The slight young man brought the cart to a stop. It was piled high with trunks and boxes, covered over by a tarp. The man pushed back his hood, revealing the redish-orange hair with the shock of white to the sun. He took out the directions and studied them, absentmindedly stroking the thin gotee of the same colour as the hair on his head. He refolded the directions and pulled the hood back up to hide himself from the sun. The cart moved on down the lane.

It came to the mill pond, where the road branched again. The cart paused. The man frowned. These little towns were all alike, not one of them believed in street signs. Again he consulted the directions he's been provided. Candice Mcalister may have had a long and happy life, but she did not have a sense of direction. At least she had a very good eye for lanmarks. In these small villages not much changes in Ten years, her directions were good, if a bit wordy. Cadno wondered if she had been a lands agent, or perhaps a tours guide? Her descriptions would have done those prefessions proud. "... and taking the left past the bucolic mill pond, one comes to the old oak, which is the oldest tree in the county. You will see a beautiful two story home of yellow brick, passing that by go three homes on the left untill once comes to the graveyard. The local grave yard is one of the oldest in all England, having been in use since Roman times, at the least. Many graves have been identified as coming from the time of The Conquest. Passing the Graveyard on your left go straightaway up the hill. The Third home on the left, just past the crown of the hill is a quaint two-soty home of local brick. Known for the broad terraced gardens which fall from the back terrace of the home, you will find the German family.

That is exactly what happened. Cadno was suprised when a tall nordic looking blonde with a cockney accent answered the door. "I am Cadno. I heard you were in need of a handyman?" The blonde towered over the young man, who stood an even 5 foot tall. The shock of white hair that ran from down the middle of his head only made his hair look all the brighter, like a carrot. The freckles added a youthful appearance to his face. The goatee made his face look pointed. She lead him to see her employer. Mrs Blatand greeted him warmly. "Ah, Mr. Fox! I have been expecting you! You will be wanting a bit of tea, I don't imagine, and then I will show you to your quarters. They are a seperate cottage, down the hill, past the lilac hedge." Cadno bowed low. "My lady, you have me at a disadvantage. Cadno does mean Fox. Do you speak Welsh?" She smiled at him and half-answered him. "My last man was Welsh, from your clan I believe. I expect Helen can tell you more about him." Tea was wonderful, and unexpected. Cadno was unaccustome to such lively company. Cadno had to admit his skill was plants was not that extensive, but he was certain he would be able to learn on hte job. Mrs. Blatland spoke highly of his Aunt Gwendolynn, who aparently had boasted of Cadno a bit. Cadno thought that odd -- Aunt Gwendolynn had been a doddering old lady who smelled bad when she died 10 years ago. While he'd done for her as much as any, he didn't see that she could have ever met Mrs. Blatland. Auntie had never been farther east than Bristol -- and that only once, when she was a slip of a girl. After tea, Cadno began to unpack his eqipment.