Krull

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The boy pulled the collar of his coat tighter against his neck. It was a damp, chilly morning. The first suggestions of winter reached thin, icy fingers down from the North Country. Soon the land would sleep beneath a thick mantle of white wet down.

Nearby the flock cropped methodically at the long grass. They would work their way to the top of the gentle slope, perhaps, as far as the large boulder protruding like a giant's nose from the hillside, before it was dark and time to herd them in. The boy thought hungrily of the steaming stewpot that awaited him back in the village, of the hot tea that could drive out a day's chill as it spread outward in a steadily warming circle from his belly.

Life was not easy, his father repeatedly told him, but with a little hard work it might be made bearable. The sheep would provide meat for the coming year, their wool would give warmth, and there should be enough of both left over to trade for money in the marketplace. They might even make enough money to travel to his cousin's hometown of Banbreak, where there was much talk of uniting all the towns and villages in the region to form a kingdom. The boy's father was all for such unification. A single government could provide strength and protection from which all might prosper. There was too much division and argument among men, especially now, when they ought to join together against a common enemy.

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