Medieval 01 - Untamed

spoor when he had backtracked Meg.
    In sheltered places on the hillsides, trees found a foothold and lifted their countless branches to the sky. A blush of green hazed the branches, telling of buds coming gently unwrapped beneath the warm sun. Wildflowers bloomed in vivid colors of yellow and blue, purple and gold, greedily absorbing sunlight in the days before the leaves of oak and birch, willow and alder opened to create a dense forest canopy. Once the trees were fully leafed out, little sunlight would reach the ground. Then mosses would swell and thrive, and ferns would unfurl their ancient green bouquets.
    Despite the armed knights at every hand, and the aging palfrey that was her mount, Meg was enjoying the ride. The pretty sounds of the bells in her jewelry and mantle seemed to incite the songbirds to greater outpourings, making the day alive with music.
    Overhead an eagle quested for prey, its keening cry an untamed song of freedom. Meg shaded her eyes with her hand and looked up, measuring the effortless flight of the bird. As always, she yearned to know what it would be like to soar within the sunlit beauty of the sky.
    â€œSimon?” Dominic asked, reining in his stallion. “Is this the place you spotted the stag’s spoor?”
    Simon considered the area just ahead, where tributary creeks braided down from the fells into Blackthorne River. Too wet for trees, the ground became a marsh dotted with quiet pools. Rivulets of moving water wound among the brown sedges, joining them with a liquid network that was silver or blue or black, depending on the time of day.
    â€œIt looks like it,” Simon said finally. “I approached from over there. The heathen place is beyond, to the west.”
    Simon pointed away from the cart road which led to Carlysle, the northernmost of the six manor houses Dominic had acquired along with John of Cumbriland’s only heir and daughter. On the other side of the fen, the fells rose steeply. Many of the ridgelines were brushed with snow from the past storm. The crags themselves wore shimmering white crowns that would not melt until summer was well advanced.
    â€œMeg?” Dominic asked. “Is there a way here through the fen to yonder vale?”
    She looked beyond the marsh to the wild glen that cut across the fells. In the summer the vale would be a mosaic of green forest and sunny glades thick with grass. At the moment it was a pale-trunked, dark-branched ghost wood where only the undergrowth had turned green in its yearly race for the sun. A creek stitched brightly through the glades where new grass pushed through the dun mat of last summer’s growth.
    â€œA game trail cuts to the left,” Meg said, pointing. “It will be slow going through the fen, but after that the way is easy enough.”
    Dominic gave the countryside a sweeping glance, memorizing the lie of fells and dale, forest and glade and fen. He glanced at the hound master, who nodded eagerly. The hounds, too, were keen for the hunt.There had been little sport for them since they had left Normandy.
    Abruptly Dominic motioned the hound master forward. When the game trail winding through the fen was discovered, the man blew a short note on his horn, rallying the dogs.
    â€œYou go first,” Dominic said to Simon.
    Surprised, Simon reined his stallion past his brother. Equally surprised knights were waved forward. Dominic fell in behind Meg’s palfrey. She turned and gave him a curious look.
    â€œI didn’t want you trampled by the war stallions in the heat of the chase,” Dominic said. “Your mount is willing, but a bit long in the tooth for hunting in country such as this.”
    â€œWhat of you?” Meg asked. “If I fall behind, you’ll miss the kill.”
    â€œThere will be other hunts.”
    â€œMy palfrey will be the same.”
    â€œAye, but you won’t be riding her. When my knights arrive, you will have a Saracen palfrey whose coat is as red as your hair.”
    â€œTruly?” Meg asked, excited.
    â€œTruly. She should have fine colts from Crusader.”
    â€œBreeding again,” Meg muttered under her breath. “Is that the only use you can think of for a female?”
    If Dominic heard, he said nothing in response.
    Meg had been correct about the first part of the trail being difficult. By the time her mare picked a careful route through the traps and snares of the sedges, the palfrey was breathing deeply and