Warmer days came suddenly that year. A week earlier we were still wondering when the late frosts and hail would stop. Then suddenly the sun began to shine for good and the air began to vibrate over the roads and it was dry and dusty. I remember that my thoughts had accompanied the weather, taking such an inexorable and abrupt course. I had taken a strange path, the path of my old life, because I had the feeling, since Dera had returned, that I had left something behind, as if I had gone on a trip forgetting too many things to be able to continue. Going back was the right thing to do. I soon realized that the loneliness I had thought I was enduring had weighed terribly on me and that, contrary to what I had believed, despite my efforts, Narsi's science was not enough for me. But that was not all. A strange impression, foreign even, filled me with a deep turmoil.

I went back to see Dera almost every day I had free, and the friendship that bound us, as well as the affection of her family, took on an essential role in my life. I sometimes contemplated with dread the moment when they would have to leave, and I knew that this event was inexorably getting closer with each passing week. On the other hand, I saw Sesh less and less. Sometimes in the evenings, when I passed by the kitchens with a small appetite to satisfy, I would catch a glimpse of his tired face among those of the men-at-arms who came to get their next day's meals. On such occasions I avoided him as best I could and made sure that I never stayed too long in the same room with him. I didn't know if my behavior was aimed at not replicating my past recklessness or if it was something else altogether, and my floating moods didn't really help me to distinguish between the two.

I managed to convince myself that the tangled emotions that were bothering me here and there were related to the Ronna farm, and that was probably true, to some extent. Added to this was the life-size chess game played in the city and the exasperating pretences that painfully contrasted with the simple life of the clans, which I regretted more and more. All this didn't prevent me from resigning myself to the existence that fate had imposed on me, or even from getting some satisfaction out of it. Nevertheless, I had the deep conviction that I had to settle what needed to be settled before my life caught up with me, and this idea appealed to me with stubborn urgency. It may have been a curious thought for a nine-year-old, but that's how it was, and I had no intention of deviating from my instincts, however confused they may have been. I was determined to act, and that determination soon cemented the destiny I had begun to work out for Frieze's purse on that lonely night after my return to the Basin.

One moon passed, then another, and Brown-Horn soon embraced the heavy summer rhythm. I was exploring with Narsilap the nature of cartilage tissue, arthritis, and we would soon move on to the role of nerves. I studied with unwavering seriousness and my teacher often expressed his appreciation for my efforts. I could name most of the bones in Landros Grifal's skeleton without hesitation, and I had also learned which prayers were most effective in helping to resorb fractures and cracks. I always had a mixed feeling about the effectiveness of such procedures, and remained dubious about the very existence of the nine gods of Rajja. Nevertheless, Rus'Narsi's holistic approach to medicine had eventually rubbed off on me, so that prayers now seemed to me to be just another step in the remission of patients.

One sunny morning, at the end of the Low moon, before the heat had reached the heights of the tower, Morton the page sent us to the barracks infirmary. Shortly before dawn, the messenger of legate Shortoar had emptied his stirrups on the south road after his nervous mount was inexplicably seized with fear. The poor man had fallen on a trunk, and a dry branch had impaled his biceps, just below the shoulder, before breaking. We busied ourselves around the sweaty wounded man and, as usual, I prepared the tools for the master surgeon. When everything was ready for the operation, and the messenger was dozing under the effect of the mad-care, Narsilap took me by surprise and invited me to make the first incision. "You've seen me do this before on a broken arrow, Mespa. It's quite the same," he reassured me when he saw my hesitation. "In this case, you can't really be wrong. You have to free the flesh that has closed around the branch. A small notch and then we can free the extremity and remove it." I nodded my head as I grasped the blade that Rus'Narsi was handing me, and took a deep breath. I tightened my grip, to avoid shaking, and then cut meticulously.

The operation was a success. The branch had miraculously spared veins and tendons, and it even seemed that the man was going to be able to get away without any problems, provided the inevitable infection was not too severe. I cleaned the tools while Narsi finished stitching up his patient. When he finished, he coughed. "You did very well, Mespa." He put his hand on my shoulder. "If you continue like this, one day you will make a great surgeon." I smiled, because I was really happy with myself, and Narsi continued:

"I'll give you the rest of the day. We'll resume lessons tomorrow."

