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The Mage’s Tale
    Morigna’s first memory was helping her father to skin a deer.
    It would have been around the Year of Our Lord 1460, and Morigna could not have been more than two or three years old. Litavis and his wife Maria lived in a cottage a few days north of the town of Moraime and the monastery of St. Cassian, alone in the pine forests cloaking the rocky hills. Much later, Morigna realized that her parents were essentially poachers, hunting deer and wolves and warthogs and even the occasional fire drake, selling the pelts and scales to merchants from Coldinium. 
    But Moraime was far from the boundaries of the High King’s realm, and the cottage even farther yet, so Morigna’s parents were free to do as they pleased. 
    One day Morigna played alone in the cottage with a wooden doll Litavis had carved her, her mother working outside in the gardens. Morigna heard a commotion behind the cottage and went to investigate, her bare feet slapping against the flagstones. 
    “Morigna!” shouted Maria as she went past the garden. “Stay here!”
    Morigna, as usual, disobeyed.
    She went around the corner and found her father spattered in blood, a heavy knife in his hand and a half-skinned deer upon a table of rough planks. 
    Morigna stared at her father, shocked.
    “Morigna!” said Maria, catching up to her. She was a short, thin woman, with long black hair and black eyes, her sleeves rolled up to reveal sinewy arms. “Do not disturb your father while he is working.”
    “It is all right, Maria,” said Litavis. He was not an old man, Morigna later knew, but he was already bald, with a thick beard shading the hard line of his jaw. “You won’t trouble me, will you, dear?”
    Morigna nodded, unable to take her eyes from the dead animal.
    “The blood will frighten her,” said Maria. 
    “She does not look frightened,” said Litavis. 
    Morigna was not. She felt as if she ought to be…but she was not. It was only blood. It was only a dead animal. It couldn’t hurt her, though it would probably smell bad if they did not clean it up soon. 
    “Why don’t you give me a hand?” said Litavis, and Morigna nodded. 
    “Bah,” said Maria. “Upon your own heads be it, you wild children.” But she smiled as she said it, and went back to her garden. 
    “You like venison sausage, don’t you?” said Litavis.
    Morigna nodded. “Especially when mother fries it with onions.”
    He picked up his knife. “This is where the sausage comes from, you know.”
    “I know that!” said Morigna, stamping one foot. “I am not stupid.”
    He smiled. “No, you’re not.” His smile faded a little, and he looked a little thoughtful. “In fact, you’re a very clever little girl. Too clever to live in the hills with a pair of hunters.”
    “You won’t send me away?” said Morigna, horrified.
    Litavis laughed and kissed her on the top of the head. “Of course not. You will be my little girl for all your life. Now, do you want to help me?”
    “To…skin the deer?” said Morigna, blinking at the carcass.
    “Are you frightened?” said Litavis. 
    “It is just blood,” said Morigna. 
    “That is the spirit,” said Litavis. “Skinning the deer, butchering the meat, and preparing the pelt is not my favorite work. But it must be done, if you and your mother are to be fed and clothed. Sometimes we must be strong to do what must be done, Morigna.”
    “I can be strong, Father,” said Morigna. 
    “I know you can,” said Litavis. “Now, bring me that bucket. I’ll need it for the organs.” 
    After that Morigna spent less time playing and more time working with her mother and father. Maria taught her about crops and plants, about herbs and flowers that could become useful medicines and food. Litavis took her hunting, taught her to hunt and track and use a bow. Morigna loved the woods and the hills, and sometimes felt a strange connection to them, as if power was rising up from the earth to fill her.
    Litavis also