Kestrel growled softly. If this kept up, Knife was likely to walk away from her too, next time she saw him. That, in itself, would not really bother her, but the trend was growing highly frustrating.
Why hadn't Wolf told Bear about Calem? It would have made sense; Bear was a warrior, wise in his way, and loyal to his brother. He would have been able to help Wolf deal with the load of worry he carried much better than she could. All she could do was try to keep them from killing themselves with their worries. Which would be difficult if she couldn't find them.
She sighed and began to limp home toward the by-now congealed broth.
Her own worries weren't exactly the lightest, either. Flint's wound would need to be kept as clean as possible and Rain had been coughing when she left the hut. Perhaps the gods had indeed deserted them, and were showing their displeasure by the bad luck the leader's family was having. It was not a comforting thought.
She entered the dark hut, shaking her head almost like a dog to rid herself of the l.ingering rain, and looked at the poor excuse for broth sitting in the corner. It was not fit to be eaten, but it was all she had at the moment. Knife had been lax in his hunting with all the worry about the Southmen. Cursed Dunedain.
She stirred the fire up and put the pot back on it to reheat.
<font size=1 color=339966>[ 10:27 PM January 25, 2004: Message edited by: Tinuviel of Denton ]
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