Chapter Three
~
Dim slits of light filtered between the closed shutters. I fought achin’ joints to rise, pulled on pants laid out next to me, found a shirt to pull over my head, and stoked the hearth. The bulky bandages on my hands, which I hadn’t wrapped, made it difficult to grip the smaller kindlin’. I sniffed at the strips of cloth. They were soaked with the same poultice I had made for the human.
I guess I did as well as the Hamlet healer.
I looked about the cabin. What happened to the human who cared for me? A dizzy spell bent me over. Knelt until it passed. The growin’ fire brightened the room, revealin’ there was no one else about.
Did that dragon-ridin’ leader of the Hamlet bring someone to care for me?
There was no other bedroll on the floor. Rumpled furs on my cot implied some visitor.
But who?
My hunger redirected my thoughts. I slogged to the larder workin’ to ignore the pain spikin’ through my forehead. Took one of the last two jars of my precious tomatoes and broke the wax seal. Grabbed my dagger off the table and worked the blade through the jar, slicin’ the fruit into sections, before drinkin’ the juice off. The cool, salty liquid felt good goin’ down, but hit my stomach with a jolt, remindin’ me it had been mistreated for days. I enticed a wrinkled wedge into my mouth as the door opened, makin’ me jump.
“So the spirits turned you down, did they?”
A tiny she-human stood in the doorway holdin’ a bucket in one hand. Her other held the flap of a towel in front of her, which was tied behind her back formin’ an apron. The glare of the light behind her made shadows of her face, but I knew who she must be. Not the Hamlet healer. She wore a pair of my britches tied high on her waist, legs rolled up a good twenty times, but still dragged the ground. One of my knotted work shirts hid what would have been left of her night gown.
“Turned me down?”
“Guess St. Peter didn’t need your soul yet.” She shuffled to accommodate the excess of pants intrudin’ on her stride. “Give me a hand.”
I grabbed the pail of water and set it on the table. I started to speak, but was humored when I realized my mouth still held a slice of tomato. Hurried to chew and swallow it down.
“I thought you were going to sleep forever,” the woman continued. “You ogres can right snore up a storm. Not that I’m complaining. I figure muffled thunder is better than the cutting cold at night with no roof overhead. Not proper a woman and a male of any kind residing under the same shingles like this, but considering one or the other of us were sick at the time, I guess I can’t be faulted. Not that anyone would care what I do, nor I care what they think. But now you’re moving about, guess I better be getting back to my stake and figuring what I can do for a roof over my head.”
Her words rushed like a storm. I studied her, disbelievin’ she was the same creature that flung stones at my head simply for catchin’ sight of her in the forest. A moment later I realized her jabberin’ had more to do with discomfort than familiarity. She stood on her tiptoes to get the towel she was holdin’ up to the level of the table, and unrolled it, displayin’ two dozen tiny blueberries, small early-season fruit.
“Not much to fill the gullet, but tangy enough to give grubs a nice flavor,” she said.
I shivered at the thought of the troll snack. The human woman surely wouldn’t normally go for that fare either, if she had other options. I pushed the jar of tomatoes I’d just opened toward her in offerin’, followed by the knife. She jumped back, her eyes widenin’, focusin’ on the blade I held out to her.
“Sorry,” I said, quickly changin’ my grip so I held the blade between my thumb and forefinger.
Her eyes went to the jar. Lips creased together with a swallow. Her stare proved she hungered to taste the fruit. I felt guilty for her reluctance to accept. Took a step toward her and gestured for her to take the jar and knife. She finally did, her hand shakin’ as she prodded with the knife to stab a wedge.
The waif had to be starvin’. Looked like nothin’ more than flesh-covered bones. I looked away when I realized I stared.
There hadn’t been much of anythin’ in the cabin to eat. I had planned to hunt the mornin’ of the fire. I walked over and checked the kettle. The bottom contained a splash of broth and bits of limp vegetables, cold as ice. I swung it over the fire and busied myself preparin’ two cups for tea.
A slurp drew my eyes back to the female. Her eyes darted up at me for only a moment as she paused her eatin’. She took another bite and held the jar out to me. I shook my head and removed the last jar from the cupboard.
“Let’s spoil ourselves a little,” I said. “Our bodies could use it. Should still be some cornmeal. I’ll bake us a loaf. Have ya collected the eggs lately?”
The woman looked at the floor quickly. “I saw burdock, elderberries, and plenty of edible fungi nearby. I collected pinecones, but haven’t begun harvesting the nuts.”
I set down the spoon I had picked up to mix the cornbread batter. “Somethin’ happen to my hens?”
She opened her eyes wide. They reflected the orange flicker from the hearth. There was sincere pain in her expression. “I’m sorry.”
I walked for the door, yankin’ my light jacket off the hook as I opened it. The sun burned my eyes, makin’ me grimace. I rounded the back of the cabin and the damage to the coop stopped me in my tracks. From here I could smell the remnants of a bear family. Mamma had torn the planks off one by one until she got to the grain. After finishin’ that off, she probably demolished the rest of the structure lookin’ for more.
I looked about at the fluff of feathers floatin’ about in the breeze. Fox and bobcats had finished off the hens once they were freed. There wasn’t much left. I felt a severe tug in my chest. The birds were the closest thin’ to family I had. Half of them had long stopped layin’. I continued carin’ for ’em, as they provided for me. I way prefer deer and elk to chicken, anyway.
“They probably drew attention with their squawkin’ to be fed the days we were both—”
I flinched. Hadn’t heard her follow me. I wiped quickly at my eyes, kicked a stone angrily with a bare toe. The rock rolled ten feet and clunked against one of the planks the bear pulled off the coop.
“You mentioned a hamlet nearby. Think you’ll be able to get new hens there?”
“Ya’ve never visited the Hamlet?” I asked.
She screwed up her face. “They don’t like my kind.”
“What kind is that?”
Her grimace turned angry, and one fist went to a hip. She stared at me a moment. The expression hinted she would have turned and disappeared into the forest if she had fittin’ clothes on her back and shoes on her feet. I’m glad humans require footwear. For some reason I didn’t want her to leave. I felt driven to care for the tiny thin’. Enjoy the sound of her voice.
“I don’t even know yar name.”
“You’re not thinking of making me some kind of slave, are you?” Her voice turned raspy, harsh. Her eyes narrowed.
“Nooooo. Why would ya ask such a thin’?”
She continued to glare. I sensed a mixture of emotions from her. She did want to dash into the woods. But she seemed to reasonably accept she needed help. I fidgeted at the long quiet between us. She ended it by stickin’ out her hand.
“My name is—” A new look came over her face—shock, almost horror.
She had forgotten her own name? How many years had she been shunned, to forget what others once called her? Her face turned red before she twirled around and ran for the woods the deer in her longed for.
~
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