‘Eating,’ she said. ‘What about that rabbit?’
Rek tipped the ball of clay from the coals with a stick, watching it sizzle on the snow.
‘Well, what do you do now?’ she asked. He ignored her and picked up a fist-sized rock, then cracked it hard against the clay which split to disgorge a half-cooked, half-skinned rabbit.
‘Looks good,’ she said. ‘What now?’
He poked the steaming meat with a stick.
‘Can you face eating that?’ he said.
‘Of course. Can I borrow your knife? Which bit do you want?’
‘I’ve got some oatcake left in my pack. I think I’ll make do with that. Will you put some clothes on!’
They were camped in a shallow depression under a rock face – not deep enough to be a cave but large enough to reflect heat from the fire and cut out the worst of the wind. Rek chewed his oatcake and watched the girl devour the rabbit. It was not an edifying sight. She hurled the remnants of the carcass into the trees. ‘Badgers should enjoy it,’ she said. ‘That’s not a bad way to cook rabbit.’
‘I’m glad you enjoyed it,’ he said.
‘You’re not much of a woodsman, are you?’ she told him.
‘I manage.’
‘You couldn’t even gut the thing. You looked green when the entrails popped out.’
Rek hurled the rest of his oatcake in the direction of the hapless rabbit. ‘The badgers will probably appreciate dessert,’ he said. Virae giggled happily.
‘You’re wonderful, Rek. You’re unlike any man I ever met.’
‘I don’t think I’m going to like what’s coming next,’ he said. ‘Why don’t we just go to sleep?’
‘No. Listen to me. I’m serious. All my life I have dreamt of finding the right man: tall, kind, strong, understanding. Loving. I never thought he existed. Most of the men I’ve known have been soldiers -gruff, straight as spears and as romantic as a bull in heat. And I’ve met poets, soft of speech and gentle. When I was with soldiers I longed for poets, and when with poets I longed for soldiers. I had begun to believe the man I wanted could not exist. Do you understand me?’
‘All your life you’ve been looking for a man who couldn’t cook rabbits? Of course I understand you.’
‘Do you really?’ she asked, softly.
‘Yes. But explain it to me anyway.’
‘You’re what I’ve always wanted,’ she said, blushing. ‘You’re my Coward-Hero – my love.’
‘I knew there would be something I wouldn’t like,’ he said.
As she placed some logs on the blaze he held out his hand. ‘Sit beside me,’ he said. ‘You’ll be warmer.’
‘You can share my blanket,’ she told him, moving round the fire and into his arms, resting her head on his shoulder. ‘You don’t mind if I call you my Coward-Hero?’
‘You can call me what you like,’ he said, ‘so long as you’re always there to call me.’
‘Always?’
The wind tilted the flames and he shivered.
‘Always isn’t such a long time for us, is it? We only have as much time as Dros Delnoch holds. Anyway – you might get tired of me and send me away.”
‘Never!’ she said.
‘ “Never” and “always”. I had not thought about those words much until now. Why didn’t I meet you ten years ago? The words might have meant something then.’
‘I doubt it, I would only have been nine years old.’
‘I didn’t mean it literally. Poetically.’
‘My father has written to Druss,’ she said. ‘That letter and this mission are all that keep him alive.’
‘Druss? But even if he’s alive he will be ancient by now; it will be obscene. Skeln was fifteen years ago and he was old then – they will have to carry him into the Dros.’
‘Perhaps. But my father sets great store by the man. He was awed by him. He feels he’s invincible. Immortal. He once described him to me as the greatest warrior of the age. He said Skeln Pass was Druss’s victory and that he and the others just made up the numbers. He used to tell that story to me when I was young. We would sit by a fire like this and toast bread on the flames. Then he’d tell me about Skeln. Marvellous days.’ She lapsed into silence, staring into the coals.