Camille again applied salve from the jar on the injured joint. “Oh, wee Scruff, but I do hope you’ll be able to fly again someday.”
Finally, she packed all away, and once more they started across the grassy plain, the storm in the north receding.
When darkness fell, Camille made a fireless camp mid the grass, and, in spite of furtive rustlings in the nearby surround, she fell quite soundly asleep.
By midafternoon of the following day, although she had kept up a steady pace, the mountains seemed no closer, and the foothills, if any, were not in sight. And still Camille had seen no significant life, but for the hawk of yester. Oh, not that she had seen no other life whatsoever, for there were insects, aye-beetles and hoppers-and worms and grubs as well, all unearthed by tiny Scruff during their pauses for meals. Yet they had seen no farms, no towns, no habitation of any kind there on the broad, green plain, and yet it seemed that such should be Of a sudden, Scruff chirped and grabbed a tress and dove for the cover of the vest pocket. Camille looked into the sky, yet no hawking bird of any sort did she see. But Scruff repeatedly tugged on her hair and chattered in alarm, and so Camille slowly turned about, her gaze sweeping across the grass, searching There! What is-? Riders! Far off. Coming this way.
And still Scruff twittered madly and tugged on her lock, as if trying to pull her within the vest pocket as well.
Camille frowned and glanced down at the bird then up at the riders again, apprehension now in her gaze. “Very well, Scruff,” she said, and knelt down. “I will wait until I see what they look like, and then decide whether or no I should stand revealed and ask them for direction or aid.”
But Scruff yet chattered and pulled on her tress, and Camille crouched a tiny bit lower.
On came the riders and on, and now she could see “Oh, my, those are not horses.”
Hairless were the steeds, scaled instead, glittering green, with pale undersides, and long, lashing, whiplike tails, the mounts an impossible crossbreed of serpent and horse, as only in Faery might be. And the riders Camille flattened herself in the grass, lying lengthwise to present the least target, praying to Mithras that none would run over her.
— the riders, too, were serpentlike, or so they seemed… either that or they wore hideous gargoyle masks, and armor scaled much like the serpent-horses they rode.
And the ground trembled as onward they came, and Camille flattened herself even more, taking care to not crush Scruff, the bird now silent with dread so near.
And then riders thundered by, the steeds hissing and blowing and grunting with effort, the ground shaking as they passed. And riders sissed cries as onward they plunged and away, the shuddering earth slowly subsiding. Yet Camille did not rise, but instead lay with her face buried in grass. And the tremble of the ground became a quiver, then a shiver, and then was still once more. And yet Camille could hear a blowing, as if nearby Crack!
“Oh!” Camille emitted a squeal and scrambled to her knees.
Crack!
She whirled about and saw coming toward her on his serpent-horse one of the riders, a long, lashing whip in hand. And again Camille screamed, for it was not armor he wore, but gleaming scales covered his body, and it was not a mask, but a gargoyle-like face instead.
The whip lashed out- Crack! — the panting serpent-horse jerking its snakelike head up, flinching at the report, yet coming onward. And as Camille sprang to her feet, the rider’s dreadful face leered at her, his long, forked tongue licking out as if to taste her scent. Hissing laughter sissed as he slowed his steed and drew back his whip for a strike.
Cringing inside, but bracing herself and raising her meager staff in defense, Camille prepared for the blow, yet the rider’s eyes widened, and, gasping in alarm, he wrenched the reins about, the serpent-horse squealing in pain. And jabbing long, thornlike spurs into the steed’s side, away he galloped, shouting out something to his now-distant and on-riding band as he fled across the plain after.
“Wh-what?” Camille blurted. And she looked down to see Scruff peering out from her pocket and watching the rider hammer away. “Ah, Scruff, is he frightened of nought but a wee little bird?”
Of a sudden Camille’s legs gave way, and she fell to her knees in the grass, her whole being shaking with released dread, her breath coming in gasps.
