Wandering through the wildlands of the realm, Toren had time to think. His life had been quite unremarkable until events of late. He had few childhood memories that did not include the rich scent of horses and leather and soap and fresh bread. The sound of his own feet scuffling in the dry dirt of the path was accompanied by the calls of animals, unseen in the nearby fields and trees. His mind wandered.

Vito, the man Toren had grown up calling father, was the head groomsman to the Baron Cy d'Von and had taught Toren all about horses; their care, keeping, and how to find out what really troubled them when they misbehaved. Vito always said, "It ain't no magic. You just gots to listen better."

When they weren't caring for the beasts, Vito had Toren working leather right alongside the other boys. Boran, Vito's oldest son, had a talent for the complex crafting of saddles and leather armor. Young Stev, the bakers son, hated it all but suffered along in silence until his skills in horse training finally got noticed and took him out of the workshop. Toren's skill in carving art was almost magical. The leather pieces he crafted always sold at market for fair prices. Eventually, even the fussy Baron himself requested bracers for himself inlaid with gold, jewels and his crest. Vito was a proud man the day the Baron was seen wearing the bracers in the presence of the other lands gentry.

Leatherworking was not his only skill but the others left him fearful. Magic was not looked upon with a kind eye in the village and Toren struggled during the years following puberty to keep his magical talents hidden. He was convinced he was cursed for nobody else in the family had such gifts. He almost ran away from home out of fear that he might someday cause harm to his family. Vito discovered the plan and assured Toren that running away was not necessary. The talk that day was long and honest. Vito promised to help him through things and together the two managed to keep the unruly talent hidden from most everyone.

Then, the day following the last full moon, the sword appeared in a flash of light, point buried in a pumkin sitting just outside the workroom. Toren thought the babble to be an arguementative customer and came outside to see if his father needed help. He found his father on the ground, clutching his hand and distinctly heard a voice say, "Withdraw me from this disgusting fruit, Toren."

The next few days passed in a blur for Toren. A lot of things suddenly made sense. He found his father and mother confessing that Toren was not their own child but had been found when he was very young. He'd been unconscious, his clothing charred with smoke rising from his body. He'd had nothing with him other than his clothing and an amulet. The only mother he had eve known produced the amulet and gave it to Toren with shaking hands. He'd felt a spark when his fingers touched the metal, flashes of memories tried to swell to the surface but were lost like leaves before a strong autumn wind. They told him that he did not speak for a full moon and although they asked, he never could answer where he was from or who he was. All he could say was his name. Toren.

The sword chittered in the baldric. Toren made a face and glanced ahead. "Yes, it's water. I will be stopping and unless you hush, you'll find yourself nose deep in the mud along the banks." The sword begrudgingly fell silent leaving Toren to his thoughts once more.