Ferendolia

By the River

   Wren woke before the sun had risen.

   Needless to say, he was a bit disoriented when he opened his eyes to the early morning sky instead of the burrow ceiling. Rolling to his side, he sat for a moment, replaying last night's events in his mind's eye. He felt a small smile creep across his lips.

   When he went to retrieve his supplies for the day, Wren found his father's bed already empty. He didn't know if Finnegean Ardelaen had noticed his son's absence, or if he had seen him resting on the hillside and hadn't seen fit to wake him. Wren didn't need much -- just his guards, bow and quiver, and blade. He noticed his training weapon needed to be sharpened, so he ducked out of the burrow and began to make his way back towards the village. Silently, he hoped this was one of the last times he would have to travel this route.  When he returned from the Rite of Passage, he would charm some humble abode so his father wouldn't have to live out his days in some old badger-den.

   A few elves were drifting about the market, and young elflings in the First Ringlet were also outside, chatting and tossing rubber balls to one another.

   "A Seventh!" one exclaimed as Wren came into view.

   The corners of Wren's mouth twitched up and he managed a warm smile and wave to the young ones. They waved back earnestly.

   "Are you going to your Ringlet?" one elfing called boldly.

   "Not yet," Wren called back. "I'm off to sharpen my tools."

   "Whoa." The elfling breathed, and relayed the information to his companions, who had no doubt already heard it.

   Wren chuckled. Where would be a good place to sharpen my dagger? He wondered. He finally decided the river was the best place. It was secluded, and the rushing water would provide good enough insulation for the sound. Wren made his way off the path and down the hill that led to the training grounds.

oOoOoOo

   A few minutes later, he had settled himself by the riverbed and had set his whetstone to the metal. Wren winced as the stone shrieked across the blade, then continued, each stroke in quick possession until he thought the blade was sharp enough and relented to the other side. Again he dragged the stone across the metal until he was satisfied, then checked the progression of the sun.

   Another hour before the Ringlet starts. He thought.

   Maybe Junho was at the shoppe already and he could listen to another one of her stories. She never seemed to tire of his and Ivy's presence anyway. He briefly debated whether he should go to Ivy's house so they could walk together, but decided that she would have departed. She might even be in the market now. Wren realized. That settled it. He stood, but in his haste, the whetstone fell from his fingers into the river.

   "Shit!" he hissed, reaching to pluck it from the water.

   That was when he realized he couldn't pick out the whetstone from the other stones that lined the riverbed. He stamped his foot and cursed again. "Fie!" What was he going to do? Whetstones were expensive, and that was his only one.

   "Retan,"

   The whetstone flew from the river and shot past Wren's ear. He whirled around just in time to see the princess catch the stone in her right hand. His mouth agape, he watched as Meredith Belhavia admired the stone for a moment before tossing it back to him.

   He hastened to catch it, and fumbled before it ultimately fell from his fingers and clinked to the ground.

   "Thanks," He stammered, bending to pick up the damp stone and shove it back in his pocket.