This is a story I wrote a while ago for a fiction writing class, so if it seems like I'm overly descriptive of people and concepts that Ranger fans should know about, keep in mind this was written for a teacher who had never heard of the series. Hope you enjoy it!

Halt's Muse

"His name was Muse," the Ranger started, staring into the dying embers at the edge of the fire. "Muse Fletcher. Crowley joked it was fate. Fletcher, the fletching on an arrow. He was born to be a Ranger, Crowley always said." There was a slight pause; then, "He was right, of course. He usually is."

The Corps Commandant, sitting next to his old friend, dropped his gaze at the words. This wasn't a story he wanted to hear, wasn't a time he wanted to relive. "He was destined for great things," he muttered, and Halt nodded agreement.

Will and Gilan, two of Halt's three former apprentices, leaned forward slightly and peered through the flames at the two Rangers. None of them had ever heard the name Muse Fletcher, but then not many in the Corps had ever spoken about him after the fact. What that fact was, exactly, was unclear.

Lady Pauline placed a hand on Halt's shoulder and her husband turned his head, looking at her with the one eye not concealed by the cowl of his mottled cloak. She gave an almost imperceptible nod of the head, urging him to go on. With a short sigh, he turned back to the small group in the clearing. Will, with his shock of brown hair and a lively grin always playing across his face, sat next to Alyss, tall and elegant just like her former mentor Lady Pauline. Gilan and Jenny, to Alyss's left, made an odd pair. The former was a tall handsome Ranger and the only of his kind to master a sword, and the latter a small and slightly pudgy happy-go-lucky chef at least as skilled as her teacher, Master Chubb. On Will's right, Sir Horace, the Oakleaf Knight and Will's best friend, had his arm wrapped around Princess Cassandra, heir to the throne of Araluen. When Will Treaty had a get-together, everyone showed up. Even Will's dog, Ebony, was present, curled up with her head in her master's lap.

Holding his hand out, Halt let the flickering firelight illuminate the shiny black rock nestled neatly in his palm. Engraved on the face, below the shallow layer of black so the letters appeared in white, was the carefully formed word 'TRUST.' Horace had stumbled across the rock earlier, wedged under an old piece of wood below the veranda. Leave it to the well-built warrior to squeeze into the crawl space during their earlier rousing game of hide-and-go-seek.

"Muse carried this with him everywhere. It was as attached to him as his Shadow." He paused, then realized that they would assume he was talking about something else. "That is, his dog. We called him Muse's Shadow."

"Rusty," Crowley added, without seeming to realize he'd spoken. Halt spared him a glance and continued.

"A red husky." Seeing looks of confusion from across the fire, he elaborated. "A sled dog. In some snowy countries, and many of our northern fiefs, people harness huskies to sleds and use them for travel or sport. They have long, thick fur to keep them warm, typically black of gray and white. Rusty's fur was rust red, hence the name."

Unconsciously scratching Ebony behind the ears, Will's voice was low as he replied, "He sounds beautiful."

Halt nodded sadly. "He was." A tad ruefully, he added, "Although I never would've admitted that to Muse."

He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly and collecting himself. "This rock was practically Muse's religion. He wasn't a trusting person before this; his parents had abandoned him – while allowing his older brother to stay with them – when he was only seven years old. He lived on the roads for years, sometimes alone, sometimes with others his age or younger. But never with anyone older.

"He learned to track, he learned to move silently and without being seen so that he could go unnoticed by people and animals alike. He hunted rabbits with his bare hands, or so he said. I never doubted that."

He lapsed into silence again, lost in memory. Deciding Halt could use some help, Crowley picked up the story. "When he was twelve, Halt and I were on our way home from the annual Ranger Gathering when we realized we were being stalked."

Horace snorted at that. "Two of the best Rangers in the Corps were being stalked? How'd he think he was going to get away with that?"

The Commandant gave the knight a long look, while Halt merely raised an eyebrow. "He didn't think he would. He didn't want to," Crowley explained. "Much like Gilan, he sought us out."

