Shell said, “Is that the way you were taught to greet members of the Dragon Clan?”
“Take what I give you and do it quietly.”
The tone held more anger than he’d heard in years, but more than just anger. Fear tinged her words. It hid the fear behind the sharp tone. Instead of replying, he pulled the blanket around himself. Her anger was misplaced, but his words would only make it worse. He laid down and pretended to sleep.
He could always follow and catch up with her again tomorrow. Or the next day. Or never. The tiredness overcame him and instead of the angry tossing and turning he expected, the opposite happened. Shell fell into a deep sleep as the result of being so tired. The last several days had drained his reserves. He slept long and sound without a hint of night whispers to disturb him.
Upon waking, he started again as his eyes opened. Being surrounded by trees, unfamiliar birds singing, and thinner air took getting used to.
He heard the snap of a twig underfoot and turned to find Camilla, with her back to him, washing her face in the cold water of the little stream. Glancing around, he found the fire dead, and her belongings packed and ready for travel. Yesterday it had been the wolf in his face. This morning it was Camilla. Waking up was not becoming his favorite part of the day.
She stood, turned, and flashed a smile. She said, “I owe you this.”
Camilla turned away again, and lifted the back of her shirt, displaying the dragon image in the proper manner, for the correct time. Respect. Something she withheld the night before.
Shell stood, gathered his belongings and finally chose his words. “I came here from the grasslands for several reasons. I wanted to meet you because I’ve heard so many nice things that are said about you. But I also have this need inside to see the world, and to help my family fight Breslau. Well, we’ve met, and I still have the other two that I want to accomplish. It does not matter where I go or how I get there. Choose your path.”
“So you can follow me?”
“No, just the opposite. You were here first, Camilla. Continue on your way. I’ll find my own since you don’t want or need my help.”
From her reaction, the words stung her, but she recovered and said, “You’ll just follow me, I suspect. But I’m warning you to stay away. I do not need your help.”
“If we meet again, it will be through no fault of mine.” He tossed his pack over his shoulder and instead of continuing west as he had been traveling, he turned abruptly south. In the forest, the wolf leaped to its feet and padded south also, trying to scout ahead in the new direction, but also puzzled. Its mind had trouble understanding human actions, and it broadcast that confusion to Shell, who ignored it.
Shell found he had a tall hill to cross with no easy path to follow. His pride refused to allow him to search for an easier way, knowing that if he went back to find a better way and Camilla saw him, he would cringe in embarrassment. She made it clear. Stay away. No explanation would suffice in that instance. No, it was easier to climb a small mountain than face her derision.
The wolf soon swept an arc in front, and nothing of consequence lay ahead. He managed to reach the crest, where he paused and pulled a hard biscuit from his pack and spent a few satisfied minutes looking out at the world ahead. His words to the girl were not preplanned, and they rang true, even to himself. Ahead lay a wide world filled with unknowns just waiting for him.
He looked to the west again and felt the morning sun on his back. Mountains rose on both sides of a second valley, steep sides rising to peaks he couldn’t see because of low hanging clouds. But it was a route west, and there would be animal trails to follow. A river and streams would run, probably down the middle. He would have water, and he carried food.
He stood in a small clearing. At the end stood a stump where a huge tree had grown at one time. Now it rotted, the bark long gone and the wood flaking off and growing soft and punky. A few steps closer gave him a target hard to miss. He pulled the bow from his shoulder and strung it.
His first arrow struck the stump chest high, near the middle and he smiled with satisfaction. The second missed the tree, and he searched for it until he finally located where it had skittered under the dry grass to hide. A single arrow of the same quality would take days to replicate even if he had the time and skill. He returned to the same place and tried again.
In all, he shot arrows close to a hundred times, convincing himself that most of the time he would miss a cow from ten steps. The bow wobbled in his hands, his arms were not strong enough to hold it steady, and the arrows didn’t fly where expected. But the soft wood of the stump kept them from being damaged, and he vowed to learn by doing the exercise over and over for the next few days.
He grabbed his staff and struck the stump a few solid blows, so it understood it hadn’t defeated him. The wolf emitted more puzzlement. Shell headed west.
He traveled for two days, moving quickly and gaining more experience with the bow, the mountains, and walking on rough, uneven surfaces. He paused at all animal tracks, finding scat and trying to determine what sort of animal left it. Several times he came across the footprints of the wolf, large and deep, but he seldom saw her.
They seemed to have developed a strained relationship. The wolf ranged mostly ahead, but often to either side or behind, while it hunted for small game. She feasted on squirrels, rabbits, and once a small animal Shell didn’t recognize. Shell found eggs in three bird nests, berries hanging large and ripe on vines. He ate strips of smoked venison, but his supply was dwindling.
The morning of the third day again brought rain. The cold water soaked him, and he sat under a broad tree until the light rain gathered into pools on the large leaves above and fell on him with small splashes. The small droplets falling from the sky were easier to live with than the plops of water under the tree.
Sitting and shivering gained him nothing. Walking kept him warmer as he trudged along, head down, until he reached a hill where instead of the narrow pass between two mountains, a rich valley spread out below. Houses, barns, outbuildings, and pastures showed themselves. Smoke rose from chimneys, and probably warm, dry farmers huddled inside.
The rain slowed, the sun peeked between clouds, and Shell waited. Farms have dogs that would detect the scent of the wolf if they went near. Perhaps they would smell the scent on Shell, even though they had not touched. Instead, he continued walking through the wet forest in search of a dry place for shelter. He came to a small lake and paused. He couldn’t get any wetter, and he smelled the sour stench of himself.
With the sun still trying to emerge, he stripped and waded into the lake, carrying his clothes with him. He had no soap, but clean water rinsed most of the grime off him and repeatedly wetting and wringing the clothes removed most of the mud and accumulated dirt.
The wolf didn’t seem to mind the rain. She lay in the open with water shedding off her coat, laying only twenty steps from where Shell huddled against the cold and wet. The action, or inaction, by the wolf, was the first time it had fully shown itself for an extended time and remained nearby. Her amber eyes watched Shell as if the animal expected him to do something, but Shell couldn’t get the idea she was laughing at him from his mind.
“You’re enjoying this,” Shell accused.
The wolf crossed her paws and laid her chin on them. Shell was again struck by legs that appeared almost spindly, would have feet so large. The wet fur matted and dripped, making the wolf appear smaller through the body and chest, but even so, she was huge by any measure.