Chapter III, Reading 6

By mid-afternoon, Flindra began to focus on her task of finding Kewero.  Leudh had given her some basic instructions on how to find the Northern Reaches.  She needed to travel along the western flanks of the Greyfell Mountains to a great boulder field and then make her way over an unnamed pass and thus through the mountains.  To the east of the great range was the barren area known as the Northern Reaches.

Flindra was well equipped for her journey.  She wore a dark green tunic that was lined with soft woolen fleece.  Her brown trousers were made of thick wool cloth that had been boiled before the garment was made.  Stout leather boots protected her feet and lower legs.  A fur-lined cloak in the same dark green as her tunic added more warmth.  In addition, the dark green blended well with the background of the forest.

Leudh had given her a fine yew bow and a quiver of arrows as a parting gift.  Both her father and Leudh had spent a great deal of time instructing her in the art of archery.  Over the years, she had developed an unerring accuracy with the weapon and was quite capable of defending herself with it.

They had taught her to use a knife effectively as well, both in a fight and as a throwing weapon.  Flindra had several daggers hidden in her clothing - one in her boot, another in a sheath suspended by a cord and hanging between her shoulder blades, and a third tucked into her belt.

Flindra stopped her gelding for a brief rest.  She still had about an hour of daylight left and she needed to find a place to camp.  Dismounting, she stroked the horse's neck as they both rested.

"Well old friend, I'm afraid you won't see any more warm and dry barns for a while.  Your rations might be a little short, too.  I'm sorry to bring you with me, but I need you."

The horse turned his ears toward her as she talked.  He was a mountain horse, somewhat small as horses go but incredibly sure-footed.  He used to be all black, but now there was a sprinkling of gray in his coat.

Eghero had given him to her as a girl.  Flindra still remembered the day when he gave the gelding to her.  His familiar tones echoed in her mind as she recalled his words.

"Take care of this horse and he will always serve you well.  He is not the swiftest but he will never tire and his feet will always be sure."

She had named him Deru, which in the Old Tongue meant steadfast.

Deru enjoyed being patted beneath his forelock and she started to massage this favorite spot.  His head started to lower as he relaxed under her familiar touch.  Once she had discovered how much he loved being rubbed here, she had always tried to indulge him.  Deru liked being patted under his forelock almost as much as he liked carrots.  Almost.

Flindra gathered the reins and mounted.  Once in the saddle she pulled her cloak tighter around her body to afford protection from the wind.  It would be a chilly camp tonight.

Riding parallel to a small creek, Flindra found a suitable camp.  A large fallen tree wedged between two giant boulders would give good protection from the wind.  The ground was fairly level and soft with needles - it would provide a good bed.  Beyond the boulders was a grassy area where she could let Deru graze.

Flindra tended to Deru first.  She had always been taught to take care of her animal before she thought of herself.  After all, her life may depend on the horse.  She unsaddled him and then brushed him thoroughly.  She felt his back and the girth area to make sure he had no sore spots from being ridden all day.  She then picketed him in the grassy area.