Proud and confident, and because I had judged this moment - after all - to be rather symbolic, I decided that the wait had gone on long enough. This was to be the day I made peace with my past. "Master?" I asked in rajjan. Narsi turned to me. "With all due respect, I have one more favor to ask of you," I continued in brownian this time. "Ask, Mespa," said the surgeon with a smirk on his face. He was trying to teach me how to speak properly, in a language that was not his own, and when I did, he couldn't help but show me how funny he found it.

I cleared my throat, and continued hastily before my resolution weakened. "I wanted to know if I could take one of the little pots of balm we made two weeks ago. For rheumatism," I added. Narsi raised an eyebrow and shook his head. "No," he replied simply, and I felt disappointment overwhelm me. "They're not ready," the surgeon continued. "They need to macerate for one more moon. If you want an effective balm, help yourself to last year's supply. I must have a pot left. If you come with me and bring a bucket of water, I might even help you find it."

After returning to the tower where, without asking questions, Narsi graciously offered me the pot of ointment he had promised me, I passed through the kitchens again, where I swallowed a quick lunch under the stern eye of the intendant. When I was full, I took the back stairs up to my room. I must say that, if in winter I had the impression that I never had enough blankets to protect me from the cold, with the arrival of the warmer season I found the coolness of the castle most salutary.

I used the key that did not leave my pendant to access the contents of my safe, where I first took Frieze's purse, before putting on clean clothes: I had stained my sleeve that morning with the messenger's blood.

Then, with my two treasures, the pot and the purse carefully wrapped in one of the little burlap bags I used to pick up the plants with Narsi, I set off.

I left the castle under the lazy gaze of the guards on duty and went down Horn-Hill through the paved alley, passing the first gate to the muffled hubbub of the lower city, then the second, which led me outside the city walls. The air was still, and seemed to rise from the ground, so that I quickly found myself sweating, my hair plastered on my forehead and my trousers sticky. Still, I was not giving up on my idea. I took the dusty road of the Brown wharf until I reached the small path that forked to the right, towards the Orchard hill. I walked again with a determined step on the familiar path flanked by rocks and aromatic herbs, straight ahead until I reached the courtyard of the Ronna farm. There, I stopped, with a lump in my throat and a knot in my stomach. The place had hardly changed, suspended in the burning air like a strange memory made of wood and old stones.

I believe that at that moment it was only a matter of time before I gave up completely. Then Lasso the gander emerged from under the porch shouting, and a few moments later the widow Ronna, dry as a brick, appeared at the corner of the house carrying with both hands the large bucket in which she prepared the mash for the pigs. Her hair was whiter than I remembered and she seemed to be as hot as I was. She saw me immediately and put the bucket down to stand up slowly with her hands on her hips before wiping her face with her stained handkerchief. I timidly raised my hand, and the old woman, without answering, pinned me with a sharp look. We stayed like this for a heartbeat, then the widow said to me in her rattle voice:

"So, brazen young man, are you going to let an old woman carry her bucket alone?"

This was enough to get me out of my hot lethargy. "No mistress," I said in a loud voice, and I ran to help her bring the heavy bucket back to the porch. The old woman swore against the midges and her sow, which did not want to let herself be covered, while I braced myself to put the bucket in its place.

"Come on, get in fyssan," she said when I had finished. "I can at least offer you a bowl of soup for your trouble." I coughed politely as we walked through the door. "No thanks," I replied. "I've already eaten." "Ah," said the old woman. "Well, I haven't."

Her shanty was very simple, a table, a chair, a fireplace and a bed. It was hot, but not as hot as outside, despite the small bed of embers in the fireplace. While the widow helped herself to a bowl of soup, I stood by the entrance until she suggested that I bring in the stool that was on the porch. Without daring to speak too much for fear of disturbing her, I sat down on the other side of the small table while she ate in silence. Finally, after taking a slice of hard bread that she chewed painfully, she pushed back her bowl and stared at me with a serious look as I squirmed uncomfortably under her gaze. "I wonder what you've come here for, the fyssan," she finally declared. "If you're in trouble again, you're in the wrong place." The old lady kept staring at me, and her face looked disapproving, and I felt like I didn't really deserve it.

