Chapter 22 Wounds and Scars
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The winter is unusually merciful to us, gifting us a clear day and a tolerable chill. Eric and I barely speak. We ski onward, our eyes eagerly awaiting to see Vilgard.
"Hammond's is to the east!" Eric calls back to me.
My brows furrow. "To the east!?"
"Aye!"
My brows furrow more, unease knotting my stomach. "Why are you telling me this!?" I ask him, my words coming out sharper than I mean them to...but I cannot help the buried frustration bubbling to the surface.
Brief silence. I know he's frowning. "I just want ye to know! When we stop for the night, I want to show ye somethin'!"
When we stop for the night? The selfish part of me wants us to keep going throughout the night so that we reach Vilgard quicker, but that would be beyond foolish. The only gracious bone in my body knows that he must rest. We barely got any rest last night. I already feel the exhaustion creeping into my body, steadily growing.
"Alright!" I call to him.
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"There's an abandoned minin' settlement no' too far from here!" Eric says as the world starts to dim. "The ol' mine has dried of iron and silver, but it's got some decent shelter! We'll stop for the night there!"
I frown, my stomach knotting with uncertainty about this old abandoned mining settlement. "Are you sure it's abandoned!?"
"Last time I checked!" he quips.
My frown deepens. Is it truly abandoned or has some poor destitute soul or a gang of thieving, murderous bandits taken shelter in the old settlement? I sigh. Despite these valid concerns, the thought of spending the night somewhere with four walls and a roof over my head is much more appealing than spending one more night out in this blistering cold.
We ski for a bit longer through a little valley with slight hills and towering, skeletal pine trees on both sides of us. This...we're on a road! When did we come across this? Eric rounds the bend in the road, disappearing from my sight. My stomach knots and my heart picks up. Where did he go!? I lean into my left ski, deftly turning right around the bend. Eric comes into my sight again. I sigh, relief washing over me. Dark shadows draw my eyes beyond Eric.
Just as he said, up ahead are dark, solitary structures of small cabins lining both sides of the road. Their black wood is a stark contrast to the snow. As we ski closer, I can see the broken down fences connected to some of the cabins. There's also a few hitching posts and troughs that have been filled with snow.
Eric throws his hand up suddenly and slows to a stop just outside of the small settlement. He wants me to stop! I slow to a stop not too far behind him. My stomach knots more as I watch him slowly look over the whole settlement. He whips his head back to me suddenly, startling me. He motions with his two fingers, silently telling me to come to him. I suck in a hard, freezing breath and scuttle over to him on my skis. It's awkward as hell on my skis, intensifying the aches and pain all over my body. I can't help but wince as I stop just beside and behind him.
Eric raises his brows at me, his eyes filling with concern. "Ye alright?" he asks me, keeping his voice low.
I frown at him. "I'm fine. I'm just sore from this journey. You should be more concerned about yourself." My eyes widen some. I'm surprised by the bite in my voice.
He returns my frown and opens his mouth to say something, but his breath hitches in his throat. He closes his mouth.
I did not mean to hurt him. I suppose it's because I'm tired. I'm already on edge as it is. "I'm sorry. Is it safe to stay the night here? Is it abandoned?"
He banishes his frown and grows stern. "Aye. Nae one's been here for years." He looks back at the old settlement. "We'll be left alone tonight."
"I hope you're right."
He glances down at me and frowns, not missing my lack of confidence in him. That knowledge stings my heart.
"C'mon, there's a cabin halfway down the road that's pretty solid. Follow me." He pushes off with his pole, skiing out onto the open road. I swallow hard, steel what few nerves I have, and I push off with my long pole, following him into the old mining settlement.
To my relief, there is complete silence save for the faint whistling of the wind as it weaves its way around and through the cabins. Many of the cabins are so dilapidated that no one would dare to seek shelter in them. Several cabins have even lost their whole roofs and had their doors ripped off by violent blizzards! At least, I assume that's what happened. There are several old, broken down wagons tucked between some of the cabins that looked to have been used for hauling silver and iron ore to wherever the ore would be hauled to. There are no horses in sight. No fresh tracks of hoof or boot. My unease starts to dissipate. Perhaps Eric is right for once. Tonight, we'll be left alone and he'll have the time he needs to rest. God knows he needs the rest more than I do, but what I wouldn't give to lie down in a warm bed right now.
