“It’s short for Bobcat. I just call him ‘Bob’ because it rankles him,” Fox replies, his pestle not missing a rhythmic crunch as he slams it into the lavender and passionfruit flowers in the mortar. Their heady aromas fill the air, and even the scent is enough to slow Grouse’s rapid heartbeat.
“Why would you intentionally want to annoy him?” Bittern wonders aloud, struggling to mask the judgmental slur in her voice. “He’s what, barely twelve?”
“Thirteen,” Fox corrects, reaching for another one of his vials as he continues to adjust his tincture. “Hotheaded, overly proud, and very cocky. I shudder to think what he’ll be like when puberty sets in.” Fox pauses long enough to capture Bittern’s eyes with his own fierce gaze. “If he wants to be a healer, he’s got to learn to deal with the difficult patients too. I’m doing it for his own good.”
“I…I get it,” Bittern admits, her mind drifting back to the days when Warbler was alive, puttering around the kitchen, singing a beautiful melody that was far too good for anyone in that house to hear. If we’d been tougher on her, maybe she’d have survived. Despite her deep-set resolve, Bittern’s chin wobbles at the memory of those dark days when Mynah proved herself to be just as brutal as the rest of the house.
“Don’t,” Fox interrupts her reverie gently, passing a small cup of cold water to Bittern. “Don’t let your mind dwell on the ‘if only’ scenarios. You’ll drive yourself mad, and that’s not a wound I can heal.”
“How did you know?” Bittern demands, glancing at the cup in her hands with a mixture of longing and fear. She’d let herself grow unfocused, and she missed important details like whether or not Fox put something special in this glass. The last thing she wants is to ingest one of his medicines unintentionally. Even herbal supplements can be deadly if the apothecary means you harm.
“It’s my job to read people,” Fox replies, turning back to his table. “Even without the luxury of seeing your entire face, I can tell something troubles you. A memory stirs in your eyes, clouding your sight and causing your lips to curl down. And given the fact that we were just speaking about a child, I suspect you’re remembering someone young from your past. How’d I do?”
“Just shut up,” Bittern snaps, closing off the rest of Fox’s prying words. If her water cup wasn’t made of glass, she’d toss it at his feet with her rage.
Fox smirks but says nothing else on the subject. His body relaxes marginally as he works, taking comfort in menial tasks while he considers the fate of the two women behind him. No doubt Impala will continue to hound them. He never quits until he gets his way. Fox snarls softly, recalling all the women he’s had to patch up after Impala finished with them. It’s a wonder Wolf hasn’t taken him out yet. I wonder what stops him? Waving off the thought, Fox adds a few drops of water to the petals, letting their essences blend into the liquid.
“Suppose we should thank you then, for coming to our aid with that guard,” Bittern mutters, hating the begrudging feeling rising up in her veins. “I’m not one for big ‘thank you’ speeches, but I think we owe you a great debt. That guard—”
“You owe me nothing,” Fox cut her off, pouring the mixture into a cheese cloth to strain out the flower petals. “But you should be warned—there aren’t many in the pack that will take you in with those bird masks on. If you want to join the ranks, you’ll need a new identity.”
“I have no intention of changing,” Bittern snips, her voice gruff as she challenges Fox. “Nor do I care to fit in with you people.”
“Then you won’t last long,” Fox replies, feeling a pit in his stomach as he walks over to Grouse’s side. Handing her a small vial, he gently instructs, “Drink this down now; I’ll make up some more for you after you’ve cleaned up. Then you’ll lay down on one of the sickbeds and rest for a few hours.”
Wordlessly, Grouse takes the vial and swallows its contents. The mixture barely touches her tongue, and if it has a taste, she doesn’t notice it. Her mind is far away, reliving the slimy, sweaty touch of Impala’s hands wrapping around her throat. She doesn’t even realize that the two children come in with heavy buckets of steaming water. The splashing sounds as they empty these buckets into the tub barely register in her ears.
“Grouse, the bath’s ready,” Bittern whispers, gently tugging her friend toward the wash basin. “Will you be okay in here alone?” she asks, waiting for a quick nod of Grouse’s head before she motions to Fox to leave the tent.
Outside, Fox and Bittern take their places on opposite sides of the cooking fire, each one quietly assessing the other’s weaknesses in silent observation. “She’s lucky to have someone like you,” Fox finally announces, quietly appreciating the woman’s strength and tenacity. “So, what will you do with yourselves if you aren’t going to join us properly?”
Bittern stares hard at Fox, unable to answer him as she considers his disarming compliment. Lucky to have me. The idea is preposterous in Bittern’s thinking, but she does not argue the point. Warmth grows in her chest despite her best efforts to dampen the compliment’s effects. “I…I…well, I don’t know,” Bittern finally responds, turning away from Fox as if she can somehow shield herself from his view merely by making it impossible for him to look into her eyes.
“Do you intend to desert?” Fox’s focus sharpens on the woman as he waits for a response. He holds his breath, a little surprised to realize that her answer matters so much to him.
“No,” Bittern declares, wishing she had the guts to leave this place behind. “Grouse needs me still.”
“I have a proposition