"He didn't trust us," Halt interrupted. "We were adults, and he was wary of us because of it." Someone muttered "understandable" on the other side of the fire. Halt looked at his young companions through the flames but couldn't figure out which had spoken. He continued. "Still, he demonstrated his skills, all the things he'd taught himself from a young age. And he asked if we could teach him to be a Ranger."

Halt and Crowley exchanged glances and each cast an appraising eye over the malnourished youth in front of them. "You're very good for someone your age," Crowley said kindly, "and I'm sure you could make a great Ranger someday. But ours is a dangerous business, and you're a bit young to begin training." Generally apprentices weren't taken until the age of fifteen, with exceptions normally only ranging a year in either direction. Certainly this boy was not yet fourteen.

"I could do it," he said stubbornly. "I know I'm too young. But I already got some skills I'll need as a Ranger and if you say no I'll keep comin' back every year 'til you say yes. And 'til then I'll just get better so in a couple years when I'm fifteen you'll just hafta say yes."

Again the cloaked figures on horseback looked at one another, communicating with a series of facial and hand gestures only they understood. After a few moments Halt turned with the intention of speaking to the boy, only to realize that he had disappeared and, distracted as they were with their silent conversation, the Rangers hadn't noticed him leave.

No, not leave, Halt thought, casting his gaze around the underbrush at the edges of the forest path. "There," he whispered as a bush moved almost imperceptibly. Louder, he continued, watching for another sign of the boy, "Crowley, I think he's gone. I guess we'll just have to head out. Wait until next year and hope that the Ranger he finds then will take him as an apprentice."

In unison, the two Rangers picked up their reins and turned their respective mounts to continue on their way. As expected, there was a rustling behind them, shortly followed by a young voice crying out, "No, wait!"

Crowley hid a grin and stopped, looking back over his shoulder. Halt spun his horse, Abelard, around and regarded the figure in the road with a frown. "Yes?"

"Does that mean you'll take me?"

Halt took a better look at the grubby child in front of him. About average height for his age, skinny beyond belief with short-cropped brown hair. Not particularly strong, probably due to starvation, and wearing rags that could hardly be called clothes. There was a dagger tucked into his dilapidated belt and a small sack slung over his left shoulder. A few scars crisscrossed on his legs and one fresh gouge adorned his left shoulder.

Lastly Halt looked into the boy's eyes. He knew that what he saw there would determine his answer regardless of his physical appearance.

The youth's bright blue eyes , shining with determination and confidence, were trained eagerly on the grim Ranger, waiting for a response.

Adopting a world-weary posture and expression, Halt gestured for the boy to follow. "Well come on then," he sighed. "We'd better set up camp at the river and get some food in you."

The silence stretched for some minutes as Halt's voice faded. The cowl of his cloak threw his face in shadow as his companions across the fire found themselves wondering what happened next. No one seemed to know what to say, or how much they could push and prod Halt for the story before he clammed up entirely. Finally, a quiet whisper.

"So what happened?"

It was Jenny. Somehow, it didn't seem right to speak in a normal tone while sitting around a campfire in the middle of the darkening woods, listening to Halt of all people talk about a piece of his past. A raised voice would break the trance, and then who knew what would happen? Probably not the end of the story.

Halt twisted around a little bit on the ground, stretching his back and resettling against his log. "We fed him, of course," he said with a raised eyebrow.

Muse shifted from foot to foot at the edge of the trees, watching the two Rangers dismount and start to set up camp. Next to him, a grubby dog sat surveying the scene. The spot they'd selected was a sunny patch of sand and dirt at the edge of a slow-moving river, maybe twenty meters from clear blue water to thick green trees. Obviously a popular place for travelers to spend a night, there was a rough fire pit in the middle of the clearing.

Untying a bundle from the back of his saddle, the smaller, bearded Ranger's eyes were intent on his task as he asked, "Do you know how to pitch a tent?"

Assuming the question was intended for his taller, sandy-haired friend, Muse stared idly at the clear blue sky and wondered what kind of question that was. Of course he knew how to pitch a tent; he was already setting his own out on a flat patch of ground. The orphan realized his mistake when the one who'd spoken turned and repeated, "Can you pitch a tent?"