"Here it is," he says, coming up to a cabin that still has its four walls, its roof, and its front door. He slows to a stop just beneath the roof extending over the porch of the cabin. I slow to a stop beside him and crouch low, both of us unstrapping our feet from our skis. I free my feet from my skis and I straighten up. A sharp pain shoots down my right arm, a hiss escaping through my gritted teeth. I had forgotten about my injured shoulder.
"Ye alright?" Eric asks, pulling my gaze to him.
"I'm fine," I say and give my shoulder a tentative roll, wincing from another sharp pain that shoots down my arm and up into my neck. "It's just my shoulder."
He frowns down at me for the hundredth time today, worry in his eyes. "Try no' to move yer shoulder if ye can help it." He drops a gentle hand on my shoulder and rubs his thumb along my coat sleeve. "Maybe I can make some sort of sling for ye. I'll see when we get inside."
As he takes his hand from me and turns, my own worries and fears creep out of my mouth. "What about you?" My eyes drift down to the slice in the back of his coat, dried blood crusted to the leather. "You're still alright?" I glance up at him, my eyes crossing his soft ones.
He turns back to me and rests his hand on my injured shoulder, not causing me pain. "I'm still standin'," he says. Something is off about him. Just like there was something off about him right after he was stabbed. Before, it was easy to tell with how he stumbled around. Sure, he got his grace and dexterity back quickly thereafter, but now there is something else off about him. What, I cannot put my finger on it, but something tells me he knows it, too. He's not telling me everything.
I frown deeply at him. "Eric, be honest with me right now. Are you keeping anything from me?"
A look of distress twists his face. "Why're ye askin' that!?"
"There's just…," I shake my head, my eyes burning with unbidden tears, "...something off about you, like there was something off about you when you were first stabbed. It was just more obvious then that you were affected by the poison, the incendium poison which you didn't tell me about at first! Why didn't you tell me before!? God, at that rate, why did you let it slip!?"
"Let it slip!?"
I nod my head fervently. I am poking the bear, but I don't care right now. "Yes! You said the poison works slowly, yet you're telling me that Hammond's is to the east! Why are you telling me that Hammond's is to the east!?" My sight of him blurs. "WHY!?"
His anger leaves him with an exasperated breath. He stabs his long pole into the snow and cradles my face in his hands, brushing my tears away with his thumbs. "Lass...cryin' o'er me is no' gonna do us any good."
My eyes widen, more tears escaping down my cheeks only to be caught by him. "Please don't say that," I say softly. "There's something you're not telling me, I know it! What aren't you telling me!?" My sobs turn to full weeping, endless tears spilling down my cheeks. He closes the space between us and takes me in his arms. I can't help but wrap my arms about him and bury my face into his chest, soaking his chilled vest with my tears.
"Easy," he says, and he sways gently with me. Feeling the strength of his arms about me, the solid length of his front pressing to mine, and his gentle swaying starts to soothe me. I don't want his attempt to work. I need to find out what he is keeping from me, but his gentle swaying...it speaks to something primal in me, as if my body was created to respond solely to this motion. I want to keep weeping, but my tears gradually lessen. Papa...he once held me like this when I was weeping over mama. It was a private moment, only he and I in my bedchamber. He held me in his protective arms. He gently shushed me and he slowly swayed with me as a loving father does with his daughter.
The whole world stops. My eyes fly open, still filled with tears. This is the kind of swaying that only a father would know. Is Eric...is he a father? No...not is, but was? A terrible, crushing ache unlike any other consumes my heart.
Eric slows his swaying to a standstill and rubs my back. "C'mon, let's head inside...I'll tell ye everythin' ye need to know once we're warm." He pulls back from me.
My eyes dart up to him. "So you are keeping something from me."
