November 6

Word Count: 1733

The whole crowd cheered his decision. Hargill Meetrat stood up in a huff. Saratin knew that for a long moment, the man was considering hitting him, but hitting a brother came with its own set of consequences, because it was widely known that a brother would not hit back. He grimaced fiercely at the patrons and stomped out the door.

"Then to the brother it goes!" The proprietor called.

"Really?"

"Yes. Of course."

"Then you may give my meal to someone who is in need. And my ale too. Thank you for your gift and your hospitality. I think I can reward you for generosity by sharing with you my favorite poem.

"We shall be glad to hear it brother."

The men thumped their tankards on the tables in approval.

"To the Galadin of the past. To the Galadin of the future," the proprietor toasted as he raised his glass. The crowd repeated him and drank heartily from their tankards before letting out a hearty roar. It was a common enough toast in Galadin. Even the brotherhood toasted, albeit with a slightly less exuberance.

The musicians clambered back onto the stage and began to play. The patrons sang the raunchy tune with great enthusiasm. When Saratin finally made it back to Iber's table, he'd made friends with almost every single man in the place. Each man wanted to shake his hand. Apparently Meetrat was not a pleasant man to be around. He came to the tavern each night, and lorded his intelligence over the crowd. If they refused to be awed, he would enforce their respect with a heavy fist. They now had material to keep the literary bully away.

As Saratin sat down, another man came to shake his hand. He bowed quickly and disappeared.

"Is there not a man in here who wouldn't follow you into the deepest quagmire?" Iber asked. "And it was done so simply."

Saratin had no reply. It hadn't been his intent to draw attention to himself. In fact, the whole idea had been Iber's.

"I didn't mean to do it."

"Of course you didn't. But there are noblemen that I know that would pay half their fortunes for their men to follow their orders."

"Most of the time, you just have to ask." Saratin said simply.

"Either way, I shall be very sorry to lose your companionship when we reach our destinations."

"The we shall both have to become very good letter writers."

"I suppose we shall. But in the meantime, I'm quite ready to find a pillow to rest my head. This ale has been a bit too much for me."

"Not as much for you as for them," Saratin replied, pointing at the men who were swaying back and forth in their seats. The two laughed as they stood up and headed towards the rooms the proprietor provided for them.

Saratin was quite sure that he would sleep well tonight.

Mitty awoke trying to rid an awful taste from her mouth. It tasted as if someone had taken both her father's and her brother's dirty socks and stuffed in her mouth. She turned her head and throbbing pains pulse through her entire skull. She decided at once it was best not to move at all.

When she could again manage cohesive thoughts, Mitty found herself slightly puzzled. What was the last thing she could remember. She clearly remembered climbing out the window and burning her hands on the rope. Mitty thought harder. No, she also remembered the gardens.

The strange man had kissed her. He had pulled her onto his lap and pulled her lips to his. Her first kiss had been shared with a stranger. Did it count then? Mitty couldn't say for sure. He was a rather odd man anyway. She really hadn't asked him why he was hiding in the cupboard anyway, but then, why was she hiding. It was her luck to be kissed for the first time by a thief. It hadn't been totally unpleasant or pleasant either. It was just his lips on hers for an extended amount of time… Mitty decided she was obsessing.

What had happened after that? The horse! They'd gotten on the horse. Mitty needed to make sure the horse got back to Pader's friend. The last thing her brother needed right now was one of his friend's getting angry with him. There was a larger issue… it evaded Mitty through her hazy head for a moment, and then sunk in with great alarm.

How did Mitty get back to her own bed? She couldn't remember. It wasn't even in the back of her mind like the first letter of a forgotten word. The last thing there was pointing the way towards the town. The rest was blank. Pader would know though. Surely he was impatiently waiting his breakfast right now.

Father. The word hit her hard. He'd be quite angry that she'd slept in, ill or not. She could already hear his unpleasant growls as she threw back the covers and tipped her feet over the bed. Her head swam and her feet hit leaves, crunchy ones, not the side of the mattress and the dip to the floor. She was on the ground. Mitty hadn't made it home at all.

