Exhausted, Arvin rose to his feet.
“Did it work?” Karrell asked.
“I made contact with a wolf, but I don’t know if it will come,” Arvin said. “We’ll have to wait and see.” He left the lapis lazuli in place on his forehead. If a wolf didn’t arrive in a reasonable amount of time, he’d try again.
Tanglemane returned then, carrying an armful of dead branches. He cleared a bare spot on the ground near the stone giant then dumped the branches onto it. “We need fire,” he announced. “To keep warm. And to keep the wolves from coming too close.”
Arvin nodded. Tanglemane needed something to drive away his fear of the wolves while they sat and waited. Arvin slipped his pack off his shoulders and rummaged inside it for the wooden box that held his flint and steel. The moss and shavings that were nestled inside were still dry, he was glad to see. He offered the fire kit to Tanglemane, who took it with a nod of his head.
The centaur soon had a small fire burning, despite the dampness of the wood he’d collected. He fed it until it blazed. Arvin felt its heat as no more than a dull warmth, thanks to Karrell’s spell, but soon his wet clothes were steaming. He stripped down to his breeches and hung his shirt, pants, and cloak on sticks near the fire. He even pulled off his glove; it might be magical, but the leather had become as soaked as the rest of his clothes by the fall of sleet.
Karrell hesitated a moment—unlike other yuan-ti, she seemed to be shy about her body—then stripped off her own clothes. Something that glinted reddish-brown in the firelight fell to the ground: loose scales.
Arvin glanced at them, wondering if he should say anything. Curiosity won out. “Do you shed your skin?” he asked.
Karrell stared at the scales that lay on the ground at her feet. “Not normally at this time of year,” she said. Then she shrugged. “Perhaps it is the change in the weather. Or perhaps the wet clothing chafed them off.”
She settled cross-legged by the fire, naked, combing her long, dark hair with her fingers. Her breasts and hips were full and rounded, her mouth soft and inviting.
If Tanglemane hadn’t been with them….
Arvin decided to channel his energy elsewhere, into something productive. He stood and kicked away fallen branches and dead leaves, expanding the bare patch around the fire. “I need to meditate,” he told Tanglemane and Karrell. “Let me know if the wolf shows up.”
He lay prone on the cold, wet ground, assuming the bhujanga asana. He still found it the most effective pose for replenishing his muladhara; sitting cross-legged, as his mother had done, never worked quite as well. The rearing-serpent pose gave his meditations an edge that the comfortable, seated position did not.
When his muladhara was replenished, he rose and flowed through the ten forms Tanju had taught him. Tanglemane was still keeping a close eye on the surrounding woods, but Karrell watched Arvin, her eyes ranging up and down his body. Her frank interest distracted him, causing him to lose his concentration and falter slightly on the final pose.
He sank down beside her and held his hands out toward the fire, even though her spell had made warming them unnecessary.
Karrell reached out for his left hand and turned it, looking at his abbreviated little finger. “An accident?”
Arvin shook his head. “I was young and on my own and hungry. I made the mistake of stealing on someone else’s turf. The Guild cut it off as a warning.” He picked up his glove, which had dried, and started to pull the stiff leather over his hand, but Karrell stopped him. She raised his hand to her lips and kissed it.
“You have had a difficult life,” she said.
Arvin eased his hand from hers. “No more difficult than some. I’m sure your life hasn’t been easy.”
“It became much more pleasant after I pledged myself to the K’aaxlaat. They helped set my feet on the path I was to follow through the maze of life. They have become like broodmates to me.”
“Do you miss your home?” Arvin asked.
“Often,” Karrell said. Then she smiled. “But not at the moment.”
Tanglemane stood suddenly.
“What’s wrong?” Arvin asked, reaching for his dagger.
“All is well,” Tanglemane assure them. “I simply go to find more firewood.” Without another word, he trotted into the woods.
Karrell gave a soft laugh. “He realizes we would rather be alone.”
“Does he think we want to—”
Before he could finish the question, she kissed him, answering it.
Arvin could hear the sound of Tanglemane’s footsteps growing fainter. Collecting firewood, indeed. As the fire crackled beside them, filling the air with the sharp tang of smoke, he returned Karrell’s kiss, wrapping his arms around her. Before his meditations, he’d been exhausted. But now….
Easing her onto the ground, he kissed his way down her throat.
A rustling in the woods startled Arvin awake. It was dark, but the fire was burning brightly. Tanglemane must have stoked it while Arvin and Karrell slept. The centaur stood next to the fire, head lolling on his chest, fast asleep.
Karrell lay beside Arvin. Like him, she was still naked; they had fallen asleep, tangled together, after their lovemaking. She stirred, lost in a dream. It must have been an unpleasant one; she gasped and jerked her hand, as if trying to free it from something.
Arvin nudged her awake.
She blinked then sat up. “What is it?” she asked. “I’m not sure,” Arvin said. “I heard something in the woods. I think it’s—”
Eyes glinted at him from the edge of the clearing—eyes that were low to the ground and shone red from reflected firelight.
“A wolf,” Arvin finished.
Tanglemane must have heard the word in his sleep. That, or he caught the wolf’s scent. Instantly, his head was up, nostrils flaring. Tail flicking back and forth, he started to reach toward the empty sheath at his hip then changed his mind and turned his hindquarters to the wolf, lifting one massive hoof in readiness to kick.
Karrell sat up, fully awake now. “Tanglemane, wait. I will speak to it.” She murmured something in her own language then gave a series of yips, half-barks, and growls. She was answered in kind by the wolf, which padded into the clearing. It proved to be an older animal, with a white muzzle and a lean, hungry-looking face.
“Has the wolf seen any satyrs?” Arvin asked. “Is there a camp nearby?”
“She does not know. She will ask her pack.”
“Are they—” Before Arvin could complete the question, the wolf threw back its head and howled. A second wolf answered it from just inside the forest on the opposite side of the clearing. Then a third answered, from slightly deeper in the forest. Within moments, howls came from the woods on every side, both from close at hand and from a great distance. There must have been a dozen voices or more. The chorus lasted for several moments, rising and falling like a song, then one by one the wolves fell silent.
Arvin glanced at Tanglemane, who stood stiff-legged and trembling. He placed what he hoped was a reassuring hand on the centaur’s flank. “Steady, Tanglemane,” he told the centaur. “You were right; they’re afraid of the fire. They’re not going to come any closer.”
The wolf who had answered Arvin’s sending stared at Karrell and gave a series of yips and barks.
“A satyr camp lies to the east of here,” Karrell translated, her voice tight with excitement. “There is a human in it. A female human.”
“Tymora be praised,” Arvin whispered. Touching the crystal at his throat, he whispered a quick prayer of thanks to the goddess of luck, promising to throw a hefty handful of coins in her cup—coins that would come from the baron’s reward. “Can the wolves lead us there?” he asked Karrell.
She translated his question and received a reply. “They can. But they are hungry; the winter has been hard. They want something in return: meat. They want our “horse.’”
“Our horse?” Arvin echoed.