His frown deepens. "I said I'll tell ye, and I will. Let's jus' head inside first and get warm."
I sigh. At least he's saying he will tell me everything I need to know. That excludes everything else, though. "Fine," I mutter.
He keeps his frown as he stoops low and gathers his skis. I quickly follow suit. We snatch our long poles out of the snow and I follow him to the door. Sara never said anything about children, but now I realize that means nothing. She had a kindness and love to her that...well, that a mother would have for her daughter. In some small ways, Sara's kindness and love reminds me of Ravenna's love before her betrayal and of mama's constant love for me. Yes, Sara was like the sister I never had, but there was also something about her that I did not see then. Something motherly.
Eric forces the door open, the hinges squealing, the wood cracking some. Because of the roof reaching over the porch, there is not a mountain of snow piled at the cabin's threshold. My eyes widen as Eric steps into the cabin's inky blackness. A chill runs down my spine.
"Are you sure this place is abandoned?" I ask softly from the doorway. I almost lose sight of him moving about in the darkness of the cabin, but two small windows to the right side of the room provide a little light. I see him go to what vaguely looks like a hearth and prop his skis and long pole beside it.
"Aye, lass. C'mon in and shut the door. Yer eyes will adjust."
I frown, my stomach flipping over itself. God, what choice do I have!? He said he will tell me everything I need to know once we're warm. I can only assume that warmth will come from a fire and from a shut door. I suck in a deep, frigid breath and step into the inky blackness. I stop just inside and run my gloved hand along what I think is the door. My fingers dip suddenly, feeling the edge of what must be the door. I wrap my hand around the edge and pull, the same squealing of hinges and cracking of wood greeting my ears. Yes, this is the door, as old and as unsturdy as it sounds. It takes some strength, but I manage to wrench the door shut, enclosing Eric and I in this dark, chilly, eerily silent little world.
CLACK! I jolt, my eyes jumping to the source. Eric stoops near the hearth, tossing a large object into it. CL-CLACK! I jolt again, unable to stop myself. That must be wood. I scoff at myself while he grabs more chopped logs stacked beside the hearth and tosses them into the pitch black center of the hearth. CL-CLACK! I suck in another deep breath, allowing relief to fill me.
I turn my eyes from him to look about the cabin. My eyes widen while some excitement races through my stomach. Just as Eric said, my eyes have adjusted to the darkness. Though it's still dark, I see the shape of a table close to the hearth with three rickety looking chairs gathered about it. I can also see some barrels and crates stacked in the corners. There's a cabinet with shelves against the wall, some of the shelves filled with pots, others with plates, bowls, and cups, and...are those books? I prop my skis and long pole against the wall and wander slowly over to the cabinet. I stop before the shelves, tug my gloves off, and tuck them into my belt. Gingerly, I pluck a rectangular object from its middle shelf and turn it over in my hands. Indeed, this is a book. I wonder what's in it.
I find the parchment side of the book and crack it open, only to be greeted with barely legible words in this darkness. Of course, you idiot, what did you expect? That the pages would glow!? I sigh. Once Eric gets the fire going, I'll be able to see.
STRIKE! STRIKE! I jump about to face the noise, my heart missing a beat. Eric is crouched before the hearth, his back to me. STRIKE and a quick flash of light glows in front of him before darkness closes in again. I sigh. Bastard. A twinge enters my heart. He's not a bastard, but he's going to give me a heart attack one of these days. STRIKE, STRIKE, STRIKE! of his flint against his iron. I shake my head of the dismal thought and go to the table, setting the book down on it.
I look around again, spying a partly opened door in the back. My brows furrow. What's behind that door? My curiosity getting the better of me, I stalk slowly towards the door, fear barely nagging at my gut anymore. If someone was in this cabin, then Eric would have known it. At least, I pray he would have. That almost makes me stop, but I force myself to keep going. A few more steps, and I reach the door.
