‘I suppose I should find you a name,’ Thorn commented, as the little thing revived with every drop of milk, and warmth, and comfort.
‘Not if ye intend to have ’im serve ’is purpose, my lord.’
‘As much as I should say I do, so as not to waste a penny of thisinvestmentas I suppose he should be considered, I’ve the oddest feeling that this one… If he survives this, I fear I’ll not send him to become bacon.’
Langton chuckled, and moved about, attending to something or other, whilst Thorn continued staring at his new charge, who quickly finished his second beaker and summarily drowsed back to a comfortable slumber.
‘I think I’ll have to get to know you first,’ he told the runt. ‘Before I name you. You cannot go through life with a name which won’t suit you.’
‘If only all this world were as wise,’ came Hypatia’s voice, and Thorn turned to find her as he’d been, standing at the kitchen door, the night framing her, the glow of the kitchen beckoning her in.
Despite any untidiness about her, she glowed, with vitality, and that same energy that had captured his attention in the garden. Made perhaps even more magnetic by the memories floating behind his eyes, of having seen her, tasted her, and felt her come undone; a delicacy he couldn’t wait to experience again, if she would allow it.
‘Unfortunately not all are so lucky as to be bestowed names which fit their character,’ she shrugged, coming in, and closing the door, Thorn’s eyes following, and realising as he did, that Langton had disappeared.
‘Maybe it’s just that some have their personality change along the way. Though I’ll admit, much too often it is I suspect a lack ofcare and attention which sees children bestowed with unsuitable names.’
‘Or a need to fulfil some societal requirement, like naming your firstborn after your great-grandfather, though the poor thing is the farthest from a Hilary one could ever be.’
‘There’s pie in the oven, according to Langton,’ Thorn told her with a smile, and she nodded, washing up, before dotting about the kitchen to see them served with steaming hot salt beef pie within minutes. ‘Thank you.’
‘We shall have to thank Langton,’ she said between mouthfuls. ‘This is most excellent.’
‘Agreed.’
‘Would you like me to take him so you can eat easier?’ Hypatia offered, nodding towards the runt snoring in his arms.
I didn’t know pigs snored.
‘Not unless you wish to hold him, I can manage with the one hand.’
‘Very well.’ They both took a deep breath, settling into the comfortable silence and atmosphere, the food doing its work to restore them. ‘Why did your parents call you Thorn?’
‘Are you asking whether they suspected my character from an early age meant I should become the thorn in either or both of their sides?’ he jested, and she chuckled.
He felt again, the pleasure it was to make her smile, laugh; to just…be near her.
You are tired, man.
‘As my father told it, my mother’s ancestors were Danes. And took the family name because they either lived by a thorny hedge, or a tower. She died in childbirth, so my father sought to carry her legacy on with my name, alongside his.’
One legacy I never truly knew, the other I was forced to leave behind; both of which I fear only the names remain.
It wasn’t true, he knew, all his father’s lessons, love, the memories shared of his mother, Thorn’s own character, forged as surely as anything tangible by his father’s hand, all of it and more, was his true legacy, and remained with him, to be upheld and honoured.
Still, some days, grief stole reality, to make itself more potent and powerful.
‘I’m sorry, Thorn.’
‘It’s all right,’ he reassured her, though it wasn’t, and wouldn’t ever be. ‘At least I didn’t feel her loss, only the lack. Not to say my father didn’t try his best.’
‘I’m sure he was a good man, for you are.’
Thorn nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat, before swallowing some more pie, and ale that Hypatia had served them.
‘He was. Did everything he could so that I would never feel the lack, though I wonder if it is possible not to, past a certain age. He was a simple man, hard-working. I think… Maybe in some ways, I wanted him to know, I was grateful for all he gave me. Appreciated the magnitude of it, rather than merely taking it as my due. And that’s why I worked hard to grow our custom. To better myself, my skills, my words, so that I could show him… I don’t know.’
‘That it would be in good hands. That he’d been a good father, to raise such a son.’
