The Awakening Read Online Free PDF Page B

strides. She was touched by his thoughtfulness when he shortened his stride and slowed slightly to allow her to keep up.
    He led her to a corner of the market where a large tree stood. Its shade often sheltered young couples who sought its cool dimness to sit close together. Hwenfayre quickly forgot the pain of her scraped knee and the tormenting boys when the man eased the pack off his shoulder and opened it. Inside she saw a harp and some food. With a quick grin at her, he started to unpack the wrapped food to reveal bread, some cheese, a bottle of water and a wineskin.
    A young couple, also seated under the tree, watched as the man started to prepare a simple meal. When it became apparent that Hwenfayre would be staying, they stood and walked away. With a puzzled look on his face, the man watched them leave.
    ‘And how, pray, can such a young and small child be such a deterrent? What are you, ten, eleven summers?’ he looked gently at Hwenfayre.
    ‘I prefer to measure in winters, kind sir, and I have endured thirteen.’
    ‘Hwenfayre, I suppose you would like to know how I know your name and why I sought you out?’
    She nodded slowly, not taking her eyes from his face.
    ‘First, my name. I am called Adam. Some have called me Adam the Nimble-Fingered, but around market towns like this I tend to leave that addition out. I travel, tell tales and play the harp. Enough of me; do you know that you are famous?’ He paused and raised his eyebrows at her, quizzically. ‘No, I didn’t think you would. It’s true; a friend of mine was in this town a month or so ago and told me to look for you. Apparently, you play the harp. My friend was most impressed with your skills.’
    ‘Your friend was mistaken and you have wasted your time, for I am no minstrel,’ replied Hwenfayre.
    In response, he merely twitched his eyebrows and knelt to dress her still-bleeding knee. Taking a cloth from his pack, he wet it and gently washed her wound. He wiped the blood away and cleaned the dirt and small stones that had been left embedded in her flesh. His hands were strong and his fingers deft. As she watched his head, bent over as he tended toher knee, she noticed that he was starting to lose his hair, forming a small bald spot. In a peculiar way that, more even than the gentle hands or the kind words, endeared him to her. She found something real, something inherently human in a man who was losing his hair.
    ‘Adam,’ she asked suddenly, ‘are you a good minstrel?’
    ‘Aye, I am. Very good. In fact, without foolish modesty, I am regarded as one of the best. Why do you ask?’
    ‘You don’t dress like a successful minstrel. And you are not arrogant and rude, like most minstrels.’
    ‘And you have met so very many of them, haven’t you?’ replied Adam, teasing her gently. ‘There,’ he said straightening up, ‘I think that should do very nicely. What do you think?’ He gestured to her now-clean knee. When washed and cleaned, it did not look so very unpleasant. Indeed Hwenfayre felt slightly embarrassed at all the fuss over such a small thing. Adam rose and sat beside her. He helped himself to bread and cheese, gesturing for Hwenfayre to do likewise. She did so, hungrily.
    ‘Tell me of your harp,’ he asked suddenly.
    ‘What do you want to know?’ she answered through a mouthful of cheese.
    ‘Where did you get it?’ Adam answered, his expression very intense.
    ‘It was my father’s; he left it for me when he went away. He left before I was born. I never knew him. Why?’
    ‘This friend of mine who heard you play, he described your harp in great detail, and it soundedvery much like one I saw many years ago. I have wondered if it might be the same one as I saw. If so, it is a true mystery how you came to own it.’
    ‘Why so?’ Hwenfayre asked.
    ‘It was being played by a man in a town far from here. He was a traveller, an ambassador I guess you would say, for the Children of Danan. He walked into the inn where I was