Crackling tickles my ears. More confidence fills me knowing that soon a fire will be blazing in the hearth. I slip into the black space between the wall and the door and stop there. My eyes pass over several dark shadows of furniture before stopping on the small window. Tattered curtains frame both sides of the window. The last light of day barely passes through the frosted, dirty glass panes, but it provides my eyes with just enough light to adjust. I glance around at the furniture again, my eyes widening. A single bed is pushed up against the wall just beneath the window, messy, tattered blankets lying atop it with a generous layer of dust.
This is a bedroom—a tiny bedroom with barely any space to turn around in with all the crates and barrels stuffed into here. There's only a small path from the door to the bed. God, whoever left this place looks to have left in a hurry. The door is only half open. The blankets look as though they were tossed back. Perhaps this bed's former occupant slept in and only awoke to the bell's toll calling the miners to work, cursing because he missed his chance for breakfast. It may have been a bland porridge, but it was still food, and now he would have to swing his pick all day with an empty stomach. Though, why did he never return?
A golden light grows and provides some illumination to this little bedroom. My ears prickle from the loud crackling of a fire. That heaviness of sleep manifests in me, begging me to just drop down upon the bed and shut my eyes.
"I see ye found the bed."
I wheel about, coming face to face with Eric. "Dear God, Eric!" I heave for breath, holding my hand over my pounding heart. "You frightened me!"
His eyes widen and crinkle with his hearty chuckling. "I'm sorry, lass." His chuckling ebbs, but his silly grin remains.
I groan and force myself to let go of my heart. "It's fine." I take a few slow breaths through my nose, slowing my racing heart. "It's fine," I say more calmly.
His smile softens. "Good," he says, his voice striking that particular pitch that rumbles deep in his chest, sending a shiver down to the very bottom of my spine. His eyes shine that precious skyblue, ensnaring me. The nagging ache stirs in my loins, my mind turning to the bed that is two small steps behind me.
Eric's eyes drift slowly down my form and shift to the bed behind me. I swallow, my heart beating harder with need and my stomach tightening with anticipation. His eyes dart back to mine, darker than before. My skin pricks with beads of sweat from the nigh suffocating heat in this stuffy little room. My fingers twitch, wanting so dearly to push his coat down his arms and unfasten all his belt buckles, especially the one about his waist, but I clench my hands into fists, resisting my wanton wishes.
He suddenly smirks down at me. "C'mon, let's get warm by the fire first before we do anythin' else." He turns and steps out of the bedroom, leaving me alone in my personal little hell of unfulfilled lust. It's just as well. I suck in a chilled breath and force my feet to move, following him out into the mainroom. He goes to the table and drops into a chair, leaning forward and bracing his hands on his knees.
He turns his gaze from the fire blazing in the hearth to me, the gold light dancing across his grimy, bloodstained face. Several black-purple bruises smatter his cheeks and forehead. "Come sit." He nods to the empty chair across from him, the chair closest to the fire. The last of his smile leaves him, and a look of distress twists his face. He turns his head to stare into the fire. "I'll tell ye everythin' ye need to know," he says slowly, reluctant and lamenting.
My heart hurts at the sight of him. He really doesn't want to tell me what I have begged him to tell me...and frankly I don't want to hear it just yet. I want to clean the dirt and blood from his face and to comfort him as he has comforted me as...God, he has comforted me more times than I can recall.
I head straight to the cabinet and grab a bowl from one of the shelves.
"What are ye doin'?" he asks me.
"I'm going to clean you up first," I say while I go to the front door and wrench it open, letting in a blast of the freezing night air, stinging my already tingling cheeks.
"Lass!" he calls after me, but I stoop down and scoop a lot of snow into the bowl. This will barely fill half the bowl when it melts anyways. I straighten up, force the door shut, and head for the hearth. I set the bowl on the floor right before the fire, the snow already glistening as it starts to melt.
I turn sharply on my heel and march right up to Eric. "Stand up," I tell him.
