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dumped an entire tray of fresh bread loaves as he took them from the oven. “I made something of a fool of myself today, Tomas.”
    Tomas laughed. He was a tall boy, with sandy hair and bright blue eyes. With his quick smile, he was well liked in the keep, in spite of a boyish tendency to find trouble. He was Pug’s closest friend, more brother than friend, and for that reason Pug earned some measure of acceptance from the other boys, for they all regarded Tomas as their unofficial leader.
    Tomas said, “You were no more the fool than I. At least you didn’t forget to hang the beef sides high.” Pug grinned. “Anyway, the Duke’s hounds are happy.” He snickered, then laughed. “She is angry, isn’t she?”
    Tomas laughed along with his friend. “She’s mad. Still, the dogs only ate a little before she shooed them off. Besides, she’s mostly mad at Father. She claims the Choosing’s only an excuse for all the Craftmasters to sit around smoking pipes, drinking ale, and swapping tales all day. She says they already know who will choose which boy.”
    Pug said, “From what the other women say, she’s not alone in that opinion.” Then he grinned at Tomas. “Probably not wrong, either.”
    Tomas lost his smile. “She truly doesn’t like it when he’s not in the kitchen to oversee things. I think she knows this, which is why she tossed us out of the keep for the morning, so she wouldn’t take out her temper on us. Or at least you,” he added with a questioning smile. “I swear you’re her favorite.”
    Pug’s grin returned and he laughed again. “Well, I do cause less trouble.”
    With a playful punch to the arm, Tomas said, “You mean you get caught less often.”
    Pug pulled his sling out from within his shirt. “If we came back with a brace of partridge or quail, she might regain some of her good temper.”
    Tomas smiled. “She might,” he agreed, taking out his own sling. Both boys were excellent slingers, Tomas being undoubted champion among the boys, edging Pug by only a little. It was unlikely either could bring down a bird on the wing, but should they find one at rest, there was a fair chance they might hit it. Besides, it would give them something to do to pass the hours and perhaps for a time forget the Choosing.
    With exaggerated stealth they crept along, playing the part of hunters. Tomas led the way as they left the footpath, heading for the watering pool they knew lay not too far distant. It was improbable they would spot game this time of the day unless they simply blundered across it, but if any were to be found, it most likely would be near the pool. The woods to the northeast of the town of Crydee were less forbidding than the great forest to the south. Many years of harvesting trees for lumber had given the green glades a sunlit airiness not found in the deep haunts of the southern forest. The keep boys had often played here over the years. With small imagination, the woods were transformed into a wondrous place, a green world of high adventure. Some of the greatest deeds known had taken place here. Daring escapes, dread quests, and mightily contested battles had been witnessed by the silent trees as the boys gave vent to their youthful dreams of coming manhood. Foul creatures, mighty monsters, and base outlaws had all been fought and vanquished, often accompanied by the death of a great hero, with appropriate last words to his mourning companions, all managed with just enough time left to return to the keep for supper.
    Tomas reached a small rise that overlooked the pool, screened off by young beech saplings, and pulled aside some brush so they could mount a vigil. He stopped, awed, and softly said, “Pug, look!” Standing at the edge of the pool was a stag, head held high as he sought the source of something that disturbed his drinking. He was an old animal,