It felt, at moments like this, like being one soul with two bodies.

Aelfric felt the shift in Dragon’s weight and stride that meant the stallion saw an obstacle, at the same time that he spotted the fallen branch himself, halfway embedded in the early-spring hay-field ground before it had begun to dry. It was hardly even a jump, just making sure that none of those huge surefooted hooves came down directly on it, and a small shift to the side so that his belly and the saddle girth didn’t scrape along the one upwards protrusion.

On the far side of that trivial barrier, the narrow deer path took them into a more wooded patch, and the more shaded leaf-blanketed ground had dried less, so hooves made soft squelching noises; Aelfric tightened the reins, and urged the stallion to a more moderate speed. Dragon snorted and danced a few strides, wanting to keep going all-out, but for safety’s sake, Aelfric refused, and they settled together into a walk. A very fast walk, since Dragon knew quite well they were coming up on a lane where he could run again, but at least it was a walk.

The thudding blows of an axe against wood echoed through the small beechwood forest, and a moment later the source came into sight, though some way from the path and somewhat obscured by the trees between. The farmer with the axe paused to raise a hand in greeting, and Aelfric returned it. He was fairly sure it was one of the three brothers whose inherited holdings circled a beaver-created pond some way from the river itself, but couldn’t make out which one. It didn’t really matter.

Whichever it was could certainly recognize Dragon, and by that, would know who he was waving to and that it wasn’t a stray bandit he might want to be wary of. There were few stallions in Rosebridge, only two that were ridden regularly, and only one that was brilliantly yellow with poppy red extremities and dark purple-red mane and tail, his single long horn straight and unblemished. It was hard to miss Dragon even at a distance, and Dragon disliked humans other than Aelfric.

The beechwood was nowhere near the farmholdings of the three brothers, but that was fine. They were in the commons, and while some aspects were regulated, it was free for anyone from the town to use. This was one of the woods that was due for pollarding this year, harvesting branches and the upper part of the tree for firewood, construction wood, even lifestock fodder, and anyone was welcome to it if they were willing to put the effort into it.

The deer path through the woods took them to a proper lane, and Aelfric loosened the reins and gave Dragon a nudge with his heels. It took no more encouragement than that for Dragon to launch back into his full gallop, long strides eating up the distance, while Aelfric kept wary watch for any sign of people walking, drawing carts, moving livestock, any signs of anything that would mean they needed to slow down again.

That didn’t happen until they were close to the cluster of houses that was the very small market town of Rosebridge. Most of the hundred and fifty or so wood-and-thatch buildings, the majority houses, were gathered into an area less than a mile on a side, with the river and the namesake Rose Bridge forming one boundary. They slowed down there—galloping within the town centre wasn’t strictly illegal, but Aelfric would be responsible for any injury that happened, and he wasn’t risking that. Not so much because it would involve a wergild payment, his family could certainly cover that; these were his neighbours, his community, the people he’d grown up knowing.

Many people would be out taking advantage of the bright mild day for the countless jobs in the cropland and pastures surrounding the town: ploughing in the upper fields that were dry enough, doing maintenance work on hedging around pastures, caring for cattle and sheep and goats that had recently dropped their young or were due to. There were plenty here still, however. Many were women, busily planting gardens or feeding poultry, often with younger children around them, or were older children doing chores alone. One man was doing spot repairs on his house’s roof, probably to keep it dry inside until the spring rains passed entirely and there was time to replace the aging thatch; another had his leg, broken a month ago by a bad fall on the ice, propped up on a chunk of firewood while he worked on tying a new fishing net from a spool of cord.

Many called greetings to Aelfric, or at least acknowledged him with nods and smiles or a brief wave. A couple of small children, wrestling, spilled out into the hard-packed dirt of the street, and Aelfric carefully reined Dragon around them. A decade and a half ago, that could have been any combination of him and Josceran and Guillen.

He really wished Josceran’s father would call him home. It had been over a year, and nothing was the same. It was a father’s right to send his son off to stay with extended family to learn, well, whatever it was supposed to be, but it left a hole in several lives.

Guillen was still here, though, and it was quite likely Josceran’s younger brother would be around as well.

On the near side of the steep-banked river stood the inn. Had they not been on a trade route, there would have been scant need for the rooms that could be rented on the upper floor; as it was, for much of the year it was simply the local tavern. Vituccia made what was popularly considered the best ale in Rosebridge, and they sold it along with food—usually pottage in the off-season—and sometimes fruit wines when her husband Ximeno had made a trading trip to the capital or a merchant came through offering it. They’d been in Rosebridge less than a quarter of a century, which made them newcomers by local standards, but Aelfric couldn’t recall a time when they hadn’t been there.

And this was one of his favourite places to be, when he could steal the time.

Dragon knew where they were and his walk accelerated, his head snapping upwards as he sniffed at the air for one of his favourite off-limits love interests.

The inn was the same wood as the rest of the town, though it had the new wooden shingles instead of thatch, and of course it was taller and larger than most buildings. The family lived in a wing to one side, and the kitchen and brewhouse were behind it; on the other side, a corral constructed from split rails waited to welcome guest horses, with a smallish stable behind it; there was, Aelfric knew, a second corral behind that. Sometimes not all the horses could be together.