Scruff looked up from her pocket. His tiny brown eyes upon hers. “ Chp! ” he chirped, as if to ask, Why are you trembling? They’re gone, you know.
Camille burst out in hysterically giddy laughter, and it was long ere she gained control.
The next day Camille awakened to an empty waterskin, and she walked all that morning, her thirst growing. And still she saw no sign of habitation, nor did she espy any of the serpentlike riders, though she did wonder if they were the reason why there seemed to be no homes.
In midafternoon, far to the south, or so she believed it to be, another storm built, and she hoped it would come this way, as on toward the mountains she trudged.
But by the time night fell, the storm had taken its gift beyond the horizon and away. And Camille had come across no rill, no mere, no water of any sort at all.
In the noontide of the next day, her lips cracked, her throat parched, Camille watched as another distant storm swept over the grassy plain, this one toward mountains far off to her left.
“Oh, Scruff,” she rasped, “would that the rain come our way and drench down on us instead of falling on ground so removed. And we have happened upon no streams at all, nor springs, nor ponds, nor lakes. Where do you suppose all the water-” Of a sudden Camille slapped a hand to her forehead. “Ah, fie! And me a farmer’s daughter. Of course!” Camille plopped down in the grass, and as Scruff awkwardly fluttered to the ground beside her, she pulled a stem loose at the lowest stalk joint and chewed on the pale end revealed; she was rewarded with a drop or two of moisture. Another stem she pulled and chewed, and another stem, and another, while Scruff dug and scratched in the soil and snatched up insects.
Long did it take Camille to fairly quench her thirst. “Ah but, Scruff, what will you drink?”
As if recognizing the name she had given him, the wee sparrow looked up to her, a wriggling grub in its neb, then hopped across the litter of long grass stalks lying ’round Camille and laid the succulent tidbit at her feet. She burst out laughing. “No, no, my friend, merci, but all the juicy grubs are yours to, um, drink. For me, until we find a pool or stream, it will be these water-bearing stalks of grass.”
In all it took Camille a sevenday to reach the foothills, and by this time she was completely out of food, but where she came to the slopes, there she found a stream, and she and Scruff reveled in the luxury of water, drinking and bathing, both.
Her stomach growling, she looked back at the grassland, where it seemed no one at all dwelled, for no settlement of any kind had she seen, not even from the tallest of hills did she espy any. As to life therein, in the days past, several rabbits had scurried away, and raptors had soared in the skies-three redtail hawks and a dark falcon-much to Scruff’s anxiety. The riders had appeared once again, thundering down the grassy plain, though the second time she saw them, they were quite distant and did not draw nigh. Whether they were the same serpent- folk, she knew not, nor did she care to know.
And with the lack of friendly dwellers in the grassland, she had decided that she would cross the mountains, for there was a col ahead, perhaps a pass through the range. And so Camille spent the next nine days snaring game-five coneys and two fat marmots-and she thanked sweet Mithras that Giles three years past had taught her how to rig a snare. And though she was quite hungry, she began by baiting her first four traps with pieces of a dug-up wild carrot she otherwise would have eaten whole. The first animal she caught, she cooked and ate nearly all, for she had gone some three days without a substantial meal. Most of the remaining game she used for jerky, cutting and seasoning the thin slices of meat and laying them on racks made of branches set well above glowing coals. Scruff was quite pleased with the suet she spared from rendering the fat from the meat. As the slices slowly dried in the heat, she grubbed for more roots and foraged for berries and nuts and other edible vegetation-pausing occasionally when the times came to turn over the meat strips to dry the opposite sides. And thus she spent the days, storing up food for the trek to come, now that her initial stock was gone. And even as she did these things, still she begrudged the time. “Oh, Scruff, our journey will take even longer should we have to live like this off the land.”
Scruff cocked his head and chp ed as if to ask, What is so hard about that?
Camille laughed and said, “Well, my cocky little friend, if we both could survive on nought but a few bugs and
