by C. Greenwood
As soon as I was able to move, we shifted to a better location. I tried again to persuade Terrac to leave me, making no secret of the fact I would prefer to be without him. But the priest boy wouldn’t budge. I suspected he secretly enjoyed witnessing my suffering. Over the following days, I treated him as harshly and as ungratefully as I knew how, but never was I able to sway him in his determination to share in my self-imposed exile.
That first night out of Red Rock, I was too sore to plan for anything in the way of shelter, so we slept beneath a row of shrubbery. With Terrac sleeping at my back, I was reminded of the nights we spent in our pine bough shelter last spring. Only then, it had been he who suffered. I didn’t like the sense of our places being changed.
It rained that night.
The following day found the skies clear again. By mid-afternoon the sogginess had gone from the ground, but our clothing remained miserably damp throughout the day. We did very little except sitting about, sulking and arguing over whether we should return to Red Rock. In the end, I won out and we stayed. We fared better the next night because the weather was warm and dry. By this time I was in good enough condition the two of us were able to climb a stout tree to sleep in. We braced ourselves in the branches, where I passed a comfortable night, although Terrac still looked weary in the morning. He was unaccustomed to sleeping among the green leaves and said he scarcely closed his eyes all night for fear of falling to the ground in his sleep.
We consumed the last of our food on that second day. Terrac went off in search of more, but I lacked the inclination to join him. My mind was still on Rideon and my disgrace. It was no surprise when Terrac returned with nothing more than a handful of berries, although I had lent him my hunting knife. If I knew Terrac, he passed up all sorts of fox dens and rabbit holes because he hadn’t the heart to kill anything. I had sunk into such depression I didn’t even bother mocking him.
I hardly cared that I huddled down to sleep on an empty stomach that night, having let Terrac keep his scant meal to himself. They were bitter-berries, a fact I didn’t bother sharing with him. Instead, I enjoyed a faint satisfaction each time I heard him wake during the night to vomit up the contents of his stomach. Those frequent interruptions made it difficult for me to find sleep, however. I lay half-reclined among the branches for a long time, staring into the shadows of the leaves overhead. As I listened to the creaks and rustles of the branches below and to the subsequent sounds of the priest boy disgorging his meal, I wondered how much longer I could hold out before giving up my wounded pride and returning to Red Rock. I tried to imagine what Brig and Dradac and the others would be doing back in camp right now. Eventually, I slipped off to sleep.