Muse's eyes widened. That was a completely different question when aimed at him. The Ranger quickly crossed the clearing, holding the bundle of cloth, ropes, and poles. The boy's silence was enough. "Well, then, I'll just have to teach you. Find somewhere to put it."

That, he could do. The order was met with a nod and the small boy moved off, scouring the riverside campsite in a crouch. Crowley's tent was up and his things stored by the time Muse straightened up and gestured to Halt. "Here."

The two Rangers peered at the patch of ground he'd chosen, and even to their keen eyes the dirt there didn't look any different than the dirt several feet away, where his husky was lounging. But regardless, Halt set the bundle down. "Let's get started."

Under Halt's supervision, Muse began to set up the tent. He laid the canvas out the way he'd seen Crowley start, and from there guessed and checked until the tent appeared to be up. His eyes followed the Ranger who'd given him his instructions, who was now walking around the small structure. After tightening a knot and hammering a pole a little deeper into the soft ground, the Ranger looked up. "Not bad. Can you cook?"

This time Muse was faster to figure out he was being addressed. "Rabbits, sir," he answered promptly. "And squirrels and chipmunks. Ducks and chickens. And if you want somethin' more filling –"

"I'll catch some rabbit."

Crowley grabbed his longbow and disappeared into the woods, leaving Halt and Muse alone by the riverbank. The former moved back to Abelard to gather up his cooking kit and bedroll. "Why don't you go fetch some firewood?" Halt threw over his shoulder. It was phrased as a question, but he clearly expected to be obeyed. There was only the slightest of shuffling footsteps as the boy moved off to do his bidding.

Later, when Crowley and the boy had returned and the rabbits were spitted over the fire, Halt finally asked a question that, in retrospect, he really should have asked much sooner. "So, now that we've eaten there are some things we should discuss. Let's start simply. What's your name?"

Seeming startled at being addressed in such a manner – or at all – it took him a minute before he answered. "Muse. Muse Fletcher."

"And what's your story?" the Ranger continued softly.

"Huh?"

Halt made an apologetic gesture. "Your story. Your history, if you like. Why you have the skills you have, why you're wearing those clothes, why you don't live with your parents."

"Oh." Muse paused and collected his thoughts before giving a quick, "My parents're dead and I've been livin' on my own since I was seven, sir."

Neither Ranger believed a word he had said. The boy was clearly lying. But, for now at least, they decided to let the lie go. No point in antagonizing him. Instead, Halt decided to skip to something else he'd noticed. "Sir?" he remarked, looking around the small camp in mock alarm. "I don't see any knights here, do you?" He addressed this last bit to Crowley, who shook his head.

"No sirs here."

Muse hesitated, thinking he'd made a mistake. His eyes darted back and forth between the two men. "So whaddo I call you, then?" he asked hesitantly, turning the spit over the fire as he did so. Fat dripped into the fire and flames flared up, the fragrant smell causing his stomach to rumble with hunger. He hadn't had a proper meal in days, and today he was not only getting rabbit, but one of the Rangers, the bearded one, had mixed up some sort of dough and put it in the ashes at the edge of the fire. Muse thought it looked like bread, and fresh bread was something he hadn't had in ages. There was even talk of coffee, a beverage he'd never had and was only vaguely familiar with.

"Well I suppose you'll have to call us by our given names," Crowley said, answering his question.

"What're those?" Muse prompted. He wasn't sure how he felt about these men. He thought maybe he liked the clean-shaven one a bit better, if only because he hadn't ordered Muse around yet. The other one had made him set up a tent and make dinner.

"Well," his less-liked said, "my name is Halt. So you can call me 'Halt.' None of this 'sir' business. And he" – he gestured to the other Ranger – "is Crowley. Watch out for him," Halt added with a slight grin. "He's the Ranger Corps Commandant. Ranger Number 1, the highest ranked of us all."

