Felaen's Choice

Felaen's Choice

The hours of the day were few and we needed each one if we hoped to survive the night. Compounding my concerns my body was protesting the number of days I'd spent in the saddle over the last two weeks. The muscles in my neck and back clenched tighter than a miser's purse. My shoulder blades ached and a fog lay upon my thoughts.

The leather strap of the reins was hard beneath my hands as I tightened my grip. Dennis my Rouncey, nickered. Rolling my shoulders, I tried to ease the discomfort.

Was volunteering for this assignment worth it? I'd known Veroe had wanted it and had gone to great lengths to let everyone know he should receive it. When they chose me his face had gone so red I thought he might bleed through his pores. His jealousy was satisfying; he often made jibes about my sons.

A smile crept through my lips. All the discomfort in the world would have been worth it to see him cry in frustration as he had.

To distract from my tired muscles I asked, "From what you've seen how do you think this village supports its Lord, Felaen?" looking at the two boys beside me. They rode upon the bench seat of our cart drawn by our draft horse, Bert.

The oldest of the two brothers replied, "Its wheat isn't it?"

Unsurprised but disappointed my lips tightened and my eyed fixed upon the boy. I didn't want to upset him but as his father, it was my duty to ensure he learnt respect, "You're right Kian, but I didn't ask you."

Kian's face flushed, but he didn't avert his eyes.

"Now, Felaen," my eyes glared a warning at Kian, "Why is wheat important?"

For several moments all I could hear was the steady beat of the horses' hooves upon the cobblestone path. Felaen thought long upon his answer. Finally in a small but eager voice, "Wheat is easy to grow and can feed livestock, soldiers and the lower classes."

My lungs filled with fresh air. Ever since his mother died Felaen; the loud and boisterous had become quiet and thoughtful. Every attempt to pull the boy from his ruminations was like trying to drag a stubborn ox up a hill.

My vision shifted as my head dipped at the young lad, "Right you are son," beside him, his brother chewed the side of his cheek trying not to seem disappointed.

Around us rustled fields of wheat, dancing to the wind's inaudible music. With the setting sun, the greyish plants looked orange as if we rode through a sea of amber.

As we rode, the fields had grown larger and healthier and the road more irregular and turned over. Sure indications we were approaching our destination.

The same orange glow adorned my skin and warmed and soothed my aching muscles. I watched my hand as I clenched and released it. Feeling the stretched muscles melt in the sunlight, releasing their former woes.