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"Well, he taught you well," I said and fastened the collar around Furbo's neck, whose chest seemed to puff up with pride with his new adornment as if he was aware of the honor of being set apart from others of his species.
When Brogan noticed Furbo's collar, he raised an eyebrow, "Did Holghar make this for him?"
"Parho," I corrected. Parho was the boy who gave me the collar and Holghar was the leathermaker.
"The youngling does good work. He does his master proud." Brogan nodded.
Furbo, in the meantime, darted between the tables, begging for bits of meat and fish from the other guests eating with us in the great hall.
At first, I worried the massive dogs—also animals who had been imported to Thyre by the humans—would attack Furbo, but somehow, they must have sensed he was but a cub and over the course of the next few weeks, Furbo became a regular terror to them. Stealing the best kibbles from them and chasing them around for no reason whatsoever. His shenanigans brought Ohlav's, the livestock master of Grymburg, ire upon him, not that he cared.
He was growing fast, courtesy of the many goodies most people offered him, especially Fiona, the mistress of the kitchen, whose soft spot for Furbo became evident when she began sending the choiciest bits of meat on a small golden platter up for him.
After several weeks of being locked inside because of the cold, the feast of Thorton, the Thyre's main god arrived, marking the mid-cold-season point.
My father told me the feast of Thorton was similar to a holiday many humans used to observe on Earth called Christmas. Over the years, Christmas had been usurped by the Thyres feast of Thorton and both our species observed it equally, except Thyres didn't hand out presents.
I didn't intend to change that, but my father and I had always given each other presents during the feast of Thorton and I wanted to give something to Brogan to show my gratitude for everything he had done for me.
I had been working on his present for weeks with Holghar's and Parho's help: a new saddle.
Brogan had commented on my bloody fingertips a few times. It was hard to move the large needle without piercing my skin, and I had stuck to a half-truth that Holghar was teaching me his craft without letting on what I was working on.
On the morning of Thorton's feast day, I asked the guards to bring the saddle up while Brogan was in the bath.
A bit later, while Brogan was getting dressed, I asked, "Did you know that us humans used to have a feast called Christmas?"
He stopped buttoning his shirt and looked at me. "Nyck, I didn't. Would you like to celebrate it?"
I shook my head. "In a way we already are. It's about the same time as Thorton's feast, but that's not why I'm mentioning it."
He raised an eyebrow, and I moved closer to him to fasten the buttons for him while I spoke. "At Christmas time, it was customary to give a person who is special to them a gift, so—"
Just then a very timely knocking on the door interrupted me. Brogan, who didn't know, impatiently called out, "Enter," while giving me an apologetic look.
Two of the guards entered, carrying the black saddle reverently.
"What is that?" Brogan exclaimed, and I saw surprise and admiration for the saddle as he stared at it.
"I made this for you. Well, I helped Holghar and Parho make this for you."
Surprised, Brogan turned to me. "This is for me?"
I nodded.
He took my hands in his and kissed each finger. "Is this why the tips of your fingers have been bloody these past weeks?"
I nodded again, unable to speak under the intense glare of his eyes on me.
"You shouldn't have injured yourself for me," he admonished.
"You don't like it?"
He let go of my hands and walked to the saddle, which the guards had put on a chair before they quietly left. Brogan trailed his fingers over the fine leather. I had chosen a golden thread for the seams, since gold was the Thyre's favorite color next to black.
"You humble me, Alahna," he said.
"I wanted to thank you," I explained. "You have given me so much, and I have nothing—"
