Misfit

Chapter Ten

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Third Age 2850
February 10th
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Culfin slept straight through the night, waking only when cool sunlight poured onto his face, streaming through his closed eyelids; he sat up with a yawn, wondering at first how it was possible to see sunlight in the underground chamber. When he looked up, he saw that a window had been carved through the stone wall, allowing for a little real daylight to penetrate into the room; this house must be in the very crust of the mountain.

That is good, he thought. He had missed the sun.

He tried to take the morning as leisurely as possible, but found it was difficult to relax his mind and his muscles; doing so was like unwinding a tight steel cable. He had spent so long awaiting the next danger, ready to fly into action at a moment's notice-and above all, fearing death at every turn-that to be safe was a foreign feeling ... almost as foreign as he was in Eryn Galyn.

Still, he forced himself to go slowly as he changed into the clothes that were waiting on the chair beside the bookshelf (which were a deep indigo blue, and still quite large for his small frame) and completed his morning routine; he even took the time to survey his face in the bathroom mirror, though what he saw disturbed him a little. His usually youthful face looked drawn and thin, as well as a shade paler even than was natural. His grey eyes were sunken, yet at the same time captivating in their haunted, glazed look-it was as if Culfin was staring at a shade of himself, a hint of what he might look like lying on a cold burial plinth. The thought made him shudder.

When he finally went down the stairs, he found that the table in the dining room was already set with a lavish breakfast of quail's eggs and thick, meaty bacon glistening with fat; the smell was heavenly.

At the sound of his approach, his father-whose attention had been absorbed by the leather bag he was peering into-stood up and looked at him. "Ah, it is good to see you awake, Culfin," he greeted, saying Culfin's name like it was an unfamiliar flavor he did not quite know what to think of. "You look to be in a much better state than you were last night."

"I feel better," Culfin said, walking to the table and taking a seat. "Thank you for letting me stay, and for lending me your clothes."

His father waved a hand graciously. "Nonsense," he replied. "It is my pleasure to provide-although we will have to see about getting you some garments better suited for you; mine fit you ill, I see." He cleared his throat and resumed his seat, passing Culfin a plate. "Eat as much as you like, you must need it. How did you sleep?"

Culfin eagerly filled his plate with as much food as it could handle and answered: "Wonderfully. This has been the first night in a long time I have slept through uninterrupted-in the wild, you know, one does not often have access to a proper bed." He laughed past a mouthful of egg and went on, "Or proper food, for that matter-there's more on this table than the Rangers have seen in months!" He paused, the thought of the Rangers sending a brief prickle of guilt up his spine. It was likely they were still starving, and yet here he was, enjoying a bounteous feast.

His father, for his part, smiled indulgently-it was the first time Culfin had seen him smile, he realized. It was likely that his father had been so surprised to see him, not to mention in such a horrific state, that his shock had chased any other emotions away. Now, however, he was a picture of warmth and welcome. "I can believe it," he said. "You will have quite the story to tell them upon your return, I imagine."

Culfin nodded and looked down at his lap, suddenly sobered by the reminder of his eventual departure from the Woodland Realm. "...Yes, I'm sure you are right," he murmured.