|
Wulfham
Words tumbled out of Dorran like a spring freshet after a sudden thaw. Brand could not help but smile, and doing so, immediately regretted the action. ‘By the Burning Briar!’ he swore holding his hand to his face. ‘The tea, Dorran. Hand me the mug!’
When the sharp onset of pain had diminished, Brand took a deep breath and let it out slowly. ‘No need for “sorrys” and such,’ he told the young man. ‘You got the fiend away from Lady, and for that I’m very glad.’ He clapped the young man on the shoulder. ‘She was a beast of a cat, now, wasn’t she? We came away from it still breathing and her and her murdering get done for. There’s glad enough in that, isn’t there? And won’t it be a grand tale to tell family and friends when we get back!’ He was about to chuckle, when he thought better of it and simply nodded his head, eyes glinting mischievously. ‘Of course, we’ll have to agree on a few details, so as to back each other up. But a little fancy embroidery, as my gran used to say, always livens up a plain piece of cloth, don’t you think?’
‘Here . . . give me the hare, why don’t you. I’ll skin it out and disjoint it for us, if you’ll get the turnips and thyme you spied out.’ He took up his knife and pointed to the pot and the waterskins. ‘I can just get the meat going if you bring those to me. I’d get up myself, but things seems to swim if I move too fast.’
He settled himself in, humming a little as he worked over the hare. Dorran had gone off to gather the turnips and herbs. He’d left Brand one of his sister’s biscuits. Dipped in his tea, Brand savored the soggy snack.
It was a nice, fat hare and he could almost taste it as he put the pieces into the pot and covered it with a bit of water – cooked long enough, it would be tender enough for him to chew on. He pulled his pack over to him and fished about in one of the side pockets. There was a little leather pouch there his mother had sent along. Several large pieces of rock salt. Brand crushed a bit of it and sprinkled it over the pieces of meat.
By scooting himself carefully across the ground and pushing the pot ahead of him, Brand got up close to the fire without sending his head throbbing. He positioned the pot on some rocks right on the fire’s edge where it would soon grow hot enough to bubble and simmer.
Brand looked about the little camp, Vaenosa and Incana were nowhere to be seen. He wondered if they had gone off hunting. Picking up a long thick stick from the pile of wood they’d brought, he stirred the stewing meat a bit and readjusted the nearness of the stewpot to the fire. The effort of just that little work surprised him with how tiring it had been. He gave the meat one more stir and then leaned back against an old stump. Soon, the warmth of the afternoon and the tea he’d drunk had him drifting off to sleep.
|