“Ekard, I need you,” Drake calls out from the shadows, where a few of the nomad children have gathered while their families are distracted by Siri’s words. “Come help me show these kids that they have nothing to fear from the Ddraigs.”
Smirking at me, Ekard hastens off to obey his warrior. When he reaches Drake’s side, Ekard is the picture of gentility. He calmly lets the children brush his scales, tug on his tail, and climb up onto his back. Envy bursts to life in my chest as I watch these children play. How desperately do I wish that I could trust the crimson Ddraig like they do!
Chapter 6
“Well now, what do we have here?” One of the pack’s perimeter guards drops his calloused hands onto Grouse’s thin shoulders, snickering as she tries to jerk away from him. “A few stowaways from the old House of Vultures, hmm? You know, I do enjoy the taste of most birds.”
“Take your filthy paws off her,” Bittern snarls, swatting at the guard like he is an incessant fly. “What are you supposed to be anyway? A wolf pup or a vixen’s kit?”
“Spicy, aren’t you? Especially for someone still living like a refugee in the middle of a war. Why haven’t you changed your masks yet? You’re supposed to reflect your new house,” the guard informs, his hands sliding down Grouse’s shoulders until they cup her elbows and return all the way up to either side of her neck. “What’s say you and I take a little trip over to my tent, sweetheart? Maybe you’ll let me see what’s behind that bird beak you wear. We got a deal?”
The guard leaves no room for his nicely worded threat to be misinterpreted. Pressing one hand’s dirty fingernails into the skin below Grouse’s chin, he carefully wraps his other hand around Grouse’s throat. With enough pressure, he could choke the life right out of her. While his grip tightens, his eyes linger on Bittern, daring her to move. Bittern can only hold her breath and wait, her fingers digging trenches into her thighs with the intensity of her fear. If she says no, Grouse won’t have the chance to scream before he rips out her vocal cords. But if she says yes…Bittern quivers at the thought of what horrors would await her friend.
“Impala, that’s enough!” Fox snarls as he sidles up to the guard and sticks a knifepoint to his throat, pressing hard enough to draw a tiny trickle of blood from the space in front of his jugular. “Let her go and move on. Now.”
Impala whines, but he does not test Fox’s resolve. Shoving Grouse to the ground, he bows with a wide smile. “We’ll have our day, bird beak. And don’t worry—when you finally do decide to change your mask to reflect your new alliance, I will still find you.” Chuckling to himself as Grouse’s hands begin to tremble, he whistles a lively tune as he saunters away.
Fox carefully stows his knife before hurrying to help Grouse back to her seat. “Did he hurt you?” Ever the medicine man, he carefully assesses Grouse for any signs of blood or injury.
“Not really,” Grouse mumbles, her voice a little hoarse. Yet she does not take another bite of her meal. Terror and revulsion are the greatest thefts of appetite, and Grouse cannot fathom the idea of chewing and swallowing the stew in her bowl. “I feel like I need to bathe though. Not that the water will fix anything, really.”
“I can have a hot bath ready in my tent in a matter of minutes.” Fox’s hands shoot up from his sides in self-defense when Bittern starts hurling curses at him. “I run the medical tents, ladies! Hot water is always close by, just in case it’s needed. That’s all I was trying to say.”
“I….” Grouse stares at Bittern, unable to find any reason not to take up Fox’s offer. So far, he’s been the only member of this new house that has been kind, offering help with no intention of exchanging favors. It is a welcomed reprieve from enduring the advances of every eligible male in the pack. “I’d appreciate it. Thank you.”
Fox silently leads the way to the medical tents, motioning for the young ladies to go inside. A rustic table crowds one side of the canvas, tiny vials lining its edges in one long, neat row. In the center of the table stands a heavy looking set of scales and a stone mortar and pestle. From the ceiling drape various plants and flowers, their leaves and petals reaching toward the ground like long grasping fingers, yearning to return to the earth where they once dwelled.
“Cheetah! Bob!” Fox barks at a couple of acolytes waiting just outside the tent flap. “I need lots of warm bath water in the basin. As quick as you can!” Turning to Grouse, his mouth folds into a grim, straight line as he observes her jumpy, agitated state. Any sudden movement or noise is enough to alarm the poor woman. Wordlessly, Fox moves to his array of medicines to prepare a tincture that will calm her fraying nerves.
“Yes sir.” Both young people jump to obey the commands from their leader, neither one bothering to question why he’d ask for bath water in the middle of the day. They saw enough strange occurrences in their first couple of years as medical students to last a lifetime. Peculiarity was more normal than humdrum, everyday experiences.
“Bob?” Bittern questions as she stands close to Grouse, wrapping a warm, comforting arm around her shoulders. Ever since Goldeneye disappeared into the ranks of the soldiers, Grouse has grown increasingly more fearful and erratic. Whether Grouse realizes it or not, Bittern can see how much the girl worries over her friend’s absence. I’ll kill him if he doesn’t check in soon, she vows as she waits for Fox
