Edvard returns to Sammis’ camp before Elian’s feast days begin, only to discover a lost girl, and perhaps a new possibility.
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Edvard remained still and watched the patch of meadow fescue before the trees. A warm sway of the summer afternoon breeze caught the broadleaves and made the tall grasses rustle, but his gaze stayed fixed on the spot. For a moment her shape was a mere blur, then sharpened into focus, only to disappear completely. Again.
He looked toward the encampment of sprawling tents in the distance, confident none of his many younger brothers had spotted her. Even the lesser brothers, even Del, was not to be seen.
He tugged on the reins to the bay horse he'd taken hunting and headed north, crossing the expanse of grass on foot to where she lay. He knew what she was before he reached her, knew what she could only be. A few moments later he left his horse to graze contentedly halfway to camp, laden with two large deer carcasses, sufficiently blocking unnecessary attention, and went alone to the girl.
Not that anyone would notice his return from hunting, not when Elian was being awarded with the first of many feasts that night. Edvard wryly wondered if they even knew he had been gone for three days. Every hand in camp had been busy making preparations for weeks.
He approached her small form carefully in the deep grass, watching her vacillate within visibility. When she stayed detectable for a few moments, fully visible, he had the chance to study her. He decided her age to be about nine or ten years, about the same age as his twin brothers Novi and Roken. She finally remained solidly visible, barely conscious and trembling in her tattered dress.
"Lie still," he told her, kneeling. He pulled off his lightweight cloak and covered her, wondering how long it would be until the camp dogs noticed her.
"It's cold," she said, shivering.
He tucked the cloak around her better, not getting too good of a look at her, and then scooped her up and moved her closer to the nearby trees, careful not to be seen by anyone at camp.
She pulled the cloak tighter, curling into the brush of the tree line, shaking a little less.
"Stay here, and don't say anything," he told her quietly. "I'll come back in a while and see to you. All right?"
She nodded and he covered her head with the cloak's hood.
He surveyed the area for a brief moment, then went back to his horse. He untied one of the large does he'd got hunting and let the carcass fall to the ground. With any luck he could get back to it before the camp dogs got to it. And if they did catch scent of the Crone, the dressed-out doe would certainly garner their attention first. He looked to the tree line, satisfied that the girl was out of sight in the tall fescue, then led the horse into camp.
The Sammis camp was always a sprawling affair, partly because Edvard's father was wealthy, and partly because of their large family. Moving for the summer months was a tedious task, something they only did every other year. Wintering in the main house was yearly, as neither of his father's wives liked to spend winter in tents, and none of the sons cared much for it, either. His father, Sammis, had curtailed many arguments early on in his sons' lives by giving them each their own tent at the age of twelve, with enough attendants and servants to see that no one got in anyone else's way. This was essential when a man had fourteen sons.
Edvard led the horse along the footpath to camp. Elian was turning eighteen, the eldest, a mere eleven months older than Edvard, and by his own mother, Sira, a true brother, although none of them ever made the distinction of mothers. Four of Sira's eight sons were the eldest, and the second wife, Odel, had added two sets of twins, and another two sons.
He stopped at the outskirts of camp when two dogs came bounding toward him. He cut off a few scraps of the remaining doe's hide and threw them to the animals, watching them growl greedily at each other. He continued into the busy camp and to his own tent.
"Edvard!" Del rushed Edvard as soon as he halted. The eleven-year-old boy's eyes lit up at the sight of the doe. "She's huge!" He patted the deer's hindquarter. "Can I go next time?"
"Not for another year, Del. You know that."
The boy pouted, his hand trailing over the fur covering the hollowed carcass ribs. His hair stood up in dark tufts, a characteristic he shared with two other brothers.
"I've got another one. It fell off down the trail." Edvard loosened the rope on the deer's feet. "Go get me a mule from Milo and I'll let you take this one to the butcher."
"I'll be right back!"
Del left, stumbling as he went, and Edvard looked toward the trees where he knew the Crone to be. She was young, definitely lost, and very far from home. All Crones lived on the coast, and that was at least two weeks away. He knew she was a Crone, too. The way she kept fading in and out of view meant she was weak, and the fact that she was so young and alone was not a good sign.
