“You must miss them dearly,” Thenya said as she carried the scrambled eggs and trout to the table.
Jahrra was encouraged to help herself and as they began to eat she shrugged, dismissing the bubble of sadness that welled up in her throat.
“I do miss them. But I couldn’t stay, not after what happened, and we couldn’t risk letting them know too much. Still, I wish I could talk to them again, at least once.”
Thenya placed a warm hand on Jahrra’s. “I hope someday you’ll be able to, dear.”
After breakfast Jahrra was given a tour of the town. As soon as they stepped out of Aydehn’s hut a small girl with wild hair ran towards her, her dark brown eyes alit with joy and wonder.
“Pa says you have a semkin,” she squeaked.
Jahrra looked to Aydehn for help. He only smiled, something he did often if she judged by the wrinkles gathered around his mouth and eyes.
“This is Little Phaea,” he said, “and I believe she is inquiring after Phrym.”
The child clung to Jahrra’s leg, waiting for a reply. Jahrra grinned down at her.
“Hello, Little Phaea. I do have a semequin, his name is Phrym.”
Her eyes grew wider. “You’re very tall.”
That wasn’t the response Jahrra had expected but she laughed and patted the girl on the head. “Yes, I believe I am.”
“Can I see Phrym?” she asked.
“When he comes home from the fields with the other horses, I’ll go visit him. And you can come with me.”
The girl’s eyes, if at all possible, grew even wider.
Aydehn was laughing. “You’ve earned yourself a new shadow, Jahrra. I don’t think Phaea is going to let you leave her sight from now on.”
They spent the remainder of the day strolling through the small village, stopping every now and again to talk with those who were taking a break from their chores. Jahrra learned much about the Resai of Crie in those few hours. She discovered that they depended upon the land around them to supply food and shelter and that they were very loyal to Ethoes. Aydehn reminded her they lived a plain but honest life. She couldn’t argue with that.
They ate lunch around noon, sharing the meat of a young deer that had been brought in early that morning. Jahrra was grateful that the elves’ initial curiosity and awe had worn off and she easily became accepted as an honored guest, but not so honored that people were afraid to talk to her.
There were many children in the village, most of them either very young or a few years older than herself. Regardless of this fact, once lunch was finished she was dragged off by a large group of boys and girls to be shown the more exciting sights and wonders of Crie. Aydehn promised they meant no harm so with a shrug of her shoulder and a last glance towards the dome-shaped huts, she allowed the giggling children to lead her away.
The first thing they showed her was the mid-pastures where they took the horses to graze, a vast flat meadow located near the center of the river.
“It is shallow on this side and we walk them across,” a boy of about nine, Nerrid, told her. “That way they stay put and the predators can’t hurt them.”
“What kind of predators?” Jahrra asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.
They were all perched upon a low hanging limb of a sycamore tree, watching the horses graze happily as the river flowed gently below them.
“Oh! Lots, Miss!” Kerra cried.
She was the same age as Nerrid, her pale brown hair as curly as the branches of a corkscrew willow and her face dusted with freckles.
“We’ve got boarlaques, though they don’t come down this low that often, and mogrums. Dremmen wolves and igidons sometimes, Saem River water cats,” she prattled off.
“You don’t have to worry about the river cats though,” Nerrid interrupted. “They’re only interested in fish.”
Jahrra shivered, half worried about the daunting list Kerra had just given her; half eager to see the animals she’d named. Hroombra had told her about them, of course, and showed her pictures that she’d copied into her journal. But seeing them in the wild would be a rare treat.
“We already encountered a boarlaque,” she said and watched the eyes of all the children grow wide with wonder. “But we only heard it at night.”
“You are lucky then,” an older girl, Orella, murmured.
She was the closest in age to Jahrra, just a few years older, but she was extremely shy.
Little Phaea squeaked and wrapped herself around Jahrra’s arm.
“Don’t worry, Phaea. I had Jaax to scare it off if it got too close.”
The conversation then turned and everyone began asking her about the Tanaan dragon.
“Have you ever flown with him?” one of the boys asked.
“What color fire does he breathe?” Kerra begged. “I hear the different dragon kruels each breathe a different kind of fire.”
Jahrra answered each of their questions patiently and to the best of her knowledge, for some of the things they asked she didn’t know.
“How old is he?” Little Phaea wanted to know.
Jahrra paused. How old was Jaax? She never really thought too much about it, as strange as that seemed. She furrowed her brow as they climbed down from the tree branch.
Once everyone was safe on the river bank she crossed her arms and said, “I’m not quite sure. Not as old as Hroombra was, and he was very old, but older than me.”
That seemed to satisfy Phaea’s curiosity and the next thing Jahrra knew they were hauling her off to see the next wonder of Crie.
The children next took her to a grove of trees they called tofah. Jahrra was surprised when she spotted not only new leaves and buds covering the branches but clusters of deep purple fruit as well.
“They produce fruit all year round,” someone said. “You must try some, Lady Jahrra.”
Ignoring the honorific, she accepted a handful of the fruit.
“Careful, it stains,” Nerrid warned.
She took a tentative bite and the flavor of plums and cherries flooded her mouth.
Once they had their fill of the tofah fruit they climbed deeper into the hills.
“Aydehn said we can take you as far as the falls,” Kerra puffed as she climbed up a steep canyon, “but no farther. He says there are Red Hunters about.”
Jahrra paused, breathing hard with the rest of them. They’d been climbing this narrow canyon for a good half hour and despite the heat of the relatively warm day, she felt a sudden chill. It could have been the result of the mist being churned up by the narrow creek flowing past them, but Jahrra doubted it.
“Red Hunters?” she asked when they noticed she had stopped walking.
Kerra nodded solemnly. “They come around every now and again, though we haven’t seen them since I was newborn.”
“They are the bad men who killed my mother,” Orella murmured quietly, her eyes cast downward.
Jahrra didn’t have to press further to guess as to who employed the Red Hunters. Red: the Crimson King.
“But don’t worry,” Kerra piped, “we haven’t seen any since that last time. Aydehn is just being cautious.”
They continued on with their trek, Jahrra doing her best to shake the sudden feeling of foreboding that clung to her like a bad smell.
Luckily, fifteen more minutes of climbing brought them to a sight that dashed away all dreary thoughts. The narrow trail and creek abruptly ended and before them, in the bowl of the canyon, stretched a deep and wide pool, a healthy ribbon of water streaming into it from the top of the ridge. The hidden gem was surrounded by old growth oaks and rocks blanketed in thick moss. Jahrra felt her mouth drop open.