Thanks Tessabe and Jezebel (I know isn't Daëmor cool?) and of course Wizard116 for reviewing : ). I dunno if I should let someone go to the forest. . . maybe a herald. . . otherwise how do the supplies get there? Unless it's magic. . . hmmmm. . . Also, any suggestions to what a dark herald would need to know, other than killing and killing and killing? Certainly not court manners. . .

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By the end of the week, Maie had settled into her new-albeit lonely- life. Her waystation was free of dust and, although still a comfortless black, suited her needs perfectly. The food was tasteless and of no variety, but it was food, and Maie never went hungry. And if she had to chop her own firewood for the fire, well, it wasn't as if she weren't used to doing that anyway. But there was always the company. . .

Maie had never been so alone before. Granted, she had been isolated from the village, but, well, she'd had her –hated- mother, she'd had her stupid pony, she'd had the birds and the occasional neighboring visit. She'd had even the annual herald and bright-eyed Companion.

Here, there was only her and Daëmor.

Well, it may have been the fact that she had not wandered more than fifty paces from the waystation… and that those fifty paces were always to the stables. But Maie didn't think so. She didn't really want to know what exactly was beyond those fifty paces. She didn't really want to know what exactly lay beneath the cover of tree and shadow.

So she was just going to have to go lonely for a little longer, she thought as she lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, with no morning birdcalls to interrupt her lazy musings. Which was one high point, compared to two thousand lows. . .

And that was when she noticed the time.

With a groan, she hoisted herself off the bed, stumbling around a bit until she shook sleep from her eyes.

Enough time for a quick shower, and then some breakfast. . .

The water was never warmer than slightly cold, and so the shower was always quick and full of heartfelt swearing. The fifteen-minute run of hot water at home, even though almost all of it was usually taken up by her mother, seemed a luxury compared to this.

Still, there was a kettle she could boil water in, if she could spare the time. Maybe a little less sleep was worth a hot bath. . .

Or maybe not.

The past week had been, simply put, quite exhausting, as she juggled caring for herself and Daëmor and cleaning the waystation and chopping wood. Frankly, she wondered how exactly she was going to have time for any lessons at all.

Although maybe she just wasn't used to all this work. With some getting used to and some smarter thinking. . .

Maie shook off the thought as she hurried through another bowl of porridge and nuts. She was eating like a squirrel, and had been for the past. . . since she'd arrived here. Not that she was complaining. Or rather, not that she was complaining much.

Cleaning up and rushing her fifty paces to Daëmor's stable, she mixed chaff with oats and electrolyte and splashed water into the dry mixture. Giving the waiting Companion his breakfast, she wrestled two flakes of timothy hay down into a haynet, and then dragged the load to the stables. One high point of a Companion was that you didn't get kicked trying to muck out the stable while he ate. So Maie did just that, and quickly, before currying and brushing Daëmor's coat to the dark, dark shine.

She had learned two things about her Companion since she'd been chosen. One was not to expect him to talk very much at all, and the other was not to expect any, ah, bonding.

Being chosen really wasn't at all what she'd thought it'd be like. There was no love involved, not much happiness. More like a professional relationship. A job. A duty. And Maie, she was all about duty.

But, she thought as she picked straw off of Daëmor's tail, there was none of the romance implied by the books and worshipped by the bards. She certainly wasn't going to get any worship from a single bard.

:Certainly not. We are not to be seen, nor heard, nor even known about.:

"Are you reading my thoughts?" Maie demanded, startled and rather taken aback.

:yes.:

Her jaw dropped, but she quickly yanked it back up again, as flames leaped into her eyes at the thought of her lack of. . . privacy. And that he could admit it like that. . . With the same tone as he would use if she'd asked him if he'd finished his breakfast.

:I'd rather you'd not stop brushing me.:

"And I'd rather you not read my thoughts!"

In answer, he merely craned his long, dark neck, looking at Maie with harsh, blackened eyes, a small, smirking gleam flashing in them. Maie tossed her head and set her chin, an answering challenge. The little gleam widened, and sharp, sharp teeth clicked an. . . approval?

:You will do.: And with that, he was once again silent.

And left Maie staring, glaring, angry and confused, brush still motionless in her hand.

:Be quick. We shall start our lessons within the candlemark.: His mindvoice was faintly amused.

"Lessons about?" Maie asked snappishly, still feeling very snappish, very angry, and very, very argumentative. She did not want Daëmor to know how very interested she was.

There was a little more than a hint of amusement in the answering mindvoice.

:Magic.:

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There has to be electrolyte in Valdemar! How else do they help their horses sweat? But I did refrained from the hygain ice and breeda and. . .: )