Dyla walked down the street of Hjor with her head high. Most shopkeepers gave her dirty looks, the story having circulated through town despite the Jarl’s best efforts. She and Bryn had been given a permanent room at the inn while the Jarl's architect worked with them to plan their home.

It would be bigger than the Jarl's estate and Bryn was using his gold to buy a large force of workers to get the job done quickly. Dyla was shopping for furniture. Furniture for her home.

She was inside looking at seat covers when she spotted a familiar patch of brown hair out the window. It was Harold. The older boy he'd tormented weeks before was saying something to him. Harold held his ground, but when the boy stepped forward, he flinched. The older boy laughed and said something that made Harold's ears turn red. After he left, Harold stood there, fists clenched.

“Oh how the tables have turned”, thought Dyla, but she frowned. She wasn't fond of Harold, but she did feel a bit bad that the son had suffered for the sins of the father.

She stepped out of the store. "Harold."

The boy spun and fear filled his face. His eyes glanced from side to side looking for Bryn, frozen to the spot. Dyla could feel the shopkeepers’ eyes on her, ready to strike. She hoped they wouldn't, it'd be bad for them.

She sat on the bench by the tailor’s shop and patted next to her. "Come sit down."

"Yes m—" he swallowed the words, blushed and walked forward, still glancing about nervously. He sat stiffly, not looking at her.

"Harold. Why did that boy torment you?"

"Because I used to hit him."

"Right. Why did you hit him?"

Harold struggled and said, "Because I could."

"Why?"

"Because my father's the Jarl."

"Exactly. How do you expect him to have any respect for you if you use your father to defend yourself?"

Harold looked at her, but she stayed facing ahead. "Bryn and I were cruel to you, it changed you. But life is full of terrible things. If you want to grow up to be the best you can be, you need to learn and grow from hardship. You can either let what happened knock you down forever or you decide to never let yourself be knocked down again.”

“Now," she added, "that doesn't mean you have to be the strongest. It works for Bryn but, well, he's a bit special. You need to find your confidence and use that head of yours. We didn't win this battle because we were strongest, we won because we watched and listened and then struck."

She wasn't sure why she was telling him this, but something about the way he had flinched had stirred bad memories up for her.

"But—" Harold froze, afraid to speak. She gestured for him to continue. "But what good will hitting him again do?"

Dyla stood up exasperated. "Stars, and here I thought you had a brain. Guess I was wrong after all. Figure it out, Harold. Unless you always want to be told what to do."

Panic then anger flushed his face and Dyla nodded, walking off to find some curtains she liked.