Muse's eyes widened in alarm. Maybe he didn't like that one so much after all. Crowley saw the expression and turned away until he could compose his features. Halt continued as if he'd noticed nothing. "So, as he's very busy living in the lap of luxury at Castle Araluen, being waited on hand and foot by servants while the rest of us fend for ourselves in the woods of our fiefs, he can't take on an apprentice."

Each Ranger watched Muse's face carefully for the realization to hit. They didn't have long to wait. "So, I'll be… Halt's apprentice? Or…" – he gulped fearfully – "or will someone else entirely be my master?"

Halt shook his head. "You'll come live with me at Redmont, one of the larger fiefs to the west. Unless that bothers you?"

"No!" Muse shook his head violently. While he wasn't sure how he felt about the dark-haired man, he didn't want to offend him. Particularly if Halt was to become his mentor.

"Good. Then we have a lot to talk about, but we can get into that more tomorrow." Muse's new mentor turned to his old friend. "If you don't mind, I'd like you to watch him for a bit. I've got an errand to run."

"No problem." Crowley climbed to his feet, grabbing his and Halt's dishes. Halt had offered to let Muse eat off his plate first, but the youth had instead eaten bare-handed once the meat had cooled a bit. Now he wiped his hands on the ragged shirt he wore. As Halt mounted Abelard and rode out of the clearing without a backwards glance, the Commandant said, "Why don't you come down to the river with me? We'll get you cleaned up."

Looking down at himself, Muse almost protested before he realized that what he considered clean was not the same as the Ranger's idea of cleanliness. He allowed himself to be led the ten meters to the water. Rusty followed, plunging into the river ahead of them.

Twenty minutes later, when Crowley finally declared him acceptable, Muse's skin was pink from scrubbing and his hair stuck up at funny angles. Still waist-deep in the water, he wrapped his arms tightly around his body and wished he could get dressed again, but Crowley had made it clear he wasn't going to get his own clothes back.

"C-can I at least have s-something t-to dry off w-with?" Muse finally asked, teeth chattering.

"Hmm? Oh, yes. Sorry, Muse." Crowley disappeared into his tent and reappeared a moment later with a blanket.

Gratefully, Muse left the water and sank into a crouch next to the fire, letting Crowley drape the blanket over him. It wasn't perfect, but the warmth was more comforting than standing in the river waiting for Halt to show up again. Rusty shook himself, splattering them both with water, and curled up near the warm rocks of the fire pit.

"Do you want me to bandage that cut now or after you're dressed?" Crowley asked after a while. The sun had dropped behind the trees and the clearing had darkened. Sparks drifted free of the fire and high into the night sky, broadcasting their position to anyone who cared to look for it. And even as Muse opened his mouth to speak, hoof beats could be heard in the near distance, approaching their camp.

Muse tensed to scurry into cover, but Crowley stopped him with a hand on his arm. "It's Halt." His pointed to his horse who was relaxed and chomping casually on a clump of grass. "If it were anything to worry about, Cropper would be letting us know."

Sure enough, a moment later Halt appeared between the trees and the two Ranger horses nickered greetings to each other as the rider swung down from the saddle. He dropped a knapsack next to his apprentice and slouched against a log next to the boy.

Muse eyed the canvas sack warily. "What is it?"

"It's not going to bite." Halt undid the drawstring and pulled out a brand new set of clothing much like his own – simple brown and gray clothes and a pair of soft leather boots. Lastly, he pulled out a leather collar and leash, which Crowley took and fastened around Rusty's neck, scratching under the puppy's chin as he did. There were at least three or four sets of clothes in the bag, and Muse changed hastily right there, eager to get into the warmth of the new clothes while the temperature dropped around them. When he was finished and hugging the soft material of his new shirt to him, Halt brought out another item and handed that to him as well. "You'll get your own fairly soon, but for the time being it can't hurt for you to borrow this."

In his outstretched hand was his own spare mottled gray and green camouflage cloak. The boy snatched the garment from him eagerly and swung it around his shoulders, fastening the ties at his neck. "So I'm really going to be a Ranger?" he asked eagerly. Crowley grinned, and the Rangers answered in unison.

"If you can survive the training."

