Mina, Edvard, and Yuila regroup.
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By the time they reached Mina on the slope, Yuila had calmed down a little, but was still complaining about her torn skirts and semi-shorn hair. She fingered the short, choppy fringe by her ear which contrasted sharply with her longer locks that hung past her shoulders.
She looked to Edvard as they met Mina. "Sometimes I don't like braids," she said defensively, pouting, and then ran to embrace Mina.
He looked after the girl, dumfounded. There was no denying she could read minds, that was certain. He'd just been thinking that if her hair had been braided, like it usually was, maybe she wouldn't have gotten as tangled in the briars. He hadn't even been thinking it that loud. He looked to Mina now taking Yuila's head in her hands, estimating the damage to her hair. He'd certainly have to rein in some of his thinking.
Mina looked guardedly to him as he met them. "Are you okay?"
He nodded, frowning. "Thanks to you. What was that? Why didn't you tell me you can shoot?"
Her dark eyes dropped to Yuila's head, her hand brushing back the short hair by one ear. "I've never shot that kind of bow before. Just small ones. For accuracy." She looked to where she'd set his bow on the ground when the attacking animal had run off. "It's incredibly hard to pull."
"I'm surprised you could pull it at all."
"I don't think I could again."
He looked at her shoulder. "Sore?"
She nodded, easing into a smile. "Like someone tried to rip my arm off." Her attention went to his hands, eyes widening when she saw they were blood covered. "Is that from the thorns?"
He looked down at the drying stains. "Yeah. She was pretty caught up."
"I dropped my bucket, and when I bent down to pick it up and all the berries, the thorns just grabbed me, and they wouldn't let go. And I tried to yell for you, but I guess you didn't hear me." Yuila continued her account of the berry bush attack as Mina nodded—with the bush becoming increasingly active in its grabbing of her—while bits of broken brambles and thorns were picked out of her hair.
"Thanks," Edvard told Mina when Yuila paused for a breath as they went back to their camp.
"I don't think I could have done another arrow."
"One was enough."
"And I wanted to get all the berries," Yuila resumed, "because they were sweet, and . . . "
Edvard washed his hands with water from a bucket by the tree, grimacing at the punctures and deep scratches that laced his wrists and palms. He rubbed at the dried blood that made red rings on his hands.
Dead accurate at forty lengths, he thought. The bicklath had been at full charge, the shot true, probably a lung wound, likely fatal, and with his bow. Even with an adrenalin rush it was a remarkable feat for someone Mina's size. He wondered what else she hadn't told him.
He looked to her still tending Yuila's hair, admonishing the girl for complaining about her hair and ripped skirt. A few times she put a hand to her right shoulder, just at the collarbone. She was lucky she hadn't damaged herself in the shooting, he knew. And they were lucky her shot had been so accurate.
Yuila resorted to sitting at the campfire and examining her skirts, the torn materials in her hands, a pout on her face. Edvard took a moment to watch the line of berry bushes in the distance down the slope. There was no sign of the bull or a herd of bicklath anywhere. He looked to the sky for vultures, but saw none. Maybe the bull wasn't quite dead yet.
"You need those cleaned," Mina said from his side.
He looked to her. "Where'd you learn to shoot like that?"
"Oh, my dad, kind of." She hesitated for a moment, looking to his hands. "Let's get those cleaned up."
He nodded. "Then you'll tell me."
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