The hour was growing late. When I had walked Frey cool, I located a likely place for a rest stop and slid off his back. I could hear a brook babbling and saw that there was a patch of grass on the bank beside it. That would do for the night. I removed Frey’s saddle and bridle. She didn’t own a halter, but Frey would never leave my side. I never needed to worry that he’d stray.
“This is a pretty spot, don’t you think?” I asked him as I placed the tack down on a dry area beneath a tall oak tree.
Frey nuzzled at my back and then gave a tired sounding, low pitched snort of agreement. Together we walked to the water. It was easier for Frey to bend his head and drink. I had to lie down in the dirt and cup my hands the water. But we drank away our thirst. Water was abundant and easy to find. It would be food that was difficult to locate.
Well, not for Frey. He was already using his strong teeth to rip up portions of grass. He’d be content. I pulled out a stale bun my pack and nibbled at it. I was hungry enough to gobble it down in seconds, but I had no more bread. In the morning, I’d have to look for nut trees and roots.
I should have been feeling scared. My life was in a turmoil with no prospects ahead, but instead I felt light-hearted. Even free. I knew I’d always been the town’s burden, but in a sense, they’d been my burden, too, because no matter how much I’d provided them with free labor, what was owed to them grew no less.