When the water was simmering, he added a few dried berries and leaves from a pouch in his pocket. Grinning sheepishly, he said, “Ma was always chiding me for leaving too many things in my pockets. Today, it’s coming in handy.”
A sweet aroma wafted from the pot.
Soon they were sipping from mugs they’d found on a ledge, the crackling fire throwing its warmth out like an embrace.
“Mm, what’s this?”
“Soppleberry.” He winked. “The rumors that soppleberry tea has magical properties are just gossip, but it does taste good.”
“That’s a shame, we could use some magic to turn those tharuks into rugs for our feet.”
He chuckled, a dimple appearing in his cheek.
The sound warmed Lovina as much as the tea.
“Want another one?”
Their hands bumped as he took her mug.
Alarm shot through her. “You’re icy. You need to get some dry gear on.”
He shook his head grimly. “Not until I get more firewood, scout around for food and erase our tracks.”
Her dismay must’ve shown on her face, because he hurriedly added, “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure I can still see the cave. You’re safe here.”
With him. Yes, despite her injuries and the tharuks hunting them outside, she was safer here than she had been in years.
§
Hard up against a trunk, tiny green shoots poked through the snow. Tomaaz pinched a tip with aching fingers and smelled them. It was bear leek. He uprooted some plants and stuffed them in his pockets, then covered the muddy hole with clean snow. They needed to find decent food, without leaving a trail.
Behind the tree trunk were some rabbit droppings—not yet hard, by the look of them. The rabbit’s trail disappeared into a nearby burrow. The little blighter was coming out to feast on bear leeks, and there were plenty more, so it’d be back. If he could make a snare …
Plucking some brown dogsbane reeds, Tomaaz twisted the strands to form two thin double-ply ropes. Curse his fingers for being so numb—it was taking ages. He kept checking the woods and glancing back at the cave. It was quiet for now. The longer he was out here, the higher the chance of being discovered. And he’d freeze if he didn’t get out of these damp clothes soon and into something warmer.
There, the ropes were done. He twisted them into a snare, fumbling to tie them, then fastened one end to a bendy branch that would provide great tension for his trap and tied the other end to a twig in the ground.
Carefully backing away so he wouldn’t set the snare off, Tomaaz heard a loud crack. He spun, heart pounding.
It wasn’t a tharuk. A branch, laden with snow, had snapped and hit the ground, leaving the sharp scent of tree sap. He had to get out of here, back to Lovina.
And find out if Pa was all right. Hopefully, he’d fought those tharuks off.
Tomaaz grabbed some branches out of the snow for firewood and, dragging a leafy branch behind him to cover his trail, retreated back toward the cave. Every now and then, he dropped a bit of bear leek, covering it with a thin layer of snow, hoping the pungent oniony scent would mask his trail. He kicked snow off the sides of the goat track into the furrow he’d left earlier, dragging the leaves over the top. It was a poor cover-up job, but his legs were heavy and his hands were numb to the elbows.
He paused at the entrance of their hideout. The fire was blazing. Lovina was standing at the rear of the cave, a charred stick in her hand, singing softly, with a beautiful clear voice that made his heart soar. She leaned in with unconscious grace, placing charcoal strokes to the boulder. She was drawing—with her good hand.
But what was she drawing? What had her so transfixed that she hadn’t heard him?
He was intruding on her private moment. Tomaaz felt his cheeks pinking. Awkward, but fascinated, he stayed, afraid to move in case he broke the spell.
She added a few more lines to the stone, her body obscuring her art. Placing the stick against the wall, she rubbed at her stone canvas with her fingers, here and there, then stepped back. Still singing under her breath, she tilted her head, as if evaluating her picture. Her singing stopped, and she stood in silence for a long moment.
Tomaaz’s arms were cramping with the effort of holding the firewood, and he was frozen to the bone, but moving now would be like admitting he’d been spying on her. Tomaaz cleared his throat.
Lovina spun, her coal-smudged hand flying to cover her mouth. “Ah, h-how did you go?” she asked.
He dropped the firewood in a heap and approached her, every step a leap across a chasm, his boots leaving pools of thawed snow in his wake.
The firelight painted her features with its golden glow. Silently, she watched him, forget-me-not blue eyes locked on his.
Tomaaz stopped close to her. Her eyes searched his face, brushing over every plane. No one had ever looked at him like that. As if she really saw him.
With a flash of insight, he realized that no one had seen her the way he was seeing her now, either.
He gestured at the stone. “Do you mind showing me?”
“It’s nothing …” She shrugged nervously. “All right. You can see.”
They both moved at once, bumping into each other. They stepped to the other side, bumping again. Lovina giggled and moved aside.
It was him. In charcoal, on stone.
She’d captured his tousled hair, the dimple in his left cheek.
“Do I really tilt my head like that?”
“Yes, and your eyes …”
He tilted his head. “My eyes, what?”
She scraped her foot
