Chapter 4
Another week passed without anything of importance happening, apart from Murtagh having to rebuild his smokehouse after Thorn set it on fire when he sneezed.
Murtagh and Thorn spent most of this time in quiet contemplation, trying to come to terms with what they had done.
Murtagh's nightmares continued, and from what he could tell so did Thorn's. Thorn never spoke of them, but occasionally when he woke in the night Murtagh would hear him whimpering in his sleep.
We are broken, thought Murtagh. We might never heal.
Murtagh took many walks through the trees and up the lonely mountain in the following days. He wondered what the name of the mountain was, and decided that he and Thorn should give it a name themselves. Making up names would give them something to do.
On his walks, Murtagh sometimes noticed Urgal tracks or the remains of campfires, but inspection showed that all were several weeks old. Thorn saw no sign of an Urgal village when he and Murtagh flew together, which made it likely that the Urgals had just been passing through.
I still think it should be called Mount Thorn, Murtagh.
How many times do I have to say it, Thorn? Naming it Mount Thorn is both narcissistic and downright stupid. It looks nothing like a thorn.
Murtagh wished he hadn't brought up the subject of naming the mountain with Thorn. Thorn was being silly and juvenile and very stubborn, but Murtagh had at least persuaded him out of calling the mountain Mount Tree. Thorn thought that, as the mountain was covered in trees and because they were in trees now and because he rather liked trees, they should name the mountain the same.
Why don't you name it in the ancient language?
Because I can't think of a good name.
How about Du Fell abr Thorn?
Really, Thorn?
Thorn laughed deep in his throat, and Murtagh couldn't help smiling a little in return. Thorn was acting strangely today. If Murtagh hadn't known better, he would have said the dragon was drunk.
How about Du Fellvarden?
The Protecting Mountain?
Well, why not? It is protecting us, isn't it, Thorn?
I suppose it is. Well, if we can't think of anything better soon, we will call it Du Fellvarden.
Murtagh continued to hunt on and around the newly-named Fellvarden. The animals were learning to fear him, and game was harder to bring down than it had been when he first arrived, but Murtagh was still easily managing to feed himself. Thorn, of course, needed none of Murtagh's game, as he was perfectly capable of getting his own.
A larger problem was that lately Murtagh had begun feeling ill. No matter how much Murtagh ate he never felt properly full, and he was losing weight bit by bit. His head spun if he stood up or moved too quickly, he felt nauseated at times, and swallowing was becoming painful.
Hunting was growing harder as Murtagh's illness steadily got worse. Murtagh didn't know what was wrong, but he kept going about things as he normally would in the hope that he would get better and that the physical activity would help.
It soon got to the point where, during hunting one day, Murtagh found himself literally unable to give chase when his quarry bolted. Wiping bile from his lips, Murtagh leaned against a tree and waited for the ground to stop shaking.
Thorn was several miles away, exploring, and so Murtagh had no one to give advice or even comfort after his latest bout of illness.
"What's wrong with me?" Murtagh whispered to the forest in general.
He was extremely surprised when a low voice answered, "You've got rabbit starvation, of course, you fool."
Murtagh almost fell over again with shock.