by R. Cooper
When Prityal returned, embarrassed, but not unfriendly, Delf laid down to take her turn for rest. Prityal put more wood on the fire, making it blaze bright and hot. She was restless, going over to calm the icors before finally settling down on her bedroll. She clasped her hands tight in her lap.
Delf covertly watched her through the curtain of her hair until sleep finally claimed her.
THE FOLLOWING day of travel was peaceful, despite the hint of exhaustion in Delf’s bones, and the weariness that had Prityal snoring in the saddle again. The part of the Wood they traveled in throughout the afternoon showed traces of management by some distant village, stumps green with moss, new growth sprouting from the forest floor. The road, if it could be called that, through the trees was also more tended and easier to follow. Prityal calmed enough to hum again, for a while, falling silent as if remembering Delf could hear her, then starting again in spite of that.
Delf smiled to herself, in the lead position once more because Prityal had been sleeping, and listened to birdsong and Pritsong while Prityal twisted her curls into more orderly knots and then released the knots to ensure her curls kept their bounce. Even Prityal had a touch of vanity, it seemed.
Delf smiled for that, too.
THE PATH BETWEEN the trees narrowed abruptly to a mere trail by early afternoon. They no longer saw stumps, or any signs of human visitors despite the thin stream that ran parallel to the trail. In the winter, that stream probably ran over its banks, which might be the reason this path had been abandoned.
Delf tried to think of it in practical terms. Another trail was probably not far off. But the woods grew dark at night, and they were each sensitive to it.
“If we follow the stream wherever it next bends, I have no doubt we will find a settlement. From there, we can make our way to the village of Rosset.” Delf made the suggestion without turning back. It was a reasonable idea, even though it would likely make their journey longer.
Prityal hesitated before answering, which was unexpected although her reply was not. “They are waiting on us.” The surprise came when she added a moment later, “Also I am already tired of traveling.”
Delf snorted in amusement, but the rest had to be said. “This path, such as it is, will get worse. I know you dislike any sort of retreat, but we could find another way. If Rosset’s danger was so urgent, they should have said.”
“You’re teasing me,” Prityal commented lightly. She sounded delighted about it, enough to make Delf’s cheeks warm. “And trying to be kind. But we have only one or two more days in these woods, and you are with me. We can ride on, if you are agreeable.”
Delf thought of fire and the sound of Prityal humming.
“I go where you go,” she said clearly, for unknown forest spirits and two icors and a goat and Prityal herself to hear. “I’ve said as much.”
The trickling of the stream was the only sound for several beats of Delf’s heart.
“Very well,” Prityal agreed at last, still pleased, “then we ride on.”
Four
soft places
THE QUESTION OF what the Three intended by nudging Delf on this course would never be resolved, not by a mere human like Delf, but knowing that did not stop Delf from wondering. The Three might have made the forest, and the distant villages, and refused to accept a chevetein. They could have commanded Prityal to stand up in the barracks and announce her intention to make this quest alone. None of that had made Delf do what she had. That was entirely Delf’s decision. She could not even blame the wine.
They would use her devotion, and she would allow it. Truthfully, she could not have stopped Them, but it was equally true that she would not have.
“More of your lavender?” she asked, unrolling Prityal’s bedding for her as Prityal returned from the stream with water for a tisane.
Prityal’s cloak had mud at the hem. Hopefully, they would find a way to clean themselves before presenting themselves to Rosset, but if not, well, Rosset had been a knight and should not be too dismayed by the sight of them.
“They tell me it will help me sleep.” Prityal set to work preparing the kettle with the ease of someone who had done it countless times. She caught the doubtful look Delf gave her and answered with a tiny shrug before continuing to make her useless tisane that she probably just liked and wanted to drink.
Delf had to turn around to hide her besotted smile, and hurried to Kee to bury her face in Kee’s flank. Kee made a whuffling noise that meant she wanted to try to nose Delf’s hair and couldn’t reach.
