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“Of course.” Scyld smiled one of his cryptic smiles, turned, and walked away. Inside, however, his stomach was churning. Why had he said that? Why would he offer himself up for so much time alone with her?
He would have to use it somehow. She had just shown that she was willing to talk. Maybe she was trying to get him to open up by dangling tidbits of her past in front of his face, but it wouldn’t work. He would tell her just what he wanted to tell her; he wouldn’t let her crack him this easily. He wouldn’t.
The time he spent waiting at the door felt like an eon; he half-suspected her of taking her time just to make him uneasy, but maybe it was just the waiting that made the time stretch on so long. When she finally emerged from the kitchen he swung the cloak around his shoulders where it settled comfortably. He waited until she had fastened her own cloak before opening the door for her. “After you.”
He directed their path towards the back of the hall; he had in mind to set out over the fields up into the Scar, as they were calling it now. “Have you been up into the Scar?” he asked her.
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