The village folk emerged from buildings more slowly, cautious but curious.
Many were elderly—this far from major trade routes, the young often left seeking opportunities elsewhere. But there were families too, children peering around their parents' legs, faces showing wonder mixed with fear.
Jaenor dismounted first, his boots hitting packed ground that he'd walked countless times as a child. The memories flooded back, playing in that square, helping carry water from the wells, and being shouted at for climbing on the meeting hall's roof.
"Jaenor?"
The voice was hesitant, disbelieving.
He turned and saw a woman, perhaps forty years old, with blonde hair streaked with grey and eyes that held recognition mixed with shock.
"Mother," he said, warmth flooding through him.