Delf straightened up and cleared her throat. “I won’t be long,” she said, vaguely in Prityal’s direction, and then stepped away into the woods.
The sun had set, but tendrils of light from the campfire lit the forest floor enough for Delf to wander without tripping over vines or exposed tree roots. She didn’t need the moment of privacy, not for anything but sitting on a fallen tree and trying to shame her face into behaving.
The only one who had not noticed the depth of Delf’s admiration for Prityal was Prityal, thank the Ladylord of Mercy, but that would not last if Delf could not control her stares and beaming smiles.
She glanced back toward the orange glow from their campfire and allotted herself some time to gaze wistfully and sigh like an infatuated begley. If the Three had wanted her to fall more in love with Prityal, They had succeeded.
Successful, but unnecessary, she thought at whichever deity might be listening. I was already on this path.
She made herself rise slowly to her feet instead of returning to Prityal as quickly as she could, then froze for the darting motion at the corner of her eye.
She put a hand to the knife in her belt as she turned to follow the movement, lips parted to yell a warning to Prityal about the person or wolf who might have crept up on her in the dark, only to spy a small burst of fiery red.
A giggling laugh identified her foe as a fox even before the fox itself skipped forward and then back again. Its tail swished with interest or agitation, and it showed its teeth boldly while still chattering at her.
It was small, but did not look underfed, so it was likely a vixen. Delf took a breath to calm herself, then glanced around but saw no other foxes, or humans or wolves, for that matter.
“Daring, aren’t you?” Delf asked it while her pulse slowly returned to normal. “I suppose you see humans from time to time along this path, or going to the stream. Perhaps a forester, who feeds you treats? Or do you just steal from them? You’re not going to trick me, fox, and if you want food, you’ll have to brave two icors who have no sense of humor when it comes to sneaky creatures like you.”
The vixen opened her mouth wide and chattered some more, closing her eyes as she did so, as if Delf was very funny.
Since Delf also had a sense of humor that most others did not understand, she was inclined to forgive that.
“If you wait here, I may bring you something. But—” Delf held up her hand and the fox went quiet “—if you follow me, you may end up on the wrong end of Prityal’s sword. She is fond of that goat, and would not appreciate you bothering it.”
The fox opened her eyes. The grinning mouth still gave the impression of laughter, but the vixen stayed silent as she swished her tail one last time and then skittered off, back into the shadows.
“Delflenor?” Prityal called out in the distance. “Are you all right? I thought I heard talking.”
“I’m fine, love,” Delf responded without thought, then squeezed her eyes shut in embarrassment. She reopened them at the sound of chittering.
The vixen was now to one side of her and, though out of reach, closer than before.
“You cackle like an old, sauced innkeeper,” Delf informed the sassy creature, and nearly jumped out of her skin when it barked.
“Delflenor?” Prityal was almost alarmed. She must not have heard Delf’s last response.
“I’m fine!” Delf answered her, louder, and turned to keep an eye on the fox as it circled her and t
hen disappeared again. She considered what to tell Prityal: a forest spirit seems to enjoy laughing at me. Some forester’s semi-tame fox is out there. I am avoiding being alone with you because I love you and I am using a fox as an excuse.
The bark drew her attention. The fox was now several yards away, in the direction of the path. It grinned with its eyes closed once again.
“Are you a wild beast?” Delf stepped toward it cautiously, still with one hand on her knife hilt. The orange glow from the campfire was farther away now, dimmer. The vixen’s red fur was nonetheless visible. It darted back and then forward again, barking and laughing, lashing its tail in excitement.
But the way was dark. Delf stopped where she was. “This is as far as I go. If you want food, you will have to go my way.” She gestured back toward the light, then turned.
She took one step and her foot went through the ground. She bit off a shout as she fell forward, hands out, and landed with a grunt of pain. Her knees were possibly bruised, her shins were definitely bruised, her palms and fingers were damp with earth. The scent of decaying leaves hit her nostrils, and she wrinkled her nose as she pulled herself out of the hole she had tripped into.
