One chill day, not long after their arrival, Jaris and his charge stood guard at their newly-assigned positions outside the gate when one of the great spiders approached. Jaris thought to bear his blade against it, but the beast carried upon its back a satchel spun of silk, and made no gesture of hostility.

Seeing Jaris lay his hand upon his sword, the creature spoke to him in the common tongue of the Realm, soft and laced with hisses and sibilance, for a spider’s mouth is not like that of Man nor Hob. “Ssstay your blade, sssir, fffor I am but a traveler, and mean no hhharm.”

Jaris did this, and wondered at the creature. “What brings you here? This village is home to Man and Hob, but never before have I seen spider-kind here.”

“I trafel to the wessst,” said the spider, “where I hhhope to work upon the ssships, like many offf my kind. But the winter isss hhharsssh, and I ssseek to ssstay hhhere ttthrough the sssnowsss.”

Jaris pondered this, and thought to the tales he had heard from fellow Crusaders, who told of merchant sea-ships, whereon spiders, able to spin rope of fine silk and mend sails with a skill no Man could match, were paid with a share second only to the captain, and tolerated even for the fear they engendered among the crew. If these tales were true, as it seemed now they must be, then not all spiders could be unthinking creatures set on consuming the flesh of Men who wandered into their territory. And if such was the case, then it seemed only right that such a creature might find sanctuary in Haven.

But his suspicion was not yet allayed. “Very well, spider, but why do you seek sanctuary here? Why not with your own kind?”

“Becaussse my kind are sssolitary, and cruel. Men, and Hhhob, live assside one another in hhharmony, and I think thisss isss asss the godsss intended. I know I am fffrightening, but I only wisssh companionssship, and knowledge.”

At these words, Mara strode to the spider, and crouched before it, and looked into its many unblinking eyes. From this the spider recoiled, then approached.

“Mean you harm to any who live within these walls?” asked she.

“I do not,” was the monster’s reply.

“Pray tell, your name,” asked she.

“’Tisss diffficult fffor soffft-skin tongue. I call myssselfff Ketar,” which was a name by which the god of the road was known, and often taken by those who seek knowledge.

The girl regarded it for a while longer, and then she addressed the one she called father. “I believe the creature’s words. If one such as I can find a place here, then so too should Ketar. What is your will, father?”

“Very well. We shall take you to see the village-chief, and petition that you may spend the season here, until the snows give way.”

The creature gave thanks, in most deferent manner, and was allowed to stay in the village. Yet even in this place of rare harmony suspicious eyes were cast upon it, except by those who had come from Visali, and were accustomed to the presence of such creatures in their midst.

Through the harsh winter, as the snows built high on the mountains and the fires struggled against the cold, the Knight and his charge passed their days in relative comfort, and came to call the place their home. Though Jaris spoke not of it aloud, it pleased him to see the girl walk about with her face un-bound, and greeted with warm words by others in spite of it. A Hob boy of like age even held pretensions of wooing her, though her taciturn mien challenged his advances.

It had become their duty to captain the town-watch, and so it was that by turns they would stand guard in the tower that rose high above the thatch-roofed huts, or convene with less-skilled Men and Hob who also took part in the duty and tutor them, and hone their warlike skills.

On such days that Mara stood watch, the Hob boy would seek her out. His name was Geoff, common among Men of the cities of the Realm, for his mother had been kept as a slave there. Though he spoke the common tongue of the Realm but poorly, he would say to her, “I have bring’d this food for you, pretty guard.”

And he would present to her a packet of food, prepared in great care with skills passed from the kitchens of wealthy houses of the cities of the Realm to his mother, and from her to he.

And Mara would take it from him, and thank him in few words, for she was unaccustomed to the stumbling attempts at wooing so common in the young among both Man and Hob.

And he would smile, and bow deeply, and say to her, “Enjoy it please, pretty guard,” and rush from the tower in great haste back to his home.

The Hob boy was awkward, and crude, but such traits are a disease that afflicts all youth, so Jaris did not hold them against him. And he was of small stature and slight build for a Hob, but so too had Jaris been as a boy, and Mara had strength enough for any warrior in her own person, so neither did he hold this as great fault. Still, the advances weighed on his heart.

Over the passing years Jaris had grown exceeding fond of the girl, and had come to treasure her as his own, yet always had he suspected that the day would arrive wherein her affinity for others of her kind would outweigh that for the one she had come to call father. Though she stood always beside him, as a loyal son in service to his Knight-father might, it was his suspicion that this day would soon come. For all the suffering his choice of paths had wrought, this caused his heart to at once swell with pride and grow heavy.

Winter’s grasp strengthened and waned, as it does without fail.

On a day as spring approached, but while the mountain winds yet hurled themselves against the shutters, Jaris set aside his bowl, emptied of gruel, and spoke to this in roundabout fashion. “You have grown into a fine and noble warrior, dear Mara, and I am greatly proud. Here, in this place, it seems you have at last found a sanctuary between the worlds of Men and Hob wherein you might be at peace, and your strength is such that you can defend yourself if it ever becomes otherwise. When such a time comes as you feel called to make your own way in the world, I bid you not to hesitate. Take the path that calls you and strike my existence from your memory.”

“I vow to you, father, I shall choose the path that calls me. But I ask you, what does the son of a Knight, under tutelage of his father, do when he comes of age?”

The question in return, Jaris was not expecting, and answered, after thought, truthfully. “He serves under his father until such a time as a wife is found for him, or he is blessed by the god of love to find one of his own choosing. After which, aside those rare occasions on which the wife is a Lady of higher standing, he will set up his own house in the shadow of his father’s, and ride to campaign at his side, as their liege calls, until such a time as the title of the father is inherited by the son.”

“Then so shall I do, father.”

“I have seen a Hob boy speak to you on many occasions, and believe he has pretensions of wooing you. He is of your kind, and I am but a Man of greying hair who has raised you. If your heart calls you to him, or another, heed it, and trust me to live out my days alone in the happiness of knowing you have found companionship.”

The girl was yet unmoved. “I do not yet know whether my heart desires the company of Man or Hob, but neither is of import in this matter. It was your words that a son shall ride to battle with his father when so called, and I know that among the Northlanders the daughters of those without husband or wife to care for them are bound to do so in their dotage. Fear not, father, for that duty shall be mine.”

“But you are not my daughter, dear Mara, though I treasure you as one.”

“Nor am I your son, yet you have raised me as one, proud. Whoever shares my bed at night, know that you are still father to me, and I shall honor you as one, and stand by your side to the end of your days, be it with blade or gruel-spoon.”

Jaris cast his eyes warmly at the girl, yet sadly, and said only this: “I thank you for these words, Mara, but I think that in time the day will come when you feel otherwise.”