I stammered, red up to my ears, while rummaging around in my little bag. The old lady looked surprised when I put the pot on the table, and her eyes became even more rounded when I took out the rattling purse. She opened her mouth with an accusing look in her eyes, and I cut her off before she had time to make another unpleasant remark. "No, I didn't steal those," I said in a voice that was a little too loud. "The ointment comes from my master, the healer Narsilap, and the money I earned it honestly last winter with Frieze the Chaig." As I could see that the widow did not yet understand that this was a gift and not a boast, I explained myself in a trembling voice of both bitterness and disappointment. "The balm is for you, it will relieve those pains you complain about all the time when it rains. The money, I give it to you. I had thought that Ucar and Brindy should soon be looking for an apprenticeship, and I hope it will help them, but if you prefer to use it for something else, that's your business." The widow looked both confused and irritated. "Well," she said after a moment of reflection, "I guess I should thank you. So thank you."

I was accustomed to the widow's rudeness and, even though I had secretly nurtured the hope of a kind word, or even a compliment, her air of mistrust did not surprise me. I stood up in silence, since I had done what I had come to do and I could see that it was useless to hope for more. Then the old woman spoke again. Her tone had softened and, in spite of my desire to empty the place without delay, I sat down while she talked.

"I don't see much of either of them lately. Ucar has found a job helping out at the sawmill and it's said that he's working hard at it. But your money might be good for Brindy. Since you left, she's been seeing the little seamstress at Brown's wharf, the one who also makes the nets. Maybe with that she will want to take her as an apprentice." I swallowed as I slumped down on the stool. I asked in a small voice, "Are they all right, then?" The old woman had a dry little laugh. "Ah, for that, I know as much as you do. But imagine, when they came by two weeks ago, they made me understand that they were thinking of getting married, once they're old enough. It's not dumb, since they don't have a family to pay the dowry."

My heart skipped a beat at the widow's words, but I immediately realized that I expected as much. That was the order of things, that's all. There was no doubt that I still loved Brindy, and the painful jealousy I felt at the knowledge of Ucar's infatuation reminded me of it at every moment. However, it seems to me that, without accepting it, I had suspected that Brindy, like many things I loved, would be swallowed up with the rest of my past and that there was little I could do about it now. Without really knowing how I felt, and without really wanting to worry about it either, I listened distractedly to the old woman ramble while assimilating the information. In the end, she offered me a cold herbal tea, which I accepted with a dry mouth. The gossip and complaints faded and the widow finally came to ask about me. I told her about my days, she would make a series of disapproving faces, but she listened anyway and sometimes bounced back on what I told her. I don't remember exactly how we got to this point, or even why the question came to me so suddenly, but it came out all of a sudden as the widow dug into her memories.

"Do you remember how I got here? The first time, I mean." The old woman coughed and took a sip of herbal tea. "That was four years ago. It rained a lot that year. A man came down from the castle to tell me that the Fysses had found a child in the woods and couldn't take care of him. Since I already had Brindy and Robin, I said I didn't mind. They let me keep for myself one of the two pigs I owed to the castle, and a cart-driver dropped you off at the farm. You were very dirty, and you didn't speak the language. But no one had any idea what you were doing alone in the forest. I think it's better that way, if you ask me." I tried to remember, but the story the old woman told me didn't bring back any memories. We chatted a little longer, before I left in the late afternoon.

So I returned to the castle, unsure whether I had really accomplished what I thought I had to do. Brindy occupied my thoughts, and I had a knot in my stomach every time I thought of her.

On one hand I was relieved, on the other I was not at all. That evening, I brooded about my day in the hollow of my narrow bed, alternating feelings of peace and turmoil. To reassure myself, I came to tell myself, just before sleep came over me, that a page had been turned and that at least my life could not be more complicated than it already was.