It had been a cold winter and there was still a chill in the air as spring approached.
Arya looked at herself in the mirror. She didn’t like what she saw. Where had the time gone? Til approached. “I feel old, Til. I look ancient.”
“You look fine. But I agree, we’re not getting any younger.” Til had been practising his sword skills and found he didn’t have the strength or stamina he once had.
Wulfric grew to an adult. No university for him. Til was glad he had come of age.
He did wonder why his mother just stared at him.
“She’s getting old” he thought. And so it was. Arya could see her husband in her son and missed those days of youth. She was considering moving out of the barracks to make way for new blood – young and active warriors.
She had broached the subject with Til, who was naturally reluctant, but knew the logic of it. Prince Yohn had indicated a desire to devote more time to training and could move in with his family. Bard, although old, still had Roland to support and could still train him. Life had been good though, thought Til. He knew it was unlikely he’d see action, and was relieved.