He rubbed the bay gelding's neck, speaking lowly to it. Of all the horses he'd broken, the bay and the black and white pinto mare were his favorites. He mainly used the gelding, being a larger horse, but the mare was an excellent pack and saddle animal, sure-footed and even- tempered. He looked to Del as the boy led a mule to his tent.
"Take this doe to the butcher and make sure you tell him there's another one coming," he said, handing Del the bay's reins. "I'll bring it back on the mule."
"Can I go, too?"
Edvard shrugged. "I'd really rather get this deer to the butcher. Maybe you can meet me back here in a little bit for the next one."
"I'll be real careful, Edvard," the boy promised, taking the reins tighter.
"I know you will."
He waited until his younger brother had meandered back among the tents, leading the gelding away, before slipping into his own tent. True to Sira's nature, she had bread, oil, wine, and water waiting for him upon his return. He wrapped the bread in a cloth and took a flask each of water and wine and bundled them into another blanket. After a little debate, he added two apples from the basket of fruit nearby and went out to the mule.
Edvard was thankful no one noticed his departure back across the meadow. The suns were heading to the evening skies, but with the vast openness of the grassland, sunset was still far off. He dropped the mule's reins at the deer carcass and pulled off the bundle of supplies he had smuggled from camp, then headed for the tree line.
The Crone was still where he had left her, shaking and murmuring quietly. He uncovered the cloak from her face, and turned her head to him.
"What's your name?" he asked.
Her eyes opened slowly, lips parched and cracked. He helped her sit up and drink from the water flask. She coughed for a moment, then rested against his knee.
"Yuila," she said, voice hoarse.
Her hair was tousled, but braided, her eyes a deep violet color.
"All right, Yuila." He positioned her to sit better and she steadied herself against the tree behind her. "You're far away from home. How long have you been here?"
Her eyes grew troubled. "I didn't run way."
"Well, you certainly said that clear enough." He broke off a piece of the bread and gave it to her. "Eat slowly."
She stuffed half the bread into her mouth, then tried to drink a gulp of the water.
"I said slowly," he reminded.
She said something muffled, swallowing quickly.
He gave her one of the apples. "Is anyone looking for you?"
For a moment she glimmered in and out of sight before him and he feared she would vanish altogether.
She shook her head. "I'm trying to go home."
"The coast."
She nodded, eyeing the remaining piece of bread as she crunched into the apple.
He frowned, watching her devour the fruit. "Why is no one looking for you?"
"I got separated. They moved on without me." Her eyes dropped as she said it, and he shook his head.
"They wouldn't leave you." He handed her the water again. "They didn't even know you left, did they? You did run away."
She wiped her mouth hastily. "I was supposed to go, too. I should have gone! I'm good enough."
"Keep your voice down," he warned, glancing to the mule and then to camp.
"Don't take me there."
He looked back to her. "Why not?"
"My father would not like me to go into the camp."
"But it's all right with him that you ran away?"
"No; that will make him angry, too."
Edvard sighed, handing her the wine flask. "Listen to me, Yuila. I can take you home, but I need you to cooperate."
She nodded, drinking deeply from the wine.
"You stay right here, covered up, and eat the rest of the bread and the other apple. I'll be back in the morning to take you home." He shook out the blanket he had brought and settled it around her. "You promise to stay right here?"
She nodded, tucking the flasks and apple beneath the blanket. She bit into the remaining piece of bread. "Can you bring some fish?"
"I don't have any fish. There's no fish in all of the camp." Of course, he thought; she's a coastal dweller. But fish would be a hard find in the grasslands. "You're a long way from fish, Yuila."
"I haven't had fish in a week," she said with a pout.
He estimated it was much longer than a week, but only nodded. "Stay here. I'll be back in the morning."
PG13, saga; teen, fantasy, non-Sci-Fi world travel, teen romance, clean romance, realm, magical realism, shadow world, school/new school, high school. #ReadFree with free signup. ♫♪
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Thanks to P.G. Waters for the use of her story!