Present Time
Sylvin pulled his horse to a stop, his eyes scanning the freshly tilled fields. It looked, he thought with satisfaction, much as it had during his childhood, the earth rich and full of fertile promise, and the grasses busy with people and cattle, all working towards the greater purpose of feeding keep and village, supporting the symbiotic relationship between the two.
Yelena would be pleased by his efforts, he told himself, and felt bile rise at the memory of the heartbreak in her eyes when he had left her that morning. She would be pleased if she ever forgave him what he had done.
He was riding the fields, comforting himself with his successes, and seeking to banish from his thoughts his failings, avoiding seeing the shadows of that expression in her eyes.
He had known what was coming, but like the swell of a freak wave rising above a ship adrift on the sea, he had been able to do nothing other than brace for the crash.