He looks up at me, his brows furrowing with bewilderment. "What has gotten into ye?" Despite his question, he pushes off his knees and rises to his bear-sized stature before me, his chair creaking from the movement. I grab the ties of his hood and loosen them enough to pull his hood over his head. His wrinkles deepen while I set his hood on the table and pull his coat down his arms. He stands before me in a stupor while I toss his coat on the table. I unfasten all his belt buckles and epaulet, minding his sheaves of knives while I drop those on the table with his leathers. I reach for his epaulet to divest him of that, but he shrugs off his epaulet himself like a coat, taking off his twin hatchets with it. My eyes widen as he sets his epaulet and his attached hatchets down on the table with two soft clanks. His epaulet is some kind of harness with two specially crafted sheaves for his hatchets. An impressive design.
I return my focus to his vest and he helps me to undo all the buckles holding it closed. Our fingers jump to the last buckle at the same time, thwarting us both.
"Sorry," Eric says, pulling my eyes up to his. He no longer looks stupefied, but he has a mix of confusion and lust darkening his eyes. He reaches into his vest, pulls out his journal, and sets that on the table.
I almost glance at his journal, but I resist and harden my gaze on his. I blindly undo the last buckle of his vest and open it, revealing his once white woolen shirt that has been turned a ghastly grey with grime and stained with spots of dry blood. Remembering the wolfman that bit into his upper arm, I look down at his left arm and carefully remove his vest, trying to not touch the leather to the ring of dried burgundy wrapped around his upper shirt sleeve. I set his surprisingly heavy vest on the table and rest my hand on his chest, my eyes drawn to the tied laces of his shirt collar.
"Sit down," I say, glancing up at him. He frowns down at me, but he lowers himself to the chair. My eyes linger on him, more shock and fear creeping into me with each new dried blood stain that I find. His thick leathers afforded him some protection, but somehow the wolfmen managed to get to his stomach and chest.
"Ye want me to take my shirt off too?" he quips, a faint smirk at the corner of his mouth.
"Pff!" I shake my head at him. "Not yet." Somehow, I manage to tear my eyes from his and turn my back on him to face the flames writhing in the hearth. The snow in the bowl has melted, filling more of it with water than I thought it would. There's that at least, but I still need some rags to clean him with. I grit my teeth. Damn, the cleanest cloth I have is my second wool dress beneath my outerdress. My nightdress has been sitting on my skin, soaking up all my blood and sweat, and my outerdress has been exposed to snow, dirt, tree bark, and dead pine needles. I feel Eric's eyes on my back, watching me and waiting. I swallow hard, the thought of him watching me undress knotting my stomach some. At least I'll have my nightdress on, hiding my starved form.
The knots in my stomach tighten as I stoop low, pulling the knife he'd given me from my belt and setting it on the floor beside the bowl. I straighten up and pull my coat down my right arm, then my left arm, my hands trembling. I glance back slowly, trying to find the empty chair Eric told me to sit in. My eyes find the chair, but they also catch a glimpse of him looking my way. I toss my coat over the back of the chair, pull my gloves out of my belt, and set those on the chair's seat. Turning my back to him, I unfasten my belt with shaky hands, toss that over my coat, and loosen all the laces to my collars and sleeves. I grab the torn hem of my top dress—my scarf. That needs to come off before my dress. Damn it! Though, Eric has seen me with Annabelle's coif before. He won't see my cut hair and nicked scalp. I let go of my dress and unwind my scarf from around my neck. My stomach flips over itself when the chilly air hits my bare, warm throat. I bite my tongue to keep quiet and lift the scarf off my head, exposing the coif. I toss my scarf onto the chair. It is...relieving to be out of that damn scarf. I relish how the air cools the days old sweat clinging to my throat.
I grab the torn hem of my top dress and pull it over my head, a brief stabbing pain shooting through my right shoulder. I wince, but I toss my dress over the chair and pull the second wool dress over my head. There. The knots in my stomach lessen. I draw in a slow, deep breath through pursed lips to soothe my trembling hands. I toss my clean dress over my shoulder and stoop low to pick up the bowl of water with both hands. I straighten steadily, the water sloshing and lapping dangerously close to the bowl's rim. I turn and step to the table and set the bowl on the tabletop a little ways from the edge. Somehow, I managed to not spill any water!
