Savina sank down on her bed for the second time that day, realizing how exhausted she was. She yawned and looked around her room, deciding she would pack, then take a nap.

            She pulled a relatively large leather pack out from under her bed and folded put a wool blanket into it. Then she paused and looked down at her clothes, she couldn't exactly wear dresses while she hiked over mountains. Savina sighed and opened the bottom drawer of her dresser for the first time in nearly two years.

            The drawer was empty except for three white cotton tunics, two pairs of brown pants, a brown leather vest with an assortment of pockets, a wide leather belt, and a pair of brown leather boots.

            With trembling hands, she reached into the drawer and pulled out the belt, running her hand over it while her mind wandered back to the last time she had used these garments.

            "Savina, you need to practice your sword fighting."

            Savina, thirteen at the time, had pretended to be angry, "I'm not good enough?"

            Her father had smiled at her, "you're very good, my daughter, but you should be better."

            "Why?" Although she enjoyed learning the art of sword fighting from her father, she'd never really seen any point to it.

            His face had darkened a little, as if a cloud had passed over it, "what if something happened to me and you had to defend yourself?"

            At that age, Savina thought her father was indestructible; the thought of something happening to him was ludicrous.

            "Besides," he added with a grin, "you're a sword-maker's daughter, you should know these things."

            She had laughed, ran up to her room, and opened the bottom drawer of her dresser where she kept her "sword fighting clothes".

            Savina snapped back into reality, she'd never thought she'd actually need these clothes for anything other than sword fighting practice. With a sigh, she took the clothes out of the drawer and studied them. She separated one of the tunics and pairs of pants and put them into the back with the blanket; she would wear the rest of the clothes when she set out tomorrow.

            Suddenly she remembered what Aragorn had said about her finding a sword; they had hundreds of them around the house, on the walls, in drawers and chests. It was just a matter of finding one that she felt comfortable using.

            With a weary sigh and a longing glance at her bed, Savina went to the wall above her bed and picked up Ravyn, the very first sword her father had ever made for her. It was small, because she had used it as a small child. She held it reflectively for a moment; it was much too small and the handle was too tiny for her hand to grasp it properly.

            She made her way through the house in much the same manner, picking up swords, testing them, and putting them back with a sigh and a shake of her head.

            A few hours later, Marc came into the library, where she was standing, giving a sword called "Trelimute" an experimental swing. He watched as she shook her head and put it back on the hooks on the wall. "Trying to find a sword?"

            She nodded and glanced around; she'd already tried all the swords in the room.

            Marc yawned, "did you try Raliayatau?"

            Savina looked at him sharply, "of course not, that's father's sword."

            "Well, father's not exactly using it, is he?"

            Silence. Savina stared at him.

            Marc shrugged, "I just think you should try it, that's all."

            With a sigh, Savina nodded and followed him to their parents' room, where Raliayatau was hanging on the wall above the bed.

It was a beautiful sword with a thin silver blade that was about two and a half feet long, and a curved, graceful silver handle with a shining black stone on the end and "Raliayatau" inscribed along the side.

            "It looks too big."

            Marc rolled his eyes, "it's lighter than it looks, try it."

            Savina reached out and plucked it off the wall, Marc was right; it was much lighter than it looked. She held it in her hand, turning it this way and that, admiring it; it did feel kind of nice in her hand.

            "Yaaaaaah!"

            Savina turned just in time to see Marc rushing at her with a sword he'd gotten off of another wall. She had only a moment to react. Instinctively, she blocked his blow and pushed him away.

            Marc tried another attack, a fast one, from above her head.

            She blocked it, spun and kicked him in the stomach hard enough to make him stumble backward. Then she moved foreword; she was now the attacker.

            "Ugh," Marc tossed his sword away and rubbed his stomach, grimacing, "if you don't work well with that sword, I'd hate to be the one fighting you with a sword you do like."

            Savina was looking at the sword, it felt perfect in her hand; she'd felt like it was part of her while she was fighting Marc.

            There came the sound of applause from the doorway, Savina and Marc spun around to see Gimli and Aragorn standing in the doorway.

            Gimli was clapping loudly, "you're better than I thought."

            Aragorn nodded at her, looking slightly impressed, "looks like you've found your sword."

            Savina looked down at the sword again, and then nodded. She turned around and took Raliayatau's scabbard, which was brown leather, off the wall where it had been hanging next to the sword. She slid the sword into its scabbard and yawned, now maybe she could get some sleep.