A patch of forest floor had given away under her weight. An animal had probably died there a long time ago, been covered up by moss and dirt and falling leaves, and then left a hole as the body rotted away. Delf had been the lucky one to discover the spot.
She got to her feet, checking for injuries, and realized she was on the path they would be using in the morning. A fall like that could have seriously hurt one of the icors.
She held her arm, which must have smacked into something on her way down, and looked around for the fox, but it was gone. The noise of her fall might have frightened it. Or it might have fulfilled its purpose and decided to go.
“Thank you,” she said to the dark and watching woods, because it was wise to be courteous, and the cost of knowledge was often pain. Then she limped back to Prityal, clutching her arm.
Prityal was on her feet and moving toward her because Delf even reached the clearing. “What happened?” She hovered in Delf’s space, fluttering her hands as if wanting to wipe the dirt and leaves from the front of Delf’s surcoat but not certain if she was allowed to.
“Fox,” Delf muttered, too sore to be humiliated, but Prityal hardly seemed to hear her.
She lost her hesitation and took hold of Delf’s shoulder, turning Delf forcibly and pulling her closer to the fire at the same time. “Your arm,” she hissed, making Delf look down to where she had hit her arm in the fall, then realize that she hadn’t hit it, she had cut it, and was bleeding from a small gash across her bicep.
“That made it through my armor?” Delf was more surprised than hurt. She had helped sew her doublet herself, the padding was thick and solid. Maybe there had been a bit of sharp-edged bone in the hole, or a jagged, broken tree root. They should investigate in the morning, spare someone else the injury.
“You should wear mail.” Prityal kept urging Delf toward the campfire and then pushed Delf’s shoulders until Delf curled her legs and sat on a bedroll. Prityal fell gracefully onto her knees beside her. “Or leather guards at least, if you don’t want the trouble of getting a smith to create some mail for you. You never wear enough protection.”
“It was just a walk in the woods,” Delf pointed out as reasonably as one could when Prityal of Ters was fussing over her torn armor while also breathing near her ear. Prityal of Ters, who had removed her own mail for comfort soon after entering the woods.
“Even a small injury can grow worse and take you from the field,” Prityal continued to scold while also making Delf shiver with every panting little breath that tickled her neck. “How did you even do this?” She parted the doublet and made a distressed noise at what Delf was reasonably sure was only a small scratch. Then she took her hands away, reached down for her knife, and tore a strip from the edge of her surcoat.
There was cloth for bandages packed with their food supply. Delf opened her mouth to say so but not a word emerged. Prityal wiped blood or dirt from the cut with the piece of her clothing she had just destroyed, then paused to whisper, “Sorry,” before continuing to clean the wound.
There were herbs for treating injuries in the traveling kit as well. Delf’s mouth was strangely dry as she reminded Prityal of this fact. Prityal only said, “This first,” and then, “How did this happen?”
“A fox,” Delf explained again, staring at the trees around them because the vixen might be watching, and it was safer than staring at the fall of Prityal’s curls. “I think it might be a half-tame sort of pet of a forester or a traveler. It seemed to have little fear of people. I followed it and discovered a hole in the forest floor, along the path we are to take. That’s all. No reason to worry.”
Prityal huffed.
“Really,” Delf told her again. “We will be careful on the paths from now on. I might have some bruising and a cut,” Prityal huffed again, “but my misfortune saved us from certain disaster, so it’s fine in the end.”
Prityal did not take her hand from Delf’s arm as she finally looked up. “Did you follow a fox?” She went on without giving Delf time to answer. “Delflenor.”
Delf met her gaze for one moment, then turned away because she was unprepared for Prityal to be light or fond. This must be how Prityal felt whenever Delf made a joke—confused and hot and giddy. “You tore your surcoat,” she pointed out, although her voice was a bit husky for teasing. “When we have a moment, I can mend that for you. It’s the least I can do.”
