Idris filled the kettle with icy water from the stream and strode back up
the wooded path. As he rounded the bend the rising dawn sun that
silhouetted the sprawling hut that was his home momentarily blinded him.
With a deft kick he pushed a straggling cabbage back into the garden and
clumped heavily up the steps and through the open door.
Moving through the normal morning rituals gradually woke him up. He fetched more firewood from the pile outside the door and reflected absently that soon he would have to cut more. Sparks flew up the chimney from the fire in the hearth, scattering ashes across the floor. He would have to sweep later.
Tiroth set up a frenzied barking from outside. Idris stopped in the process of making breakfast at the unmistakeable sounds of horse hooves throwing up sprays of gravel on the path outside, followed closely by the lighter, quicker sounds of the wolf hound.
With a thudding heart he closed the bedroom door and snatched up his sword from where it hung above the fireplace. Panicked thoughts raced through his mind, supplemented with the cool logical summations of a seasoned warrior.
In the ten years he had occupied Ierne Valley he had never encountered any idle visitors. If a man ventured this far into the mountains he was surely headed for the eastern mountains, bent on conquering land for his own. These travellers invariably saw Ierne as fair game and Idris had lost count of the number of hopefuls he had deflected. However, such people never rode out alone, so one could only suppose this early morning intruder had another reason for his presence.
The approaching rider had the advantage of the sun at his back. Idris could only get a shadowy image of a slender youth, male to judge by his muttered assurances to his mount.
"Greetings!" he called out, one hand at the ready on his sword hilt.
"Well met," the youth replied. "Sorry for the early entrance, I had sorely misjudged my arrival I fear. I was tempted to await the sun upon the ridge above, but I found myself craving companionship. 'Tis a long lonely ride from Camelot!" this last as he dismounted stiffly.
"Camelot!" Idris muttered. This kept getting worse and worse. Camelot was not a place he was eager to be remembered in. He stretched his scarred face into a convivial smile. "Come in, friend, and share my fire. I know well what it is to crave the company of another man."
"My thanks, good sir. Directly as I have cared for Regal here. A man can never reward his steed too well for its unwavering loyalty!" There it was again - that slight lilt to his voice, as though he were striving nobly not to laugh. It called back memories of another, similar, youth from his younger days. But that was quite unfeasible. His colouring had been much fairer, and he would be far older than this impudent young man.
The horse duly attended to, the men settled uncomfortably around the slightly rickety table that occupied the larger part of the hut's front room. Idris poured tea in silence, gathering his thoughts to make inconsequential small talk and managing to move easily around the heavy sword still belted at his waist. His caller, however, did not see the need to waste any time.
Moving through the normal morning rituals gradually woke him up. He fetched more firewood from the pile outside the door and reflected absently that soon he would have to cut more. Sparks flew up the chimney from the fire in the hearth, scattering ashes across the floor. He would have to sweep later.
Tiroth set up a frenzied barking from outside. Idris stopped in the process of making breakfast at the unmistakeable sounds of horse hooves throwing up sprays of gravel on the path outside, followed closely by the lighter, quicker sounds of the wolf hound.
With a thudding heart he closed the bedroom door and snatched up his sword from where it hung above the fireplace. Panicked thoughts raced through his mind, supplemented with the cool logical summations of a seasoned warrior.
In the ten years he had occupied Ierne Valley he had never encountered any idle visitors. If a man ventured this far into the mountains he was surely headed for the eastern mountains, bent on conquering land for his own. These travellers invariably saw Ierne as fair game and Idris had lost count of the number of hopefuls he had deflected. However, such people never rode out alone, so one could only suppose this early morning intruder had another reason for his presence.
The approaching rider had the advantage of the sun at his back. Idris could only get a shadowy image of a slender youth, male to judge by his muttered assurances to his mount.
"Greetings!" he called out, one hand at the ready on his sword hilt.
"Well met," the youth replied. "Sorry for the early entrance, I had sorely misjudged my arrival I fear. I was tempted to await the sun upon the ridge above, but I found myself craving companionship. 'Tis a long lonely ride from Camelot!" this last as he dismounted stiffly.
"Camelot!" Idris muttered. This kept getting worse and worse. Camelot was not a place he was eager to be remembered in. He stretched his scarred face into a convivial smile. "Come in, friend, and share my fire. I know well what it is to crave the company of another man."
"My thanks, good sir. Directly as I have cared for Regal here. A man can never reward his steed too well for its unwavering loyalty!" There it was again - that slight lilt to his voice, as though he were striving nobly not to laugh. It called back memories of another, similar, youth from his younger days. But that was quite unfeasible. His colouring had been much fairer, and he would be far older than this impudent young man.
The horse duly attended to, the men settled uncomfortably around the slightly rickety table that occupied the larger part of the hut's front room. Idris poured tea in silence, gathering his thoughts to make inconsequential small talk and managing to move easily around the heavy sword still belted at his waist. His caller, however, did not see the need to waste any time.