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He included a small room for Petal, a larger one for himself,
and a still bigger one for the cooking hearth, table, chairs,
and, of course, his loom, which he had the ox drag through
the forest before he returned the beast to its owner.
Convinced at last that his daughter was now where no
young man would find her, or at least where she'd be too far
away to be worth the bother, Aron resumed his weaving.
Such a location among the reputedly magical woods was
inconvenient for him, for he had to make long trips to his
customers in Gateway, but it was worth the peace of mind
that came from knowing that his daughter was safe from
anyone who would dare try to take her from him.
As for Petal, she cried for days and days. She wanted to
go back to Gateway. She wanted to flirt with her suitors.
But Aron said, "You'll get used to it here. Soon, things
will be back the way they were before all this foolishness
started."
Petal did, in fact, stop crying, but things never quite
went back to the way they were. Petal was lonely, and she
never looked happy.
"What's the matter?" Aron finally snapped one day from
his loom while Petal, long-faced, was sprinkling fragrant
pine needles on the floor
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