He pulled it close to the edge of the water, then when it tired of fighting, onto the bank where he cut a green switch and ran it into the fish’s mouth and out the gill, into the soft ground so it couldn’t flop back into the water. Shell had a harder time catching the second grasshopper for bait than catching the next fish.
Back at the clearing, Quester looked up and said, “I get us venison to eat for a month, and you go fishing?”
“I take what I can get. The smoked meat won’t last forever, and we need variety.” Shell cleaned the fish without looking at Quester. Quester could have responded differently, but he had a nasty habit of making sour jokes turning it into poor humor.
Shell said, “We haven’t talked about some things.”
“Such as?” Quester asked while placing more leaf-filled branches on the small fire to contain the smoke.
Shell took a seat and peeled the bark off two sticks used for smoking meat, then changed his mind and threw them in the fire. He’d cook the fish by placing it on one of the rocks surrounding the fire when they were ready to eat.
As he idly sat, he said, “Unknown mountains to the west, raiders killing your family, and then two years in the grasslands alone, always moving west. Those things must provide a hundred stories for you to tell, but you say nothing about them, or your past.”
“I survived. We can leave it at that.”
“I shared my reasons for being here.”
“What do you want to hear from me?”
Shell met his gaze. “Your new family didn’t like you. That’s what you said. So, you left. Those mountains to the east you spoke of held deer, goats, birds, lakes, and rivers I think. A good place to live and easy to find food with your skills. But you left and headed west into the grasslands where water is scarce and food even harder to find. It doesn’t make sense to me why you’d do that.”
“Maybe I didn’t know what it would be like in the grasslands.”
“When you found out, you could have gone back to your mountains. You’re not telling me everything. I think you were chased away.”
Quester snorted, but without humor. “Why would anyone do that, or care to do it?”
Shell passed him more green sticks for smoking and watched as Quester slid several strips of venison onto each, positioning them over the fire, not close to heat or flame. “I don’t know, why. I also don’t know how you survived for two years on your own, or why you continued moving west.”
“Out there you use up the food resources quickly, and the animals move on after you kill one or two. I had to keep moving.”
“But not west?”
“Maybe I heard there were more mountains that way.”
“But two whole years?”
“I didn’t know how far they were. It was easier to move on than turn back.”
While the words sounded reasonable, they lacked conviction or the ring of truth. He was holding something back; maybe many somethings. As part of the Dragon Clan, Shell held more than a few secrets of his own, but while he enjoyed traveling with another, a companion who was not trustworthy was not worth it.
Quester said, “What about you? After being a herdsman for ten years, you suddenly decided to leave your home and family to go see a mountain?”
“And search for a wife.”
“We both know there are women living closer than that mountain.” Quester settled back and waited.
An uneasy silence filled the clearing as each reconsidered the partnership. Shell realized Quester had a knowledge of hunting and living in the wild to share, but at what cost? Maybe the right question was, what did Quester gain from them traveling together?
Quester stood and said, “If you watch the fire and smoke, I’m going to follow those tracks for the wolf. I am uneasy that it is either stalking us or traveling with us.”
“Be careful.” Shell watched him take his bow and head into the thick underbrush. On impulse, and to work out some kinks, Shell lifted his staff and went through eight or ten repetitions of familiar sets of moves involving defense, strikes, misdirection, and attacks. As always, he paid as much attention to his footwork as his hand placement, twisting his body and snapping his wrists to maximize his power and speed.
Sweating, he returned to the fire and carefully placed more green wood on it for smoke, and dry sticks for flames. He turned some of the meat and returned to his workout. As he forced his body to work harder, his mind relaxed and sorted out part of his confused thoughts. For now, he wanted Quester to travel with him. Quester knew how to live off the land in ways Shell didn’t, but he also realized Quester was a luxury and not a necessity.
Shell rotated the meat again. As it dried, the smoke cured it. Quester didn’t return until shortly before dark. He entered the clearing and said, “I think we have a problem.”
CHAPTER SIX
The words took Shell by surprise. “A problem?”
Quester tossed his bow to the ground with disgust and said, “That thing, that wolf, or whatever it is, watches us all the time.”
“How do you know that?”
“I backtracked it half way to the river and found where it lay in the heavy grass and rested as we passed by. A few times it was within striking distance, but usually, it found a high place and waited as we went by then it raced ahead to another place to watch, but we were always in sight.”
Shell listened, but instead of worrying about the creature, he wondered how Quester could tell so much about its actions from the tracks it left. But even as he wondered, the answers were obvious. A patch of old smashed grass where it had laid down, was in plain sight of their trail. The footprints probably showed where the animal had bounded ahead to reach the next place to observe the two men.
“Did you see it?” Shell asked.
“Not once. But I had the feeling it was out there watching me.”
“What do you think we should do?”
Quester removed a piece of venison and examined it closely, then approving of what he saw, bit the end off and chewed. “Tastes good. What should we do? I don’t know. We can’t hunt it because it knows where we are and avoids us. But I think it weighs more than a big man, and I’d hate to think of what it can do to us if it gets hungry.”
“It left food for us by the river,” Shell said.
“You think that was some sort of peace offering? Or was it that it ate its fill and left that deer haunch for scavengers?”
Shell gave it a short consideration and said firmly, “It was a gift.”
“You have a weird outlook. Animals are not innocent, do not give gifts, and are not our friends. Its presence should scare both of us.” Quester had set his jaw and crossed his arms over his chest.
“I like to think my flock appreciated my protection and that I guided them to the best grass to eat every day. I’d talk to them, and they would listen. We were friends.”
Quester gave the snort of derision again. His tone turned mocking. “I suppose they miss you.”
“I hope so,” Shell said in the same tone. He caught the surprised expression before Quester could hide it, and smiled. He hadn’t outwitted Quester, but he’d managed to get the last word in a conversation. He placed the two fish on a hot stone beside the fire and listened to them sizzle as he considered the future.
After eating the fish, Quester abruptly stood and paced. After taking a long look all around, he said, “It’s watching us right now. I can feel it. I’m going to look for the wolf. I should be back by dark.”