His soft chuckling pulls my reluctant eyes to him. He looks up from the bowl to me, an amused, knowing grin playing at his mouth. "Ye've got some balance."
"Pff," I scoff aloud, earning more of his laughter. I can't help the small grin that spreads my lips as I turn back and collect my knife and pull my dress off my shoulder, the dress almost clean save for the dried ring of blood about the right sleeve. How good it is to smile with him and to hear his laughter again. I go right to him and stand between his spread legs, resting my knees against the chair's seat. His eyes burn into me while I make the first cut into my dress.
"Hold on." He grabs my wrists, stopping me. My eyes shift to him, his gaze full with concern. "Let me see yer arm," he says. He steals my knife and my dress from my unsuspecting grasp!
"Eric!" Despite the small anger in my chest, I refrain from trying to steal back my knife and my cut dress as he sets them aside on the table. He holds his hands up, waiting for me to give him my arm. I sigh. If he didn't have poison in his body right now, I would refuse him my arm and insist that he let me clean him up first, but allowing him to see my wolfbitten arm will bring him some peace. I offer him my right arm. At least it is not my left arm. There's no need for him to see the burn scar, to remind him it's there, especially now with all the focus on our wounds. The questions he would ask about it...he can never know the dark truth behind it.
"Thank ye," he says, relieved. "I was afraid ye'd refuse. Ye can clean me up after."
I frown at him as he carefully pulls my sleeve up, revealing the wolfman's bite bit by bit until my sleeve is bunched at the bend of my arm. I gasp at the extent of my injury. Clear, crimson puncture holes arranged in two crescent shapes mar both sides of my arm, the puncture holes looking so deep that I'm certain the wolfman bit down to my bones. Fresh, warm blood seeps out of some of the puncture holes and trickles down my arm, beading at the bottom. One drop of blood rolls off my arm, a small drip letting us both know that it hit the floor.
Eric slowly turns my arm over, his eyes studying each puncture wound. "My worst fear for ye is infection, but it disnae look infected!" He looks up at me, relief in his eyes and in his small smile.
I sigh with equal relief, loosening the big knot in my stomach. "That's good."
"Aye." He nods, taking his hands from me. "Let me clean yer arm and dress it."
I open my mouth, wanting to stop him, but I stop myself when he picks up my knife and dress and cuts it up into varying sizes of cloth. Arguing with him will only waste our time. I say instead, "Fine, but after you're done, I'm holding you to your word."
He casts me a sideways glance, that cockiness of his turning up the corner of his mouth. "Fair enough."
He soaks one of the cloths into the bowl of water and quickly pulls it out to let the excess water spill onto the wood floor in rivulets, some of the water striking the floor so hard that it splashes onto my boots. He scrubs the grime from his hands that I hadn't realized was layering them. Finished, he tosses the grimy cloth under the table, picks up another piece of cloth, and soaks it in the bowl. He wrings out the excess water into the bowl and turns his attention back to me. With all his care and gentleness, he dabs away all my dried and fresh blood on the top of my arm. Thankfully, the water is warm, yet dry on my skin. Hopefully he finishes quickly so that I can clean his face with warm water...though he probably won't feel the warmth. That thought leaves a sickening pit in my stomach.
He minds my shoulder as he turns my arm over by my wrist and cleans my wound. As he does so, the fatigue manifests in my body again, weighing on my eyes now. I blink my eyes a few times and open them up as much as possible, but somehow I lose sight of him for a moment in the warmth of the dark abyss.
"Yer lamia balm! I can put that on yer arm."
My eyes spring open, meeting Eric's wide ones. "Oh...oh yes!" I start waking up again. I haven't even tended to his wounds yet. I cannot fall asleep now. "And your wounds as well!" I say. I turn to grab my satchel, but he grabs my left arm, halting me. "Eric!—"
"Let me get it. I just finished cleanin' yer wound." He gets up from his chair and goes to the hearth. He crouches before our meager pile of possessions, grabs my satchel and searches it. I watch him with bated breath, fearing that I may have forgotten it. Something dark at the bottom of my sight draws my eyes down his back—there is a big patch of dark burgundy staining his shirt where he was stabbed. My heart sinks deeper, hurting in its very center. The blood is dried, but it has stained almost the whole bottom half of his shirt. He lost more blood than I thought.
