08-11-2007, 12:59 AM
Takes place immediately before the final battle for Emond's Field.
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The bright light of mid-morning glared in Tam's eyes as he left the shade of the inn. A sharp glance left noted that the Whitecloaks remained in the Green, left alone by a good twenty feet despite rampant overcrowding in the village. He didn't like Whitecloaks, he knew from experience that they were dirty fighters, but he was content to leave them there if Perrin was. Bran al’Vere, the Mayor, left the building behind him, shooting the Whitecloaks a look that was out-of-place on his face.
He took off up the street briskly with Bran, intending to find Perrin and let him know about the rapidly worsening food situation. It was getting desperate with no new food coming in and so many extra mouths to feed, but Perrin so far had shown no worry. It was good that they had someone to lead them, to give the younger villagers and even the older ones the right impression. He saw Perrin ahead; surrounded by the usual group of young men, a red banner flying above his head. Perrin’s face wore an irritated frown as he glared at that banner, but Tam barely recognized it as he stepped forward to relay the newest details, Bran right beside him and anxious to consult the younger man.
Yes, it was good Emond’s Field had a real leader.
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