“I can still walk,” Henry lied.
Instead, Shell half-carried him, searching for shelter, and after a while, he found a saddle that led over the hill they were climbing, into whatever lay beyond. He went that way, hoping to travel far enough that he couldn’t see the valley behind and below. If he couldn’t see it, the residents there couldn’t see a fire he’d build.
The wolf swept the area in front of them, and a small game trail leading in the same direction made travel easier, although the ground again absorbed so much water that they were more wading in mud than walking. A glance behind showed only muddier water where they had walked, and that would soon clear again to match the rest. They left no tracks.
Once across the saddle, walking was easier as they moved down on a long incline. When they reached a rock shelf where they didn’t sink into the soft mud, Shell lowered Henry and covered him with both sopping wet blankets. The bare rock was not as comfortable, but it was drier. The mud and water had already leached their body-heat. Both shivered.
A dead pine trunk drew Shell’s attention. It stood stark and almost limbless. Shell shuffled to it and found around the base dozens of fallen branches of every size. The outside bark was wet, but the rain hadn’t had time to soak into the inner wood. He selected several hefty branches and grabbed them by the large end to pull them free. He dragged them to where Henry lay.
The wood inside the bark was dry as expected, but with rain still falling by the time he skinned the bark and shaved dry wood to spark to flame, it had already absorbed enough dampness to resist. He needed the fire. Henry needed it, worse.
Reluctantly, Shell removed the two blankets from Henry and twisted them until most of the water squeezed out. Then he pulled them over his head, making a small tent while he ignored the foul stench of them. He again scraped slivers of dry wood and reached for his flint. After only a few strikes, one spark took hold and spread. He gently blew until the flame erupted. He fed it more dry slivers until the fire grew so large it threatened to burn the blankets.
He placed larger twigs on top, and once the fire burned well, he spread the blankets over Henry again and gathered more dead branches. The pine caught fire quickly, the sap popped and snapped. But pine is a soft wood and burns quickly. It is also full of pitch that is not affected by damp. Pitch burns hot, quickly drying any dampness from the wood with hisses and sizzles as the water turned to steam. He would need most of what lay at the bottom of the dead trunk to last through the night. Even that might not be enough.
The rain slacked off near sunset and then stopped. Steam rose from the blankets, and from Shell’s clothing. He removed his blanket, and it was almost dry. It was also warm to his touch. He removed the other from Henry and placed the warm, drier one on him, then spread the other on top of that one for additional warmth.
His blanket had felt like it weighed ten times as much as normal even though he’d wrung it out several times. He sat on the wet ground trying to dry his clothing without taking it off because of the cold, and trying to avoid catching it on fire, which he’d almost done twice.
But without the drizzle, and with the fire cheerfully burning, he gradually warmed. Henry lay still under all three blankets, but breathed hard through his mouth and he probably had a broken nose. It was swollen closed. Shell’s anger returned, then his thoughts again turned to the wolf.
He reached out and invited it to join them at the fire. The wolf refused. Shell had the impression the rain hadn’t bothered the animal, and it didn’t like fire.
Instead of sleeping, Shell tended the camp fire for most of the night, drifting off to sleep now and then only to wake damp and cold to add wood to the dying fire. While adding more wood, he let his mind wander as he planned his next moves. He asked the wolf to reposition herself to the top of the saddle between the hills and warn him if anyone followed.
Then he sat in the dark under low, dark clouds. So far, his great adventure had placed him on the run from a whole valley full of people. His actions endangered the Dragon Clan. He traveled with a mutant wolf, a miniature dragon, and a wounded boy who couldn’t take care of himself.
Besides those things, Camilla had spurned him. He didn’t like her, probably. She didn’t like him certainly. He thought he was lost in the mountains. Quester, his only friend, had remained at Bear Mountain, so he was alone. And his attempt to do a good deed for the young stranger sleeping beside him had totally gone wrong.
He glanced around. His staff and bow were missing. How had he been so stupid to go after the Simpson family without taking his staff? It had been there right beside Henry, but he had rushed out to seek revenge and left it. Then, in the confusion of escaping, he forgot it.
He considered going back. The staff had been with him most of his life and his hands would feel empty without it. But it was gone.
Depressed, he finally fell into a fitful sleep, only half-waking several more times to feed the fire. When dawn broke, he refused to wake even though he knew it was time to get up and be on his way. He felt stubborn and resistive. His world had crashed in on him during the last few days, and he wanted to fight back.
Finally, he rolled to one side and looked at Henry. The boy looked back from one eye, the other swollen completely shut. Red and yellow bruises covered most of his face. Blood crusted on his forehead. Henry twisted his jaws attempting to open his mouth, but it refused. Between swollen lips, he struggled to speak and eventually said, “Good morning,” which sounded more like “ood orning”.
With those two words, the veil of sadness surrounding Shell lifted as if it had never been. The wolf sent him an image of it prancing in a meadow, chasing a butterfly. At least one of the three travelers was happy. Shell said, “Why don’t we walk a while and then eat?”
Henry nodded, winced at the pain the action brought, and tried to get a knee steady on the ground to lever himself to his feet. Shell leaped to his assistance.
Shell gathered their things and stuffed his backpack. When it was full, he used leather strips to tie the rolled blankets to the outside. The sun peeked above the hills, and just the touch of sunlight made the world feel warmer. He pointed west.
Henry went first and set the pace along a muddy path. Fleming lay that way. Shell didn’t know exactly where or how far, but that was okay. When they got closer, they would begin asking about Henry’s relatives. His hand touched his purse and felt the coins inside. Henry didn’t know about them yet, or the future money he would receive from the crops each year.
Shell considered telling him, but the boy could barely walk, let alone comprehend a business deal. They paused at a stream to drink and eat.
Henry said, “Are they chasing us?”
Shell realized Henry didn’t know anything of the dragon or burning farm. But the boy was obviously scared the Smithson family was chasing them. “I think they have other problems right now. I sold your farm to a nice family across the road and down a way. We can talk about it later, but the price was more than fair.”
“They paid money?”
“Some silver and a portion of the crops for five years,” he said lightly to prevent detailed questions until later. “You’ll be able to buy a place of your own near Fleming, I think, not a whole farm but maybe a house.”
Henry walked silently for a while, then observed, “I see why the Smithsons beat me. They always expected to take our place because they have so many boys and need the land. Now I don’t know what they’ll do.”
“Oh, don’t worry about them,” Shell said, surprised the boy had the compassion to think of the problems the people who beat him were facing. It told him of character. “They might build a new house big enough for all of them. They might even live in their barn until the new house is finished.”