Mitty opened her eyes and took a deep breath as her eyes shifted and finally took focus. Trees. That's all she could see. Trees and fog. No bed, no house, no village, no breakfast waiting to be cooled, and no thief. Just trees. She swiveled and checked the other direction. More trees.

Mitty lay back down again. There wasn't much use in putting her head through the trauma of remaining vertical when there was nothing to see. The thief had left her in a forest. She hadn't a clue which way home was. He was a no good rotten dirty kissing thief. She pulled the blanket back around her. At least he'd left her a blanket, the no good rotten dirty blanket leaving kissing thief.

Mitty turned slightly. Perhaps if she tilted her head in the other direction, the pain would even itself out and disappear. She gently reached under the blanket and pulled out the lump she'd rolled onto. She'd actually squished a small loaf of bread. He was a no good rotten dirty kissing blanket leaving food providing thief. Mitty decided she'd better stop before she ran out of adjective… just remembering the list was driving her pain higher.

She must have drifted back asleep because when she heard the horse approaching, it was nearly on top of her. She opened her eyes once to see the thief was back. At least he hadn't abandoned her completely, or perhaps he just wanted his blankets back.

"You awake?" he dared to ask as he dismounted.

"I think that depends on your definition of awake," Mitty stated.

"You're awake. Are you hungry?"

"I don't think I can feel anything but pain from my head up," she said. He laughed. "That laughing makes my head hurt," she whined.

"Forgive me," he said. The smell of mint filled her nose. He held a sprig out to her.

"Chew on this for a while. It'll help. Even if it does nothing more than take the taste out of your mouth."

Mitty took the mint and put it in her mouth. Almost immediately she felt relieved.

"You'll be up and starving for breakfast before I can even start a fire." He pulled a small bundle of kindling off of one of his saddlebags and got to work. He was quite industrious as he produced different pieces of breakfast. He retrieved the flattened loaf, and sighed resignedly. He began tearing it into strips and adding it to a frying pan with eggs, milk, and bacon. Before long, the bread was a moist golden brown fried in egg batter and bacon grease. Mitty watched with growing interest as her headache floated away. It was the first time she could remember having anything but porridge for breakfast.

"I'm a little short on china, so we'll have to dine right from the pan. Although, that's half the fun of it, don't you think?" The thief picked up a piece of bacon with his fingers and danced the hot meat between his fingers. "Get it while it's hot." He bit into the bacon with relish and handed her a spoon with the other. She took it and picked up a piece of the toast. Somewhere in there, he'd added just a bit of sugar, and the bread just melted sweetly in her mouth.

"You know, I'm beginning to appreciate the outdoors. I'd forgotten what a joy an open sky can be." Mitty looked up. The canopy of the trees his most of the gray sky. "I was speaking metaphorically."

Mitty shrugged her shoulders and took another bite. The sky was the sky to her.

"I was locked in that cupboard for three hours, I think. It was quite cramped."

"Then you probably should never have been in that room."

"Too true. I don't usually except jobs with one way in and one way out." Mitty stared openly. He thought of thievery as a job?

"People pay you to steal?"

"People, nobles, pay me a lot to steal."

"Isn't that wrong?" The thief laughed.

"Isn't it wrong for the nobles to charge the farmers to farm their land, and then take half their profit? Isn't it wrong for them to pave their houses with gold while families next door starve? I think it all depends on what you think of as good and bad?"

"Do you use the money you get from stealing to feed those families?"

The thief's hand paused halfway back from the skillet.

"Would you? Are you going to use what you stole to help people?" Mitty pondered the question. Was she any better than he was, stealing from a lord? Pader had rightfully given the material to him. And the only ones she helped would be her brother, and her father. She helped those two for simply selfish reasons. Without the fabric, both would be completely hostile towards her.