"Here it is," he says, fishing out the precious little box. Barely any relief touches me as he sets my satchel down and comes back to sit in the chair before me. "Let me see yer arm again."
I hold out my right arm. I will get to see his back after he finishes with my arm. I will, even if he refuses me. He scoops a generous amount of the glistening, rose-pink balm onto his fingertips and gently smears the balm over each puncture hole that is now clean enough to see in clear, gory detail. This wound will turn to hideous scars if I live long enough.
"Save some of the balm for yourself," I say. "We can use it for your stab wound."
He looks up at me and frowns. "It willnae work against the poison."
"What?" I barely whisper. A wave of despair threatens to sweep me away.
His frown deepens as he stills with spreading the balm over my wounds. "There's nae sense in worryin' about it. Our circumstances huvnae changed for me...but I'm glad ye have the balm for yerself." He looks down at my arm and carefully spreads the rest of the balm over my wounds. My heart aches. His logic for his own life is so cold and callous, but for my comfort alone, he is glad that I have the balm. He may have been a selfish man in the past, but there is no hint of that man sitting before me now. He has changed...perhaps even more so than since he married Sara.
He finishes with the lamia balm and picks up the long strip of wool that he had set aside on the table. He skillfully wraps my arm, starting with the middle of the cloth instead of the end. My brows furrow. I would have started with the end, but I suppose he knows what he's doing. He manages to cover every puncture wound with three layers of wool before tying it neatly near the bend of my arm.
"There!" He sits back in his chair, beaming proudly at his tidy dressing. He looks up at me. "How's that?" he asks, hopeful.
I offer him a small smile and pull my sleeve back down my arm. "Perfect and painless. You almost put me to sleep." He chuckles in satisfaction. "Now," I pick up a cloth from the pile, "I'm holding you to your word."
His proud grin lessens to a mild look. "Alright."
I imitate what he did, drenching the cloth in the bowl of water and vigorously scrubbing my hands with it until they are clean. I toss the soiled cloth under the table and pluck a clean cloth out of the shrinking pile. Best to not be as wasteful with these now. I soak the clean cloth in the water, pleased to feel that the water is still very warm as it laps at my hands, yet it is so dry. My heart sinks deeper still, sadness stealing the smile I didn't realize I had. Will I ever feel the wetness of a raindrop or the chilly, prickling wetness of a snowflake melting on my cheek again before I die?
I lift the soaked cloth out of the bowl and wring out the excess water. I press the warm cloth to the side of his head, covering up the clawlike lacerations. The ache in my heart grows more bittersweet. I gingerly cradle his cheek with my free hand, painfully aware that he cannot feel this. He keeps his eyes fixed on me while I wait for the warm water to soften the blood that has dried to his skin. Mama used to tell me that you can see one's heart and soul in their eyes. Is that what I'm seeing in Eric's eyes now? His heart and soul? I'm not certain, but there's so much swarming in them—friendship, care, tenderness, lust, passion, and more that I cannot discern.
I wipe the softened blood from the side of his face as gently as I can, leaving a trail of his clean, glistening skin. His smile has left him, his eyes starting to flit back and forth in mine, that all-too-familiar worry of his creeping back into them. I force a smile for him, knowing damn well he wants to ask me what is wrong. As carefully as I can, I wipe the blood, grime, and sweat from his face, his thick beard thwarting my efforts more than once.
"What do you look like under your beard?" I tease him.
"What do ye mean?" he asks slowly, almost reluctantly, as if he knows what I'm about to ask him.
"It'd make it a lot easier to clean your face if you didn't have all this." I tug at the ends of his beard, making him wince. Guilt hits me and I immediately let go of him. "Sorry, but all this hair is not making things easier."
He raises his brows. "I've worked hard to grow this beard!"
I raise my brows at him, mirroring him. "What, so you could braid your beard or hide peanuts in it?"