"Hang on a second," Will interrupted, climbing stiffly to his feet. "You've been talking for a while; you must be parched."

Gesturing for Horace and Gilan to help him, the young Ranger led the way into the cabin he'd inherited from Halt. By the fire, Halt and Crowley hoped that meant they were getting coffee.

"So where was Muse from originally? Did he know?" Cassandra asked in the ensuing silence.

Halt stretched his arms out in front of him and twisted at the waist. As much as he hated to admit it, even to himself, he was getting much too old to sit on the cold, hard ground, and his stiff muscles were protesting. Leaning back once more, he finally answered her. "Norgate Fief. Apparently they'd had a husky when he was younger and he was used to travel by sled dog, not horse. When he was eventually introduced to Twister, his horse, it was pretty hard not to laugh at how bad he was." The two older Rangers grinned at the memory. "When he climbed up and threw his leg over the saddle, he almost fell off the other side again. He practically begged me to let him rig a dogsled with wheels and a team of dogs, and it took not only me, but Crowley and Old Bob to convince him he would survive on a horse."

"Who is 'Old Bob?'" Cassandra questioned, amusement clear in her voice at the phrase.

"One of the Ranger horse breeders; I leave Abelard with him when I need to, and he trained all of my apprentices' horses, including Tug." From the stable next to the house, where Tug was resting, came a small whinny.

At that moment, the boys shoved between Halt and Crowley's shoulders with a tray of coffee mugs. "Here you go, boys!" Horace hollered, pushing a steaming mug into Halt's hands. Crowley grinned and happily accepted the fragrant drink, while the other Ranger shot the knight a scathing look. Horace remained resolutely un-scathed.

"Took you long enough," Halt griped when he realized his glare was ineffective. There was a small taste of honey, which was good; he'd been afraid Will would hold back intentionally. That would be a very Will-like thing to do. But his former apprentice recognized this was not a situation to fool with his mentor's coffee – particularly if he wanted to hear the entire story rather than a summary. Or nothing.

"So what was the code word for Twister?" Gilan asked as the three young men resumed their seats.

Will had a related question that he asked rather ruefully. "Did he try to ride before he said it for the first time?"

One side of Halt's mouth twisted up in a grin. "Unlike one notable apprentice of mine, Muse caught on and asked why Old Bob and I were hiding grins before Twister got a chance to throw him. And he asked about the archer's cuff before he tried to shoot an arrow, too."

Will ducked his head with a slight grin, remembering when he had made that particular mistake. He'd had a welt for at least a week, and the bruise a lot longer.

"In answer to Gilan's question, Twister's code phrase was If you'll allow me."

Princess Cassandra leaned into Horace's shoulder, and he wrapped an arm around her and explained the unspoken question. Every Ranger horse was trained to recognize an individual phrase that must be spoken the first time anyone attempted to ride them. If the phrase wasn't spoken, the horse would throw the rider. That was why Ranger horses were never stolen.

"Perhaps now that our throats are soothed, we should go on," Crowley suggested, reminding Halt that he had an obligation to fulfill.

"I'll watch, Halt. You get some sleep." Crowley rose from the fire and gathered up his equipment, slipping the strap of his quiver over his head. They weren't expecting any danger and this was a relatively safe area of the kingdom, but being ready never hurt and for all they knew, someone could be looking for Muse. That was unlikely, but Rangers never took chances.

"Can I take first watch?"

The two Rangers looked up quickly at the sound of a young voice. In the case the unlikely happened, having Muse on guard would be a bad idea. Halt responded, "That's okay, Muse. You can take Crowley's tent and he and I will trade off in mine. You don't have to watch tonight; get some rest."

Muse shook his head violently, pouting. "No. I'm not gonna let you get half a night of sleep. I can watch too." Seeing Crowley open his mouth, he hurried on before he could be interrupted. "You're forgettin' I've lived outside for years." He was right, and he saw the recognition of his point in their eyes. And was that… admiration? "I know howta keep watch. Maybe not the same as you Rangers do, but I do know. And if there's an issue wontchu both wake up at the smallest sound anyway?"

