Disclaimer: I OWN EVERYTHING! ALL MINE! -cough-noidont-cough-

Hello everyone and welcome back. Not so many reviews on my first chapter. I got to admit, I wasn't so pleased with that one. Maybe it'll get better as I go along. I have some sweet little scenes planned for once I get Treet to the Collegium, but I got to get him there first, and I'm trying to take this slow. Now, reviews.

Crinzin: Welcome back! I missed your reviews on the last chapters of Brightly Burning. Anyway, yeah, I kind of rushed that chapter out, didn't edit it so much. I corrected and re-uploaded, it should be better now.

Breezefire: Yes, sorry, I'm bad at description. I always feel like I'm overdoing it. I'll try to add more in the future, ok?

Fireblade: I like Healers, they're cool. I'm working on the update thing, but I can feel a bout of writers block coming.

Wizard: Thanks!

Tenshi: Welcome back! Lol, I like him too.

So happy about the reviewage! Anyway, on to the chapter. Sorry about the cliffhanger, by the way. It just sort of happened. –blush-

Chapter 2: Roads

Treet's gray mare was moving along the packed dirt road at a smooth clip. Treet yawned, the passage of the road underneath him making him a little dizzy and very tired.

'May as well stop for the night.' Treet thought to himself. Indeed, it was beginning to get dark, and the twinklings of stars were beginning to show in the darkening sky.

He directed the horse off of the path and brushed and watered her with supplies in the saddlebag he had automatically snagged on his way out. When the horse lay down to sleep, Treet lay down also, head pillowed on her flank for warmth and support, as he had no blanket or pillow with him.

He dreamed confused dreams, in which people from the Hold mingled and did crazy things while floating in the cool night air.

When he awoke, his body reminding him in no uncertain terms that it strongly resented the abuse it had received the previous day, the sun was barely in the sky. Treet was used to waking early, and even in this new setting, his body wanted to conform to the old habit.

Groaning slightly at the pain, Treet pulled himself to his feet and took a swig from his dwindling stock of water. He wasn't worried. He'd reach the market that day and have a decent meal.

The thought of something nice to eat revitalized him, and Treet mounted up, figuring that the sooner he got started, the sooner he'd get there.

After only a few minutes, just the thought of getting off of the horse was more glorious that any other thought Treet had ever had. He was used to hard work, but mostly with his arms or legs. He was NOT used to being in the saddle for anything resembling a long period of time.

Given that he had ample time to think, he began to wonder what his Father would be making of his disappearance. No matter what his mother said to try and smooth things over, she was only a woman, and an Underwife at that, and would hardly be listened to.

Treet had no doubt that his sibs would make up some story about him planning to run away after they had punished him for shirking his duty. It would be just like them to try and get him into even more trouble with his Father.

This whole trip was beginning to look like one bad idea after another. Treet was tired and sore, and the thought of the punishment that would surely be dished out to him upon his return made him feel still more tired and sore. He wished it would all just end.

If he had the opportunity to leave and never come back, well, he would take it without a second thought. Of course, one of those wasn't too likely to come his way. He felt like he would probably even settle for staying on his horse forever, riding alone through the grass.

Saddle sores and fear of the future notwithstanding, Treet was happier than he had been in moons. Away from the close confines of the Steading, his mind finally felt clear and free of the press of emotions that had been getting stronger around him for moons.

He had no idea what it was that made him feel those emotions, was afraid to mention it to anyone else for fear that they would condemn him as a witch. As though he could help it! No matter what he did, people's emotional states seemed to press in on him, and it was worse if they were hurt. He could feel an injury from out of sighting distance, and the scary thing was that he tended to be right.

When Treet finally looked up from his brooding daze, he realized that, in fact, he was almost there. As the ground was fairly flat and treeless, he could already see the colorful blob on the landscape that denoted the market.

As unconventional a son of the Holderkin as Treet was, he began to feel a little nervous. What if all the tales the Elders told the littles of the goings on in markets were true? What if the instant he passed what worked as gates, he would be separated from his purse and beaten senseless?

'Well,' Treet thought to himself. 'Can't be much worse than what I get at home.' That little joke permitted Treet to gather the remains of his courage and urge his mare to her fastest pace in the direction of the market.

When he arrived, he was nearly knocked off of his feet by the crowds of people and their noise. After being away from people for so long, their surge of emotions smacked him in the face like a brick.

He had already paid out some of his precious money for a warm stall in a nearby stable for his mare to rest in while he completed his business. Now, all he had to do was find the stall where he could buy some glue, then find something to eat and head for home.

