Not Magic Enough and Setting Boundaries - By Valerie Douglas Page 0,6

side and then it fell back to all four wheels with a crash, a rail broken, a little the worse for wear, but whole enough to get the remainder of the travelers back to the homestead.

Delae shivered with the cold and turned to Dorovan.

“Our thanks,” she said, softly. “I can offer you hospitality, shelter and food for your help, if nothing else, but also as my duty as landowner. It won’t be Elven fare, but it will be hot and there’ll be a warm bed.”

It was the least she could do.

For a moment Dorovan hesitated - despite the wind cutting through his clothing, the cold, and his heaviness of spirit. It was a long way yet to Talaena, though, and the respite from the storm would be more than welcome.

“I can guarantee you privacy and peace,” she said, very gently, reaching out to touch his hand with just her fingertips, no more. “No one should be out in a storm such as this, Dorovan. The food will be plain but good and warm. There will be a hot bath, a bed for you and a stall for your horse with plenty of oats.”

The gesture touched him. Her blue eyes were calm, steady. The offer was a kind and honest one.

It was no more or less than any Elven Enclave would offer and he was far from home. In gratitude, Dorovan inclined his head.

Chapter Two

It was late into the night by the time they reached the homestead but torches now burned at the entrance to the courtyard and in every holder but those on the west side of the quadrangle - welcoming beacons in the thickening storm. Delae was relieved to see them, even more to feel the thick walls of the quadrangle cut the fierce and bitter winds so she didn’t have to hold on just to stay on Besra’s back.

Such as it was, it was home.

Morlis hurried out to greet them with Petra and Hallis on his heels.

All three paused to see the Elf in their midst but a stern look and a sharp, “Oats for Dorovan’s horse, Morlis, please. How fare our guests - Petra, Hallis?” broke their hesitation.

With a glance askance at Dorovan, Morlis hurried to help untack the horses.

Charis followed at the man’s heels happily enough at the promise of oats, judging by the flick of his ears.

“They do well enough, lady,” Petra said, with curious glances at the strange figure in their midst, “the man is recovering his senses but I’ve only allowed him watered wine with a care for his head. The little one’s arm is set. There’s food in the kitchen.”

“Will you help the others to their quarters?” Delae said. “Hallis, will you get the water heated for baths?”

“Already done, Delae,” he said. “And the fire is stirred up in all the hearths.”

She smiled. “Thank you. Wonderful. Would you go then and prepare the guest room in the main hall for Dorovan, please?”

Bobbing his head – startled at the request – he hurried away.

Dorovan was grateful, too, to be out of the blowing wind and even more so when he stepped into the warmth of the great room in Delae’s wake. The thought of a bath was sheer delight. He would do much to feel clean.

It was all a surprise to him, to find such hospitality here among men - kindness and warmth among a people not much known for it.

A fire burned in the huge hearth, while a single brazier of candles cast flickering light over the threadbare carpets and well-worn benches around the fire. Fresh rushes had been scattered over the floor. A plain but serviceable tapestry loom occupied another wall. It was a simple room, but clean and well-tended.

“Have a seat by the fire, Dorovan,” Delae said softly, “leave your wet cloak on the stand beside it to dry. I’ll only be a minute.”

She was already doing so herself, drawing the wet heavy scarf away from her hair. The color of flame, it was brilliant amidst the dull colors of the room.

He followed suit as she stripped away layer after layer until she was dressed only in a simple tunic and trews such as the men among her folk wore - her bare feet startlingly white and appearing oddly vulnerable on the well-scrubbed wooden floors as she padded quietly away.

There is little of decoration here, he noted, warming his hands by the fire.

Herbs grew in small pots in the high narrow windows that faced south, to gain the most sun.