At first—fueled, I have no doubt, by the grim reputation of the Grimwald—I found the forest oppressive, even fearful. But by the end of the first day, I had lost all sense of foreboding. In large part, that was due to Gwendolyn. She, who had heretofore appeared so stern and unyielding, seemed to lose her years and troubles the farther we penetrated into the legendary forest. Nothing was said throughout the course of that first day’s journey, but I am an artist, with an artist’s eye. It became obvious, watching the steady change in her posture as she strode ahead of me, the increasing ease of her movements, that she was more at ease with my company.
Relaxed or not, she set a very rigorous pace. I suspected that she was deliberately trying to exhaust the effete Ozarine urbanite trailing behind her. Had I been a normal Ozarine, I would indeed have collapsed before half the day had past. But my uncles’ training stood me in good stead, and by the time she stopped to make camp for the night I was in good shape.
She commented on it, as she put together the makings for a fire.
“You held up pretty well today. For a—” She stopped speaking, made a sour face.
“For an Ozarine?” I asked, laughing. “I grant you, most of my countrymen would be in sorry shape by now. But my uncles kept me in a stern regimen since I was a wee lad.”
“I forgot your uncles.” She grimaced. “I suppose mercenaries would need to stay in decent physical condition.”
I laughed. “In point of fact, my condottiere uncles tend to scorn regular exercise. They claim being in good shape produces cowardice. ‘Your fat man’s more likely to stay in the fight,’ they say, ‘seeing as how there’s no point in him trying to run.’ No, it was my artist uncles who insisted I exercise. The artist’s craft can be quite strenuous.”
She looked up at me from the kindling, surprised.
“I’m serious. If you don’t believe me, try lying on your back on a scaffolding painting the ceiling of a chapel for an entire week.”
“I’ve never thought about it.”
“Most people don’t. The world thinks artists function on pure inspiration, or some such. Lot of nonsense, that. It’s a craft, like any other. At least, that’s how I was brought up.”
“What kind of art do you do?”
“Anything. Painting, sculpture, whatever pays. My personal preference is wood carving, but there’s not usually much money in it.”
She dug into her pack and drew out some dried meat. She handed me a small piece, along with some kind of crackers. The crackers were harder than the meat, and I could have carved wood easier than the meat.
“We’ll have to live on this while we travel through the forest,” she explained, somewhat apologetically. “I know it tastes lousy, and it’s more tiring to chew it than it is to walk. But we don’t dare hunt anything in the Grimwald. If you see some berries, let me know. It’s safe to eat berries.”
“Are these dietary regulations due to the danger of snarls?” I asked. She nodded her head.
“I haven’t seen any trace of the creatures. I was rather fearful of encountering them, at first, but after a few hours I decided they weren’t around.”
“They’re here, all right. Don’t be fooled by not seeing any. Snarls have an uncanny ability to blend into their surroundings. But they’re here, never doubt it.” And so saying, she lay down and rolled into her blanket. Within a minute, she was asleep. I found her last remark rather unsettling, but after a few more minutes I too fell asleep.
* * *
In the days which followed, Gwendolyn and I began talking while we walked. At first, I was preoccupied with trying to figure out how to make a good impression on her. Difficult, that. I was not, if I may say so, inexperienced at what is sometimes called the art of seduction. But I wasn’t such a fool, even then, as to think that the ploys and subtleties of Ozarine idle society would do more than irritate Gwendolyn. And I also realized (rather to my surprise) that as much as I lusted for her incredible body, I had begun to care even more for her good opinion. Eventually, I stopped worrying about it and just enjoyed the conversation. Now that she was more relaxed, I found that Gwendolyn’s generally fierce outlook on life was leavened by a dry wit. And while she was uneducated by formal standards, she possessed a keen mind and a sharp eye for observation.