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without slack from shoulders grown broad with new muscle. Telemark noted the
change but offered no comment. Sturdy and self-reliant as Jaric had become,
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and resilient as his outlook seemed, the fact he could recall no memory of his
past lay like a shadow upon his young heart. Deprived of any knowledge of his
origins, the boy lived like a man haunted by ghosts. Every commitment became a
risk; each achievement, a footing built on sand.
But midwinter was a poor time to dwell upon somber thoughts. "Come to the
shed," said the forester, a glint in his blue eyes. "I have something to show
you." He rose and tossed Jaric a cloak from the peg by the back door and the
boy followed him out into the night.
Telemark unbolted the shed door, kicked the snow clear of the sill and tugged
the heavy panel open.
Jaric waited while the forester pulled a striker from his pocket and lit the
candle in the near wall bracket.
The flame grew, hesitant in the draft. By its first unsteady light, the boy
saw a gleam of new metal on the worktable. He exclaimed and moved closer.
There, still shiny from the forge, stood a full set of traps, laid out in
Telemark's habitually neat array. Speechless, he turned and faced the
forester.
Telemark picked a stray thread from his sleeve, embarrassed by the intensity
of the boy's gaze. "I made spares during the time I was laid up. And I was
right to do so, it would seem. You know enough now that we can keep two lines
of remote traps going. Are you willing?"
Jaric reached out, traced the sharpened jaws of an ice otter snare with
tentative fingers. He disliked killing animals; like him, they ran unknowing
to their fate. But Telemark was never callous with his craft.
He took only what he needed, cleanly and well, and never demanded more for the
sake of greed. The
forest was his livelihood, also his only love. Even with no past experience
from which to draw conclusions, Jaric understood he might never know a better
friend. The compassion and the trust represented by the forester's gesture
touched him deeply. For a moment he could not answer. Yet the expression on
his young face told the forester far more than any word.
The boy would accept the responsibility he had earned. By springtime, he
perhaps would have bagged enough pelts to purchase a decent sword and knife.
And certain Jane's destiny did not lie with him in
Seitforest, Telemark prayed silently that the boy would have time and the
chance to finish the learning he had begun.
A month passed, the forest peaceful under winter's mantle of snow. A
fortnight's distance on foot from
Telemark's cabin, Jaric settled with his feet to the embers of his campfire.
Tired from an arduous day tending traplines and satiated by a meal of stewed
rabbit, he leaned back against the trunk of a gnarled old beech while the sky
changed from pale violet to the heavy indigo of dusk. The expedition had gone
well. The drag-sleigh lay piled high with pelts, including several from the
rare six-legged ice otter, whose highly prized fur was beautifully mottled in
silver and black. Telemark would be pleased. But morning was soon enough to
contemplate the trip back to main camp; for now, Jaric delighted in his
evening alone.
Here as nowhere else he felt at peace with himself. Seitforest took on an
austere beauty all its own in the dead of winter. Its law was harsh but fair
and its silence made no demands upon a troubled spirit. For competently as
Jaric managed the re-sponsibilities of his traplines, the gap in his memory
tormented him, leaving a hollow of emptiness at the core of his being no
achievement could erase. He felt as malleable as soft clay, fitting the mold
of Telemark's life, but owning no shape of his own. Jaric had hammered that
mental barrier with questions until his head ached with no success. His past
remained obscured until even
Telemark ceased promising that time would restore the loss.
The boy picked a stick off his woodpile, jabbing at the embers of the fire.
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Sparks flurried skyward, bright and brief as the blossoms of the night-flower
vine, which opened but one hour at eventide and wilted immediately thereafter.
The image stopped the breath in Jaric's throat. His fingers tightened until
bark bit roughly into his palms.
Where had he seen such flowers, and when? By the time he had regained
awareness after his accident, frost had already withered the greenery in
Seitforest.
Jaric shivered. Suddenly inexplicably dizzy, he filled his lungs with icy
pine-scented air, but the moment of disorien-tation lingered. Gooseflesh
prickled his arms though he was not cold and his ears rang with a strange
singing note like nothing he had ever experienced.
A log settled, scattered embers into the snow with a sharp hiss of steam.
Jaric started. He rubbed his sleeves, driving away the chills with
self-deprecating logic, until a glance at the fire set them off once more. In
the bright heart of the flames he again beheld the face of the woman who had
guided his search the night of Telemark's injury. Her black hair was bound by
a circlet of woven myrtle; the delicately colored blossoms matched her blue
eyes. Since no such vines could possibly be in bloom at midwinter, Jaric knew
she must be an enchantress. Her beauty left him utterly confused.
She spoke, and her voice rang oddly inside his head, as if her message
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