Dodinal remained within the forest to follow the trail, catching glimpses of his companions beyond the tree line. The creatures had followed the straight path of the river until its course ahead of them veered eastwards, when they had moved away from it, relentlessly heading north. Dodinal called out to the men and hurried to catch up with them. “They left the river behind them. We must do the same.”
Hywel squinted up at the sky. By now the sun had lowered until it appeared to touch the treetops, lengthening the shadows around them and turning the air so cold that their breath plumed misty white. “Better to wait until morning, maybe? We won’t be able to follow their trail much longer and at least there’s fresh water to be had here.”
“Where there’s fresh water there’s fresh fish,” Madoc added, rubbing his stomach in a slow, circular motion.
There were indeed fish. Dodinal could sense them. He pulled a face but said nothing.
It was agreed they would establish a camp while there was some daylight left. Given the stiff, damp breeze that blew off the river they decided to return to the forest.
Once they had chosen the site of their camp they split up, with Dodinal, Gerwyn, Emlyn and Hywel gathering firewood and the other four taking their spears to the river’s edge. Madoc and Gwythr knew this territory well while Tomos and Rhydian professed to be as adept at catching fish as they were hunting game. Dodinal had his doubts but let them go; they only needed so much firewood.
“How are you two going to catch anything with those?” Gerwyn taunted them as they carried their spears towards the river, a friendly grin on his face.
“It takes a lot of skill,” Madoc answered mock-indignantly. “What you have to do is stand perfectly still until the very last moment… then shove your spear in and hope for the best.”
They left, laughing, and went about their chores. Soon there was a fire blazing within a circle of stones, a stack of gathered branches heaped alongside it to ensure they would not get cold.
Dodinal had even more reason to be thankful these men were with him. He had been left so poorly equipped after his encounter with the wolves that he lacked the means to start a fire.
The wood they had gathered was green, unseasoned, spitting and smoking in the flames. But that was all for the best: to Dodinal’s mind, fish came closest to being palatable when flavoured with smoke.
At dusk, Madoc and Gwythyr returned to the clearing. Between them they clutched enough fat trout, strung together on a cord, for the men to have one apiece. Too hungry to wait for the brothers to come back, they scaled and gutted the catch and threaded the fish onto sharpened sticks over the fire.
Oil dripped from the fish as they cooked, sizzling and flaring as it struck the flames. The aroma of cooking trout made them salivate. They ate once the skin was blackened and peeling, blowing and sucking on their fingers as they burned them in their haste.
Although he usually disdained fish, and it was far from enough to satisfy his hunger, it was Dodinal’s finest meal in a long time. He devoured it quickly, picking over the last of the flesh carefully until there was nothing left but head, tail and bones.
He tossed the remains away and stretched his arms over his head, stifling a yawn. Dusk had given way to dark; the moon was rising and the sky was ablaze with stars. The air began to cool rapidly. He pulled his cloak tight around his shoulders. It had been a long, tiring day. He suspected they would all want to sleep early so they could rise and leave early come the morning. For all their levity, they had not once lost sight of their purpose.
Then Rhydian stepped into the camp, holding a brace of trout in one hand and his spear in the other, water dripping from the blade like rain. He looked around the fire. A frown creased his forehead.
“Where’s Tomos?”
“We thought he was with you,” Hywel answered.
Rhydian looked anxious. “I haven’t seen him. He complained all the best spots had been taken, said he would find a good place a little way downriver. I was watching the water, but I looked up now and then to see how he was getting on. When I left there was no sign of him. I thought he had returned here.”
Dodinal got to his feet, suddenly uneasy. There could be any number of reasons why Tomas had not returned. He could have gone into the woods for a piss or to empty his bowels. Perhaps he, too, hated the taste of fish, and had taken his spear into the forest, hoping to outdo the rest of them by returning with game. Or he could have fallen in. That was as likely as an explanation as any, though not one Dodinal wanted to entertain after witnessing so much bloodshed.
“We have not seen him,” he said. “But we’ll find him. Probably squatting behind a bush with his trousers around his ankles.”
The men laughed at that, even Rhydian, but the laughter sounded empty and forced, as though they all feared the worst.
They gathered their weapons and followed Rhydian as he led them downriver to the place where he last saw his brother. The earth was soft, and it was plain to see where Tomas had stood, spear in hand, waiting to skewer the fish. A trail of boot prints led further along the bank. Perhaps he had decided to try his luck elsewhere, having failed at the first attempt. They looked around and called out, but their efforts to find him were in vain.
Finally Dodinal sighed deeply. “Rhydian, I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but it looks like your brother must have fallen in.”
“What makes you think that?” Rhydian answered sharply.
Dodinal gestured at the ground close to the bank. “There are no footprints beyond this point.”
“That’s impossible.” Rhydian stepped back unconsciously, as though fearing the river could pull him into its lethal embrace. “We have fished wilder rivers than this. He knew what he was doing. He would never be stupid enough to fall in.”
Gerwyn reached out and grasped Rhydian by the shoulders, pulling him close in an awkward embrace. “Your brother was not stupid. But anyone can make mistakes.” He looked up bleakly at Dodinal. “Anyone.”
Rhydian shrugged free of him. “Believe whatever you want. Tomos would not have fallen in, he’s here somewhere. Go back to the fire, all of you. I will search until I have found him.”
“As you wish,” Dodinal said softly. Let the man search, if that was what he wanted. He would find no trace of his brother. Tomos was dead. His body would be far from here already, carried away by the implacable torrent until it either snagged on some obstruction or was washed out into the faraway sea. But it would be better to let Rhydian reach that conclusion for himself than try to convince him he was wasting his time.
They watched him go, picking his way along the path, calling out his brother’s name, until he was far enough away for the roar of the river to drown out his voice. When they made their way slowly back to the camp, the fire did little to warm them. Even Dodinal, for all that he had barely known the missing man.
He suspected Gerwyn would have remained with Rhydian if he had held so much as a glimmer of hope that Tomos may yet be alive. Perhaps, like Dodinal, he felt his friend should be allowed to make his own decision as to when to abandon the search, rather than have others make it for him. That might have caused resentment.
Dodinal observed Gerwyn guardedly. If that had been his reasoning, it was another encouraging sign he was not as selfish and shallow as everyone, Rhiannon especially, considered him to be. Then again, he thought ruefully, it could have been that he was simply too lazy to want to bother helping with the search.
The brace of trout Rhydian had caught lay untouched on the ground. The men had been ravenous, but now not one of them was hungry. It did not matter whether they had liked Tomos — indeed, Madoc and Gwythyr had barely known him — but they were all in this together, and he was one of theirs.