Halt raised an eyebrow, his trademark expression. "And how would you know that?"

Muse's shifty look answered before he did. "Well, there was one time… I mean, I was – well they were –"

"You tried to rob a Ranger? I'm not sure if you're brave or suicidal." Amusement colored Crowley's voice. The new apprentice blushed but didn't respond. "Well, Halt, he has a point. We would wake up easily enough. I don't think it would be a problem to let him stand guard for a while."

Accepting the Commandant's wisdom – mostly because he had had the same thought – Halt beckoned for Muse and Rusty to follow him to the clump of bushes he had chosen as a vantage point for a crash course in keeping watch.

It was almost midnight when Halt woke, sensing that something was wrong. Crawling out of his low tent, his keen eyes scanned the camp. A few meters away, the embers of a fire glowed softly, and a few meters past that was Crowley's tent. On the opposite side of the camp was the small clump of bushes where Muse sat, watching.

On guard. Muse was still on guard. Halt glanced at the moon, confirming what he already knew. The boy was supposed to have woken him up over an hour ago.

Halt glided soundlessly through the camp, eyes darting back and forth as he tried to figure out why his new apprentice was still on guard. His heart dropped as he realized – what if he and Crowley had been mistaken? Maybe someone or something had snuck up on the boy who was now officially his, Halt's, responsibility.

But no, the small boy could be seen in the bushes, turning slowly to look behind him. When he caught sight of his mentor, he gave a considerable start.

"Why are you still here? You were supposed to wake me up over an hour ago," Halt hissed in a carrying whisper.

"I'm fine," came the reply. "I didn't see the point in waking you up. I'm not even tired." The stiffled yawn at the end of the sentence betrayed him, and Halt gestured for him to come back into camp. Reluctantly, Muse disentangled himself from the bush and followed.

The pair sat at the edge of the fire, Halt poking at the coals with a stick to relight some of the smaller branches. They were silent for almost half an hour before the Ranger finally spoke. "What's wrong?"

For several minutes more, Muse stared into the small blaze, absentmindedly scratching the dog's head. "I don't wanna go to sleep."

"Your parents aren't dead, are they?" Halt asked. He was beginning to suspect what might have happened, and why Muse had gotten so uncomfortable. "You were abandoned."

Without warning, the boy turned and buried his face into Halt's shoulder. Startled, the grizzled, dark-haired Ranger –

"Wait. Halt, there was another Ranger there?" Will asked, barely managing to keep a straight face. As usual, it was Jenny who giggled, but only Alyss and Lady Pauline were entirely successful in hiding their grins. Halt was rather sour-faced.

"My hair was darker when I was younger, for your information. And don't get too excited about it because pretty soon you're going to start having some grays of your own. Crowley certainly does."

As he had intended, everyone's gaze swung over to Crowley, and the Commandant held his hands up defensively. "I feel that as Commandant of the King's Ranger Corps, it's only appropriate that I retain my youthful appearance. I will admit that I do dye my hair on occasion. Unlike Mr. Salt over there." He jerked a thumb back at Halt, who unconsciously ran a hand through what his friends jokingly referred to as his 'luscious locks' – when he wasn't around, of course.

"Salt and pepper, I think," he growled, but his long time friend just shook his head.

"You like to think. It's really more salt these days."

Will shook his head. "Fine, you used to be pepper. But now you're salt. Happy?"

Halt glared at his former apprentice, and then Alyss. Ever the diplomat, there was no sign of the smile she was hiding, and that aggravated him more than if she was rolling in the dirt laughing.

"When I say 'dark haired Ranger' obviously I'm not talking about Crowley," the salt-and-pepper man said.

Horace sighed, but there was a hint of pleasure in the sound. "I know you Rangers like to prattle on, but can we please continue?"

Without warning, the boy buried his face into Halt's shoulder. Startled, the grizzled, dark-haired Ranger slowly put an arm around him and let the boy's tears soak into his cloak.

"I-I'm sorry," he gasped, his voice muffled by the thick wool. "I d-didn't wanna g-go to sl-sleep 'cause I w-w-was afraid you would – would leave."

