Sender

The messenger arrived very early.

There was still enough time left before “the brightest star in the sky” disappeared—at least enough to boil water twice and have it cool down again.

The entire Yalvis family had already risen, busy checking Dean’s luggage for the umpteenth time since last night. Suddenly, bursts of noise echoed from outside the door.

“Wow, is it true?” “Such good fortune?” “What luck!” “Quick, say it again…”

Yalvis pushed open the wooden door. Just a dozen steps away, at the fork in the path, a crowd of villagers carrying various farm tools had gathered in a circle. Those on the outside pressed those within for details, while the messenger’s voice rang out from the center:

“Of course it’s true! Ah, Pamela really struck it lucky this time. Ah!”

“Who’s Pamela?” As Yalvis walked over, he heard the wood-gatherer from the edge of the forest tugging at the steward’s fisherman, asking.

“I think it’s the messenger from Eclie village…” The fisherman’s face was filled with envy and disbelief as he replied, “Well, don’t ask me, listen to what the messenger says…”

At that moment, the messenger at the center looked up and saw the cattleherd.

“All right, all right…” As if spotting a savior, the messenger sprang up. “Yalvis is here, young Dean is here, we’re leaving! We’re about to set out, a long journey, two days’ walk—stop crowding around! Go to summer duty, go on, quickly! Otherwise, if the constable comes, it’ll be trouble again!”

Yet, the villagers, who always rose in the dead of night for fear of missing their duties and being scolded by the lord, didn’t disperse at once.

On the contrary, several villagers tugged at the messenger, pleading, “Say it again…” “Yes, Quicklegs, tell us one more time, let us hear it again!”

“No, no, we really must go… Let me go… Release me!… All right, all right, one last time. Yalvis, Dean, please wait just a moment…”

Surrounded, the messenger had no way out and could only apologize helplessly to the cattleherd, then turned to the villagers and stressed once more, “This really is the last time!”

“Good, the last time!” “All right, all right, Quicklegs, just say it quickly.”

“A couple of days ago, I went to deliver a message to the lords again. Just as I neared the baron’s castle, I saw Pamela. From afar, I could tell something was wrong with that mongrel—it was walking so slowly! Fearing it had hurt its leg, I hurried over to check. When I got close, I saw it was carrying two bags, one large, one small! I was startled—how dare it steal from the lord…”

“Skip that part…” “No need for that!” The villagers weren’t interested in what happened before.

“Hmm…” Eager to leave, the messenger obliged: “Pamela said both bags were rewards from the lord, from the baron! This time, when it delivered the message to the castle, it didn’t see the steward or the farm overseer, but the baron himself! The baron personally asked how Eclie village’s oxen were recovering…”

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“Wow!” The villagers, who had never seen their lord in their entire lives—including their ancestors—cried out in unison.

“Pamela also said that when it saw the baron, the lord was ‘having his meal.’ In the basket to his left were huge, thick loaves of bread, white as the clouds in the sky! On the right was a massive cup of wine, as big as a wooden bucket used for drawing water! In the corner of the room, a fat, oily leg of lamb was roasting!”

“Wow!” The villagers’ exclamations grew louder.

Standing nearby, Yalvis, who had just finished his first meal, felt his mouth watering.

“Pamela said, kneeling on the smooth stone slabs of the castle, after reading the message, the lord smiled at it… Listen, the lord smiled at it!”

“Wow!” To be smiled upon by the supreme ruler—the villagers’ envy could have boiled the tiny water in their pots into a rolling boil!

“The lord even let it speak standing up!”

“Wow!”

“The lord asked about how its family’s oxen were recovering!”

“Wow!”

“The lord tossed it the meat bone he’d just finished!”

“Wow!” “Wow!”

“He didn’t throw it to his noble dog, nor to the equally noble steward nearby, but to Pamela, to the messenger from Eclie village! That mongrel!”

“Wow!” “Wow!” “Wow!”

Hearing this, Yalvis understood the source of the commotion outside his door.

“There were still several pieces of meat clinging to the bone!”

“Wow!” The villagers, now in sync after a series of exclamations, cried out in unison, louder still.

“After gnawing off the meat, the noble steward taught it how to crack the bone and suck out the marrow! That mongrel!”

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“Wow!”

At this moment, just like many villagers around him, Yalvis’s mouth finally began to water, and even more so.

After all, most villagers had never tasted meat in their lives, and had no idea what it truly tasted like.

But he, the well-off cattleherd of Floran village, had, just a year ago, from a goat that had fallen into a ravine and could no longer provide cheese, once again tasted meat—that rich, fatty flavor, the joy of cracking bones and sucking marrow, had lingered in Yalvis’s memory from last winter through to this summer.

“In the end, after delivering the message, that mongrel was supposed to leave, but the farm overseer handed it the reply himself—and even had someone help it carry two sacks of flour! The big one was a reward for Ross, the small one for that mongrel!”

“Wow!”

The final round of exclamations shook the skies!

A sack of flour! An entire sack!

For villagers struggling daily against hunger, even a small sack meant enough to keep a family of five or six full for half a month. With just a bit of vegetable or grain, they’d truly be full!

Even more so, in winter or during difficult times, that small sack of flour could mean one, or even several, lives!

And the flour even came with a sack! A lord’s sack! How precious those sacks were—even the small ones, if stretched and patched with fabric, could become a fine outer robe for a child’s wedding trunk!

Such good fortune, and it was only the messenger’s reward!

If merely delivering a message could earn such unimaginable rewards, what would the one who truly healed the oxen receive? Just the larger sack and its contents?

The villagers might not know how to write, might not see much of the world, but they were certainly no fools from the forest.

In that moment, Yalvis noticed many villagers’ eyes suddenly reddening, casting incredibly eager glances at him, and especially at his son.

“Little Dean, well done!” cried one simply envious villager.

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