The Quiet Return

# Chapter 1: The Road from the Stronghold

The horse doesn't trust me about the apple.

I hold it flat on my palm, the way you're supposed to, but the mare just stares at me with one dark eye like I've personally insulted her lineage. She's a compact dun with a black mane, borrowed from a family two valleys east of the stronghold, and she has decided that I am suspicious.

"It's an apple," I say.

She flicks one ear.

"I don't know what you think it is. It's an apple. I watched it come off the tree."