“It’s just cloth,” Prityal said almost crossly, dismissing the issue of her attire with the ease of someone who looked good in anything she wore.
“There are bandages in with our supplies,” Delf pointed out, but gently. “Your clothes might have been spared.”
Prityal froze. One hardly noticeable moment of stillness, and then she stood up and went over to the packs to fetch bandages and the herbs that prevented wound-fevers. She also used some of the hot water from the kettle to wet some of the bandages. While she was up, Delf noticed the change in their campsite arrangement.
“You moved your roll.” Delf was, in fact, sitting on Prityal’s bedroll. Which was much closer to the fire than where she’d left it. “Have you been getting too cold at night? Will the smoke bother you?”
“Hush.” Prityal returned to kneel down next to her. She laid out the supplies before clearing her throat. “This will hurt.”
“Yes. But I’ll hardly mind that,” Delf remarked smartly because Prityal smelled like cleansing herbs and some of the lavender but she was no healer and her movements were rough. So rough that Delf sucked in a breath at the burn of the hot water on her skin.
Prityal paused, then resumed her too-thorough cleaning of what was truly an inconsequential wound. The padded armor had mostly done its job.
“That is what they say,” Prityal whispered finally, tensely focused on her task. “I had wondered, but I wasn’t certain. Sometimes people tease for the sake of teasing.”
“What does that mean?” Delf wondered in honest confusion. She turned back to watch Prityal’s pout-frown before Prityal bent over her work once again and her curls hid her sulky displeasure from view.
“Your friends, our friends, make comments sometimes. About you.” Prityal was too stiff now for it to only be about patching up a scratch. “The comments are fond but also… I don’t understand and they know it. It amuses them more, I think.”
“Ah.” Delf was not embarrassed, but had also never considered that such a conversation would take place. “Well, you see, most of them know my tastes.” She gazed in amazement at the fretting hero currently scowling at a packet of powdered herbs. “To be fair, I’ve never exactly hidden them, even when I should. But they shouldn’t tease you with them.”
She was not sure why they would, except that bringing that pout to Prityal’s face was an honest joy. Prityal had given hints that she did not have much exper
ience with lovers, and no doubt had never had one who liked a bit of a sting, or more, with their pleasure. Hearing about someone like Delf must throw her.
“It’s just that I do not know much of affairs, or things done in bed beyond—” Prityal waved a hand and made a frustrated sound.
Delf caught her hand, making Prityal look up. “They shouldn’t tease you with them,” Delf repeated firmly, before releasing Prityal’s hand and turning her gaze safely away again.
After a few moments, Prityal bent back down over her work. “The herbs now,” she warned softly, and then Delf was hit with the cool, stinging nettle-feeling of the cleansing powder being rubbed lightly into the wound.
She bit her lip so she wouldn’t make a sound, but when she glanced over, Prityal’s eyes were on her, as if Prityal knew she had wanted to.
A shiver went down Delf’s spine.
Then Prityal was closing the herb packet and throwing the bloodied scraps of cloth into the fire. If she were someone else, Delf imagined that she would be blushing. She unrolled another strip of cloth, stopped. “I’m sorry.”
“Whatever for?” Delf wanted to take her hand so much that the ache was visceral. She settled for brushing her fingertips over Prityal’s forearm. “There’s nothing that says you need to know those things. Especially if you’re not inclined to them.”
Prityal jerked her head up to fix Delf with a burning, frustrated look. “I am inclined to them,” she declared fiercely, then exhaled through her nose and looked to the side. “Or I could be. Perhaps. It’s others who are not.” She did not seem to notice Delf going still. “Admittedly, I am not… free, in the way Jareth was before she confessed her feelings to Ran. Or how Ange or… or others are. Ran, for all his boasting and how he likes to tease, is more like me.”
She punctuated this by pulling a knife from her belt again to cut one end of the bandage.
