Grassfoot
"That's right, lady, lord; it was an hour after I'd crossed into the hills, heading north from Celeren. There was no rush, so the horse was just trotting along, when he walked up beside me. He had long legs, but his gait was still too relaxed to keep pace with us if he was just human. I thought he might have been one of your cousins at first - it was the green in his hair put the idea in my head - but from your training in what to look for I saw him as a spirit soon enough. His hair wasn't grass-green, it was actual green grass.
"Yes, lord. His boots, too - woven from the tall grass that grows in the valley, still green but corded with brown vines... No, lady; only his staff, which he'd crossed over his shoulder and hung his hands from... He was young, lord; not more than sixteen summers.
"He hungered for news, mostly. He asked of Celeren, he asked of Lookshy; he wondered if we might not travel south to Harborhead, soon. In turn, he told stories of the hill tribes and beastmen that fought us; laughed when he said that some of them were still lost in the hills, having never found the roads to take them back home. We talked like that a while as we traveled, until we reached the crossroads at the valley's center where he bid me farewell.
"Just one thing, lady: he asked me to thank his father for him, to thank him for his birth. Who do you think he meant by that?"
-- Tatara Lo, of the Baihu Society
