Buttoning his sheepskin jacket, he pulled the table aside and stepped out into the storm. The gelding snorted as he approached. There was straw in the lean-to; taking a handful he rubbed the horse’s back.
‘Going to be a cold night, boy. But you should be all right in here.’ He spread the saddle blanket over the gelding’s broad back, fed him some oats and returned to the hut.
The girl’s colour was better now, and she slept peacefully.
Searching the cupboards, Rek found an old iron pan. Unclipping the canvas and steel canteen from his pack, he took out a pound of dried beef and set about making soup. He was warmer now, and removed his cloak and jacket. Outside the wind beat against the walls as the storm’s fury grew, but inside the fire blazed warmth and a soft red light filled the cabin. Rek pulled off his boots and rubbed his toes. He felt good. Alive.
And damned hungry!
He took a leather-covered clay mug from his pack and tried the soup. The girl stirred and he toyed with the idea of waking her, but dismissed it. As she was, she was lovely. Awake, she was a harridan. She rolled over and moaned, a long leg pushing from the blanket. Rek grinned as he remembered her body. Not at all mannish! She was just big – but wonderfully proportioned. He stared at her leg, the smile fading. He pictured himself naked alongside her . . .
‘No, no, Rek,’ he said aloud. ‘Forget it.’
He covered her with the blanket and returned to his soup. Be prepared, he told himself. When she wakes she will accuse you of taking advantage of her and cut your eyes out.
Taking his cloak, he wrapped it around himself and stretched out beside the fire. The floor was warmer now. Adding some logs to the blaze, he pillowed his head on his arm and watched the dancers in the flames circle and jump, twist and turn . . .
He slept.
*
He awoke to the smell of frying bacon. The hut was warm and his arm felt swollen and cramped. He stretched, groaned and sat up. The girl was nowhere in sight. Then the door opened and she stepped inside, brushing snow from her jerkin.
‘I’ve seen to your horse,’ she said. ‘Are you fit to eat?’
‘Yes. What time is it?’
‘Sun’s been up for about three hours. The snow’s letting up.’
He pushed his aching body upright, stretching the tight muscles of his back. ‘Too much time in Drenan in soft beds,’ he commented.
‘That probably accounts for the paunch,’ she noted.
‘Paunch? I’ve a curved spine. Anyway, it’s relaxed muscle.’ He looked down. ‘All right, it’s a paunch. A few more days of this and it will go.’
‘I don’t doubt it,’ she said. ‘Anyway, we were lucky to find this place.’
‘Yes, we were.’ The conversation died as she turned the bacon. Rek was uncomfortable in the silence and they began to speak at the same time.
‘This is ridiculous,’ she said finally.
‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘Bacon smells good.’
‘Look . . . I want to thank you. There – it’s said.’
‘It was a pleasure. What about starting again, as if we had never met? My name is Rek.’ He held out a hand.
‘Virae,’ she said, grasping his wrist in the warrior’s grip.
‘My pleasure,’ he said. ‘And what brings you to Graven Forest, Virae?’
‘None of your damned business,’ she snapped.
‘I thought we were starting afresh?’ he said.
‘I’m sorry. Really! Look, it’s not easy being friendly – I don’t like you very much.’
‘How can you say that? We’ve only said about ten words to each other. A bit early for character assessment, isn’t it?’
‘I know your kind,’ she said. Taking two platters, she deftly flipped the bacon from the pan and handed him a plate. ‘Arrogant. Think you’re the gods’ gift to the world. Footloose.’
‘And what’s wrong with that?’ he asked. ‘Nobody’s perfect. I enjoy my life, it’s the only one I’ve got.’
‘It’s people like you who have wrecked this country,’ she told him. ‘People who don’t care; people who live for today. The greedy and the selfish. We used to be great.’