"Tiella," Tarrin greeted. Tiella was not a morning person. Tarrin had seen her in the morning before.

"Umm," she said blearily, sitting down. Tiella had taken the apprenticeship with the herbalist as much for the fact that he didn't get up until noon as anything else. "There should be a law against getting up this early," she groaned, putting her elbows on the table and putting her head in her hands.

Faalken grinned at Tarrin, then he smacked his palms on the table. Hard. Tiella squeaked and sat bolt upright, then glared at the cheeky knight with murder in her eyes. "I love dawn," he said with an innocent grin. "I love them so much, I'm going to go outside right now and check on the horses."

"You do that," Tiella said in an ominously low voice.

The burly man got up and left without a word.

Dolanna came down with Walten moments later, as Wylan came out, saw the two newcomers, and then went back into the kitchen. He returned with three platters of breakfast, "Wylan, get two more," his father said. "I'm going to go wake up my wife and daughter."

"Certainly, Eron," he said.

Walten was a tall, lanky lad, sixteen years old, with sandy brown hair and a narrow face. His eyes were small and set close together, and his hands were scarred from working as the carpenter's apprentice. He was wearing a simple brown tunic and leather breeches, the knees of the breeches a bit thin from his need to constantly kneel. "Tarrin," he said simply as he sat down. Tarrin and Walten didn't talk very often when Tarrin was in the village, but they got along well enough. They weren't exactly friends, but they didn't actively dislike each other, either.

"Walten," he returned. Walten was notorious for being a bit lazy, but Tarrin thought he understood why. On one rare occasion when they talked, Walten admitted he hated carpentry with a passion that bordered on holy. Tarrin could understand how difficult it would be to motivate yourself into doing something you couldn't stand. He hated carpentry, but he loved to whittle and carve wood. It was that hobby that convinced his parents to apprentice him to the carpenter, but Walten had told Tarrin that there was a big difference between shaving a piece of wood into a shape, and nailing two boards together. Walten would have been a good woodcarver, but not a carpenter. It was the shapes and designs that Walten could design in wood that the kept the carpenter, a wiry, crotchety old man named Dumas Tren, from throwing Walten out on his ear.

Tarrin didn't quite understand the difference, but he kept his opinions to himself. Tarrin crafted arrows in his spare time, trying to master the touch that his father had when making arrows, but what he did wasn't quite the same as what Walten did. Tarrin shaped the ends of arrow shafts to accept the head and the fletching, but Walten could carve remarkably human-like faces and figures into wood. Tarrin could see a difference between the woodworking he did and the work that a carpenter did, but not the difference between what Walten did and the nailing part.

His mother and sister came down moments later, with his father. Elke immediately sat beside him and brushed his hair away from his ear impulsively. Jenna sat across from him, staring at the plate that Wylan set in front of her woodenly.

"We must be off with the dawn," Dolanna said as she sat down. "Eat quickly, young ones. We do not have much time. Tarrin, take the packs and go help Faalken pack the pack horses."

"Yes ma'am," Tarrin said as Elke glared darkly at the Sorceress.

Tarrin shouldered six packs, grunting under the weight, and carried them out to the large stables to the side of the inn. Faalken was there, saddling a small white palfrey, and a large roan stallion pawed the ground behind him. It was a huge horse, and Tarrin didn't doubt that it was war-trained. "Dolanna send you out?" Faalken asked.

He nodded. "Which is the pack horse?" he asked. "I'll start loading it."

"Those two down there," he pointed to the far stalls. "Those packs in the corner go on them too. Put all the food and the tents on the gelding, and use the mare for the personal gear. I have to reshoe Dolanna's horse, and that takes a bit of time."

"Alright," Tarrin said, and he went to work. He pulled out one horse at at time, then saddled it with the pack saddle. After that, he put on the bridle, then began tying packs and tents to the fittings and loops on the pack saddle. After he'd loaded the gelding, he tied it to a post at the feeding trough and went for the mare and repeated the procedure. Tarrin worked with a quiet efficiency that got the job done quickly, and he finished in time to help Faalken saddle the last two riding horses and picket them at the feeding trough.

"Where did you learn how to handle horses?" Faalken asked as they left the stable. "That was professional work."

"My father was in the army," he replied. "He taught me how to take care of horses a long time ago."

"I've heard of your father," he said.

"Really?"

"Yes, his arrows fetch a high price in Suld."

"His arrows go to Suld?" Tarrin asked in a bit of surprise. "A merchant from Torrian comes here and buys them from time to time, but we always thought he sold them in Torrian."

"I guess he sends them on to Suld. Some of them, anyway," he said as they returned to the inn. "Can you make arrows like that?"

Tarrin laughed. "I can make decent arrows, but nothing like my father's," he admitted. "Father has a magic touch when it comes to making them. It's something I could never quite manage to duplicate."

"Don't sell yourself short, son," Eron said. "More than half of the arrows I sell are yours."

Tarrin stared at his father.

"Seriously," he grinned. "You just think my arrows are better. The truth is, you can't tell one of yours from one of mine."

Elke laughed at Tarrin's baffled expression. "I feel, cheated," Tarrin said.

They both burst out laughing at that.

"Tarrin, what do you think happens to all those arrows you make?" Eron asked.

"I thought we used them around the house," he said.

"Son, if I did that, we'd have arrows coming out the chimney. You make more than double what I do. But now that you're going to school, I'm going to have to cut down the orders I accept," he noted to himself. "My hands aren't as fast as they used to be."

"Speaking of school, it is time for us to go," Dolanna said, standing up. "Young ones, pick up your packs and go outside. We will choose mounts for you."

Elke stood and embraced her son fiercely. "You mind your elders now, and do well in your training," she said in a controlled voice. "And remember, your room is always there for you when you come home."

"I'll be back as soon as I can," Tarrin promised.

Tarrin embraced his father warmly. "Do us proud, boy," he said.

"I will," he replied.

Jenna crushed him with a fierce hug. "You write me and tell me what it's like there," she said in a breaking voice. "Maybe we'll be there together when I get there."

"I hope so, shortness," he said. "I wouldn't mind having my little sister around. It wouldn't feel like I was alone then."

His family stood by the table. It was obvious that they weren't going to see him off outside, and that was well enough for him. He wouldn't be tempted to turn the horse around and ride back if he knew they were there watching him leave. Tiella was saying her farewells to her mother and father and three siblings off to one side, and Walten was being admonished by his mother on the far side of the room about his manners and being a good boy. Tarrin hadn't seen his mother come in, but he'd been out in the stables.

Tarrin shouldered his pack and, waving to his parents and sister, he walked out the front door.

Outside, Faalken had the horses lined up and ready. Tarrin selected the largest of them, a gray mare that looked to have a steady disposition, and tied his pack to the saddle quietly. "They're staying inside?" Faalken asked. Tarrin nodded, and Faalken nodded himself. "I can understand that," he said. "I chickened out my first attempt to leave home. I turned around and rode back."