Treet's stomach rumbled and he grinned sheepishly to himself. 'Well, maybe we can change the order of that around a little.' He thought.

He quickly followed his nose to the source of the mouthwatering aromas that he had been scenting ever since he entered the market. Just as he was about to step up to the booth and order a meat pie, his old shyness reasserted itself.

Everyone Treet had ever known had hurt him, except for his mother, and she rarely helped him in any way. If that was what his own family could do, what would these strangers do? It took another huge hunger pang from his stomach to propel Treet forward.

He said, in the quietest voice he could possibly use and still be heard, "One meat pie, please?"

He counted some of his precious money into the woman's hand, and she deposited a steaming pastry into his.

He could hardly believe his luck! Not only had she not said anything cruel, she had given him a fresh pie, straight from the oven. Treet had never had a fresh meat pie before. Being not so high on the family hierarchy, he tended to get lukewarm food.

His first bite was like falling into the Havens. The flaky pastry sloughed off into his mouth, the warm gravy and meat flowed in, salty yet delicious. The expression on Treet's face was one of complete and total rapture. Treet savored the moment, holding it in his mind forever, to be called upon in the lonely days that would follow.

Treet reluctantly swallowed the last few mouthfuls and stood up. The warmth of the delicious food seemed to flow all through his body, soothing all the aches and pains and filling him with new energy.

'It's moments like these,' Treet thought to himself. 'That make you glad to be alive.'

It was a perfect moment. One of those that seem simple from the outside, but inside, are pure perfection.

Treet wandered through the marketplace for a while, the old fear almost gone. Instead of being objects of terror, the colorful booths and people seemed like nothing more than a new experience, like the piping hot pie, meant to be treasured and savored for all of his days.

Treet quickly found the merchant selling large pots of glue, in his newfound courage he had asked for directions from a merchant in a stand adjacent to the meat pie stand. He approached the stand, eying the merchant.

The merchant was short and portly, balding on the top. Treet quickly engaged him in a rapid-fire round of bargaining, at the end of which, Treet ended up paying a little more than he had wanted to, but he didn't really mind. Holding the pot of glue under one arm, Treet set out to collect his mare and head for home.

He still had a few precious coppers left in his purse, and, on his way out, he passed a stall selling books. The merchant running it looked as though he was packing up to leave, he had only a few books left. Now, if Treet had a weakness, it was probably for books. He owned very few tales himself, but in the guise of studying, he generally managed to wheedle a history or two from his Father, especially when his sibs weren't around to undermine his efforts.

Treet stopped to look. He realized that he had enough money left for just one book. He was beginning to peruse the selection when the merchant, obviously eager to be on his way, snapped, "Buy or leave, don't paw!"

All of Treet's carefully cultivated courage left him. He grabbed a book at random and hastily deposited the remainder of his change into the man's outstretched hand before fleeing around the corner as fast as was humanly possible for him to do.

When Treet stopped running, he was in an entirely different part of the market, conveniently located next to a bench. He sat down to catch his breath, the horse forgotten, and, for lack of anything better to do, he pulled out the book that he had just purchased. "A Study of Healing Gifts in Valdemar, Volume I." The title said.

Treet made a face. What a book to spend the last of his money on! Looked drier that dirt. 'Oh well,' he thought to himself, opening the book. "May as well have a look.' He turned to the first chapter, and the look of boredom was soon replaced by a look of riveted fascination.

"One of the little known facts about a Healer's Gifts is that they don't just appear fully fledged one day. Instead, someone who has the potential to become a Healer will go through a stage in which he is classified as an Incipient Healer. During this stage, although the youth will not be able to actually Heal, he or she will be able to sense emotions and injury with great accuracy. Indeed, that is the surest test for a Healers Gift, as this manifestation of Empathy specifically attuned to injury can only be caused by the awakening of a Healer's Gifts."

'Why, that's exactly what I do!' Treet exclaimed to himself. "Could it be that I am a Healer? No, that's too farfetched! Not me, worthless Tretin of the Holderkin."

Treet became so involved in his thoughts that he accidentally said that last sentence out loud.

When he looked around hastily to see if anyone had heard him, Treet found himself looking directly into the eyes of a huge white horse, and it's rider, obviously a Herald.

Treet was nearly struck dumb with fear. He had never believed Heralds to be the amoral hell demons his Elders had implied, but he was hardly going to be rushing up to one. His stomach sank into the regions of his sturdy brown boots. What had he done now?