The Chronicle of the Worthy Son

Woods

After a long, steaming soak made more pleasant by the pelting rain outside, Able returned upstairs to find Hatling still up embroidering. Seeing her alone in her chair squinting in the candlelight reminded Able that he was a terrible son, and he hurried upstairs to pen a letter to his mother letting her know he had arrived safely and work was going well. Hopefully getting it on a boat bound for Blueport in the morning before he left for the inland would be simple.

The rain persisted through the night and left the morning gray, so Able unintentionally slept in a bit. He rushed downstairs to find Lark at the table, nearly done with his eggs, toast, and berries. Today, he wore boots and a jacket with his thick curls tied back tighter than yesterday's loose braid.

"Aha, good morning!" Lark said. "Was about to check in on you."

"I'm sorry, I—"

"How do you like your eggs?" Hatling, again in her housecoat, interrupted from where she sat with her own breakfast.

"I, uh, however is the least amount of trouble?"

"Very well." Hatling chuckled and got up.

Able held out a hand as if that might stop her from the other side of the table. "Oh no, please finish your own breakfast first!"

"To be honest, I get full easily." She and her amused smile carried on into the kitchen.

Able sank into an empty chair in defeat.

Lark leaned over and whispered reassuringly, "She eats tiny meals and snacks all day long. It's kind of funny."

"I see." Able forced a smile and took a deep breath. There was clearly no need to stress on his hosts' account. "So, no dress today?"

"Not much a fan of sidesaddle," Lark said with a wry grin.

What? "Sidesaddle?"

"Not today! Made a deal with Laughter Moors this morning. Borrowing two of his horses in exchange for my patching three of his blankets."

"...horses." Lark had said "three hours ride" yesterday, but Able had assumed he meant by cart. "So there's no...road? We can't hire—I don't mean to sound ungrateful..."

"The road goes up towards Neckthorpe until there's a crossing and you can head west. It's much longer. Is it a problem?"

"I...have never ridden a horse."

"You've never." Lark leaned back in his chair, looking at once sheepish and vexed.

"I should have thought of it last night. Back home—"

"Only the upper class really ride," Lark finished. "Or the messengers or soldiers. I forgot about that. Here just about everyone does. And the ponies are a lot smaller, but if Laughter has one that can carry double, would you balk at the idea of riding behind me?"

Able did indeed but replied, "Well, if it'll get us to Kettlebrook today. And besides, if the horses are smaller, it's not as far a fall, right?"

"Just make sure you tuck your arms in like so—" Lark demonstrated— "and tuck your chin in, to reduce the chance of injuring your head and shoulders."

"...right." Able was not reassured, so he changed the subject. "Say, how do you send post around here? If I wanted to send a letter back home, say."

"Honestly?" Lark wore a surprisingly repulsed expression. "You'd want to talk to the Super down at the barracks and see if he won't send it for you. Our post is subjected to searches. If it even managed to go where it's meant, it won't be getting there any time soon."