Yalmastr Redforge stood in front of the mirror, her beard in her hands as she studied her face. The face that had cost her so much - a marriage and the life of one of her students. Not to mention the enmity his clan, the Trollhoods, who made a big production whenever their paths crossed. The whole spitting, the cursing her name, the turning of backs, it was ridiculous and too time consuming. Especially at the start of practice! Why seek her out when it came time for weapons training when there were others?

"After all this time, do you think you're going to suddenly sprout a beard, Yal?"
"It's not that!" she denied, feeling her cheeks burning. "Everyone knows I'm.... beardless. Why should I wear this to the Great Hall? What's the point of it all?"

"Oh, my dear," Branae sighs, rushing over from the doorway to give her daughter a hug. "If you don't wear the beard, they'll stop singing, stop the feast, and everyone will be yelling at everyone else. And you'd still be leaving tomorrow but with a bunch of angry long-beards knotting and twisting their chin hairs and calling out doom and misfortune on you, and that's not good for anyone."

She paused, leaning back to study her daughter. "So, for the good of your group, and for the good of Thrillem, wear the beard, listen to the old songs, nod when the long-beards speak their nonsense, meet the people you're going on the road with, and eat your fill. I mean that, you never know on the road where your next meal will come from, so eat when you can."

"I've never been away from Thrillem before," Yal said, shaking her head. "Why didn't they pick anyone who's been outside to do this?"

"Our long-beards have spoken," Branae sighs, stroking her whiskers. "The fact they're all rock headed loons who couldn't tell quartz from granite is besides the point."
A chuckle escaped Yal.
"Oh dear, you're developing a sense of humor," her mother sighed mockingly. "Tongues will be wagging, I wager."
"I am not!" Yal stomped her foot, but feeling her mouth quirk.
"Best cover that up if you're trying to hide that," Branae smiled. "Your father and the others want to see you before you go."
"But they're dead!"
"So? At least they won't talk your ears off."
[hr]
Yal eyed Thorfinn as he spoke. 
"Yeah, grand feast," she managed, fighting the urge to scratch under her false beard. Why did it have to itch so? "I'm Yal, Yal Redforge. You are...?"