edge of the triple ring. 

Jeth clapped. “Great shot, Sil.”

Tomas paused his knife throwing, something that could be construed as a grin crossing his face, but as soon as Jeth caught his eye, he turned around and continued his activity. Jeth scratched his beard, trying to recall if he’d ever seen the boy use the archery grounds before. Looks like the lad is growing a little more comfortable around us. That’s good.

“Dayne, look!” Silese called for her brother.

The towering Fae’ren wiped the sweat from his brow and let his axe down. He labored up the grassy slope to join Jeth and Silese. “Not bad, Sis.”

“Can I come on the hunt tomorrow?”

“You’ll need to hit a few more of these standing targets before you can hit moving ones,” said Jeth.

“I won’t use my bow at first. I just want to see how you boys do it.”

Dayne shook his head. “Too dangerous.”

“I’ll stay in the trees the entire time.”

“Midwives shouldn’t be out hunting.” 

Silese threw down her bow, crossing her arms, and stepped up to her brother, almost reaching his height even though she was six years younger. “I can be a midwife and a huntress at the same time.”

Dayne stretched his axe arm over his head. “Midwifery always comes first, you know that. No point in hunting if there are no future mouths to feed.”

“Daynerel!”

He shrugged. “What do you want me to say?”

The girl growled and stormed off, leaving Dayne shaking his head of long, blond fairy locks. Jeth had always been entranced by them.  His own had been burnt off on the left side of his head, so he shaved the other to even it out, keeping the top intact enough to form a long tail down his back. As it turned out, everyone liked the style, so he decided to keep it for the rest of the year.

“She doesn’t have to be a midwife,” said Jeth.

Dayne sighed. “Trust me, she’ll want to when she sees the value in it. She was too young when our mother died and doesn’t remember how influential she was. Sil has the potential to be so much more than I ever will.”

“Del’Cabrians approaching!” an archer shouted from the south watch post.

Immediately, dozens of cottage doors swung open, filling the air with a ruckus of creaking hinges and shuffling feet. The elders emerged from their homes and made way for the large hut at the commune’s west end.

As Commune Protector, Jeth needed to gather the fighters, just in case anything escalated You never know with Del’Cabrians. 

“Dayne, mind collecting the arrows for me?” Jeth called over his shoulder.

“Aye.”

Jeth thanked him and marched down the hill. His Captaen of Archers Gern jogged over to him. “They’re noblemen. Elder Abel’s going to meet them at the well. We’ll keep watch from here.”

“No soldiers?”

Gern shook his head. “No blue coats. The driver wields a sword; the two horsemen, spears.”

A foul taste filled Jeth’s mouth at the mention of spearmen. “Military trained, no doubt. Best be cautious. Keep your weapons out of sight; don’t let them feel threatened but be ready to defend if necessary.”

“Nobles don’t strut around here often,” Gern said, running his hand over his scruffy beard. “What could they possibly want?”

The Desert War Traitor? Jeth wondered, although if that were the case, he’d expect an officer or two, but perhaps they didn’t want to risk tipping anyone off. 

A black stagecoach with varnished wood panels trundled up the road toward the commune’s central well. Elder Abel stood in wait, gray locks so long they nearly touched the ground. 

“Alright, disperse,” ordered Jeth.

“Aye.” Gern signaled to the archers to take their positions. Dayne returned to his woodcutting, his body angled so he would have a view of the well. Jeth casually trod toward the stables. 

The driver halted the four shining bays pulling the coach, stepped down, and opened the door. A middle-aged gentleman, wearing a brown wig so bountiful it nearly covered his long pointy ears, stepped out. He tugged on the lapels of his dark violet frock coat, sunlight glinting off his silver embroidered cuffs and his polished riding boots.

The spearmen in their matching burgundy tailcoats dismounted and tied their steeds outside the nearby tavern hall. As the nobleman and Abel conversed, the spearmen wandered around, studying the surrounding men and women as they went about their usual work. They definitely seemed to be searching for someone specific. 

It was only a matter of time before the rumors of Jethril of the Deep Wood would hit Del’Cabrian ears, allowing them to put two and two together. In that event, Jeth would hide out with the fairies until their suspicions wore off, and the Del’Cabrians could go back to believing him dead.

Jeth slipped inside the barn, collecting Torrent’s saddle pad and bridle. His cottage was on the other side of the corral just east of the stable; he could collect what he needed from home and slip away before anyone noticed. Tilting his head, he directed his hearing toward the center of the commune.

“Please, Sir, let’s discuss this further in the Elders’ Hut,” said Abel.

“You will address me as Lord,” said the urling, drawling over the word with a stiff eloquence. 

During his stint in the Del'Cabrian forces, Jeth had learned the proper honorific terms in addressing nobility: 'Lord' was reserved for minor royalty such as dukes. However, regular noblemen insisted the peasantry address them as such, even though 'Sir' was perfectly acceptable.

“Forgive me, my lord,” Abel said. “As an Elder of Lanore, I speak for all who live here. As soon as you tell me what business you have with our healer, I can arrange a meeting, but her welfare is our primary concern.” 

Wait. Healer? Jeth’s pulse pounded against his ears.

“Very well,” the nobleman huffed. “Take me to your… hut, but do not presume to waste my time. Tell Henna that Count Radley awaits her there and to bring her son forthwith.”

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