Like right now. Dragon snorted and raised his head to let out a piercing whinny, announcing to his unseen love interest that he was there.

“Thanks, Dragon. I really don’t need to be able to hear.” Guillen shook his head and rubbed the ear that had been closer, then rested both dark-skinned hands on the railing of the fence, a hammer still in one. “Breeze is in the back with her best friend and staying there, big guy, and you scare poor Holly when you start trying to get between them, even if he’s a gelding and not competition. How are you finding time to get out for a ride at this time of year, anyway? There’s more to do than hours to do it in for practically everyone.”

Aelfric swung off, too used to the considerable drop to the ground to think much of it, but kept a hand on the reins. He ran his other hand under the bridle straps and rubbed the base of Dragon’s horn; the stallion leaned into it. “Unofficial word that Deorwynn’s house took a lot of damage in that last storm but she wasn’t willing to ask for help. So my father unofficially suggested that maybe I could just casually drop by, not to make her feel self-conscious about requesting help or anything, just to bring her a present of some odds and ends from the kitchen that my mother completely coincidentally wanted to clear out to make room. And maybe while I was there, see how bad the damage really is, and maybe do enough repairs to make sure they still have a roof.”

“Unofficially and casually, hm? I know she’s determined not to ask, but it’s just her now with three that are all too small to help, and there are people who would rather help out than worry about them. How bad is it?”

“Bad. It took everything I had, including appealling to the safety of her children and to the collective guilt and grief of the community if anything happened to any of them, to persuade her to consent, but I’m going to talk to a few people and round up some materials, then get as many people as possible out there for an afternoon. I really hope we don’t get another spring storm before then, I’m not sure how long my repairs will hold considering what I was working with. I mean, we can’t do it immediately, there’s a limited window for ploughing and planting so we all eat, but...”

“Make sure you let me know. Mother has the girls on a massive cleaning spree, and I’ll probably get dragged into that, but until the travellers start coming through, I’ve got some repairs to do around here but nothing that has to be done urgently. Father’s really getting a bit old for doing some of it, you know?”

Aelfric knew. Ximeno was spry and healthy, but a few decades-old wounds from his military past acted up more these days, and he was somewhat older than his wife. He didn’t let it slow him noticeably, but Guillen was making an increasing effort to keep his father serving ale and doing the harder labour himself.

Not that Ximeno couldn’t still handily remove any drunk troublemakers.

“I’ll make sure you know, thanks. Speaking of travellers...”

“She left this morning. And thank all the gods for that. She has this way of looking at you that makes me feel like a rabbit seeing a fox.”

“I know what you mean. Good, that’s a relief, but I’m still nervous about why she kept asking so many questions. Most of them were about your family, mine, and Jos and Ferrand’s.”

“The innkeeper, the reeve, and the miller. The three families that, between us, have a large percentage of the wealth and land in Rosebridge.”

“I suppose it makes sense when you put it like that, but... I don’t know. Just a bad feeling. Probably nothing. I should probably get home. Rich is all alone with my mother and the maids in the same kind of cleaning frenzy you’ve got here.”

Guillen chuckled. “Definitely, go rescue your poor brother. Where’d Leofeva go?”

“She’s being extra hands for Osgyth, helping with minor ploughing injuries and livestock midwifery.”

“I bet she’s happier doing that than housework. And there are less people with the skills to do it. Do you want me to pass it on to Ferrand about Deorwynn? He’ll probably want to help too, and he’s good at finding ways to escape the mill for a while. I’m expecting him later, actually, if you can get away for a pitcher of ale in the hayloft.”

“Sorry. I won’t be able to today, but as soon as I can, I’ll take you up on that. Sure, Ferrand comes up with all those clever ideas for how to do things efficiently, we could definitely use that. No word about Josceran, I take it.”

Guillen shook his head. “If Ferrand gets any news at all, he’ll tell us, you know that. I miss him too, and Ferrand more than any of us, I think. I’d have expected Jos to find a way to convince a passing trader to take a letter or something and send it this way. Maybe with the weather getting better, once planting and all are done, he’ll be able to get away and visit.”

“I hope so.” Both fell silent briefly, thoughts on an absent lifelong friend.

Guillen shook himself into motion first. “Anyway. Ilduara said something about cleaning out the pottage pot in the tavern, and setting it up fresh for the summer. I’ll ask her about sending some of it out to Deorwynn. I can be out there and back on Breeze in no time and it would give them all a couple of decent meals. I can spin it as not wanting it wasted, or something.”

“Thanks. Tell Ferrand and your sisters I said hi.”

“Only if you tell Richold and Leo I did.”

Smiling, Aelfric planted a foot in the stirrup and heaved himself back up into Dragon’s saddle.

Staying at the inn longer would make for an enjoyable afternoon, but not a productive one, and as the reeve’s oldest son and heir, he had responsibilities. Opportunities to relax with his friends were less common than when they’d been children, but they still turned up, as long as they all tried, and once the chaos of spring eased up, they’d be more frequent.

In a town so small it barely deserved the name, notable only for the bridge and road, large unexpected events were scarce. It should be a quiet summer, little different from any other.