Halt stopped himself before he could ask any questions. Those could come later, but for now Muse just needed to vent.

"I was s-seven," the apprentice sniffed. "my brother J-Jonathan was ten years old and one night he said g-good-bye instead of good n-night. And I didn't r-really wond-wonder why. So when I woke up the next morning I was l-lying under a tree in the f-forest. I th-thought it was a j-joke." A small scuffling to their right went unnoticed by the distraught 12-year-old, but Halt heard and saw Crowley poke his head out from his tent. Slowly, he shook his head. Crowley would have to find out eventually, but for the time being this story was for Halt's ears only. The Commandant nodded and withdrew.

"Jonny always liked jokes. B-but then I tried to get back to the house and I c-couldn't find it. I don't know where I w-was. I never found out. All I know is that I had a canteen and a blanket an a loaf a bread. After a while I found an inn near Castle M-Maci –"

"Macindaw," Halt supplied.

Muse nodded and went on. "Near there, called the Cracked Flagon. The owner, his name was Cullum and he was really nice and so I stayed there for a while but I wanted to get out of Norgate so I left and never went back. Um…" For the first time, Muse hesitated in his story. "I-I saw my parents once, in a village just south of the Norgate border. I avoided them but saw the inn they entered and I went there and haggled with the owner for a bowl of broth and watched from a corner.

"They came downstairs to eat later and sat not too far. They didn't recognize me. I dunno if they ever saw me at all. Jonny wasn't with 'em. I dunno why not. I dunno if something happened to him. But he wasn't there and I haven't seen him since he said goodbye." Muse, who had been staring intently at the flames, looked up. Halt could see the tears glistening on the boy's face. "I-I miss him, Halt. I loved him."

He lapsed into silence again, letting his head drop onto his chest.

Several minutes later, Halt became aware that the boy's breathing had evened and the shaking sobs had stopped. Gently, Halt stood and scooped the boy up in his arms, carrying him to the tent. He slid the boy inside and wrapped a blanket around him. Best to let him sleep through the morning, he thought. Don't push him to get moving when he woke up on his own. Give him time. Make it clear they weren't going to leave without him.

Halt glided back to the clump of bushes for his shift on guard. Nearby, the husky sat guard outside Muse's tent.

"His parents just… left?" The horror in Alyss's voice was evident. "How could someone do that to a seven-year-old?"

When Halt raised his head, bare of his cloak's cowl, Will saw the glint of tears in his friend's eyes. He could honestly say that, despite working and living with the legend on and off for all of his adult life, this was not a sight he had ever seen before.

"Muse had a mental disorder. A relatively mild one, but the problem was that he couldn't concentrate on much that required him to sit still. Map skills were probably his weakest, unless we were planning a mission – and even then he was iffy with it. He only did well with action. I came to realize that if I brought him out for a run, I could quiz him on things he didn't like and he would do at least twice as well as when he was sitting on the couch inside." Halt jerked a thumb over his shoulder to indicate the cabin that was now Will's. "He hated being in there, too. Occasionally I'd wake up and he would be sleeping outside, wrapped in his cloak, right about where we are now. Several times he even had a fire going."

"So he had attention problems and liked to be outside?" jenny asked. "Why would they abandon him because of that?"

"Jonathon was on track to become a knight. I managed to find out in later years that he did, which is why he wasn't with their parents that night. He was eventually killed at Hackham Heath, but at the time he was much as Horace had been – a natural with a sword and breezing through Battleschool. Their parents expected the same of Muse, but knew that, with his attention span, Battleschool wouldn't accept him. Unfortunately, what they didn't know then was that boys like Muse excel on a battlefield. Their attention problems seem to melt away and they can concentrate on the here and now. Muse was an expert in the field but you put him in a classroom setting and he was terrible. And the classroom tends to be where people look first."

Halt sighed. "Well, there's much more to be told, and if you want to hear it then we'd best get on." He looked around the fire to see that every eye was on him – even Ebony's soft brown and maniac blue. He sighed again. "And we go on."