His eyes widen with sudden amusement and he laughs. "Believe it or no', any proper son of Ursus braids his beard and shaves the sides of his head!"
My eyes widen, laughter cracking my face. "What!?" God, I cannot imagine Eric like that! "Don't ever shave the sides of your head! I like your hair the way it is!"
His laughter softens while he says, "Ye like my hair, but no' my beard!?"
I snort, ending the last of my laughter. "I don't mind some...scruff, but a beard this long?" I refrain from tugging at the ends. "It's absolutely unciv—" I stop that last word in my mouth, my smile dropping. "I mean it's—"
"Uncivilized, barbaric, savage," he says with a grin, his tone strangely light and amused. "I've heard it all."
I swallow. "You're not...offended?"
His smile softens and he shakes his head. "Nae. There are plenty of worse thin's to be offended by." He sighs and glances over at my knife resting beside the bowl, his smile dropping. "Ursus, forgive me," he says and reaches for the knife.
Ursus forgive him!? "Eric, if your beard is that important to you—"
"It's fine, lass!" He looks up at me and offers me a reassuring smile. "Ursus couldnae give a rat's arse about my beard. I'd think he'd be more concerned about my heart." Eric rises out of his chair and disappears into the bedroom, leaving me alone here at the table. I frown. What is he doing in there? Why not just cut his beard here?
Before I know it, my feet are carrying me to the bedroom. I stop just outside and peek around the door. Eric is crouching before one of the crates with a small bronze mirror on it that's propped up against the wall. My eyes widen. Though I only see the back of his head, I see his arms moving carefully and hear the slice of the knife cutting through his beard. He drops his hair onto the floor without a care. I look down at the floor by his boots, his fair hair a stark contrast to the ebony wood.
His chuckling pulls my attention to the back of his head. "Did ye come jus' to make sure I'm cuttin' my beard?"
"No, I…," I barely shake my head, no proper reason coming to mind, "...I'm not sure why I came in here. My feet just...well, here I am." I lift my arms and let them drop, smacking my sides, still clutching the grimy, bloody cloth in my hand.
He chuckles. "Ye couldnae bear to be away from me, even for a moment! Is that it?"
I scowl at him. "I'm not that clingy!"
He only laughs harder.
Something comes to my mind. "What happened here?" I ask him, feeling comfortable enough to step further into this room's confined space.
His laughter ebbs as he cuts off another part of his beard. "What do ye mean?"
"To the miners. You mentioned that the mine used to have silver and iron?"
"Aye. It dried up, so they left." Slice. He drops another chunk of hair to the floor.
I frown and look at the bed. "Really? It looks like whoever laid in this bed last left in a hurry."
Eric turns his head to look at the bed, showing me the side of his face. My jaw loses strength and drops. He has cut his beard so close to his jaw that I can see his skin beneath his scruff!
He sighs and looks back at the little bronze mirror, cutting more of his beard. "Do ye believe in ghosts, lass?"
"Ghosts?" I ask, memories of my imprisonment rushing back to me. There were whispers, faint screams, wailing, people pleading with no one in particular, yet I could not see anyone. I sometimes would feel a chilly hand on my shoulder, only to spin around and come face to face with thin air.
"Aye, ghosts. There's a sad story behind this mine. Jus' before it dried up, there was a cave-in." Slice. He drops more of his hair to the floor. "Some of the men were crushed completely, some only half crushed, left to slowly bleed out, and the others unfortunate enough to no' be crushed were trapped in total darkness."
"Oh my God," I say, my heart aching terribly for these men. They were fathers, brothers, husbands.
"Hunger set in first. With nae food to eat, those still alive resorted to eatin' the dead."
My hollow stomach twists suddenly, sending burning bile up my throat. I seal my mouth shut and force the bile back down. Don't think of Sara. Not now.
"Then paranoia set in. With nothin' but the bones of the dead picked clean, one man murdered another with his pick and ate him. That's when evil came in and drove them all mad. Each man turned on each other, and the last survivors of that cave-in died that day in a pool of their blood." Slice. He drops more hair to the floor, sets my knife down on the crate, and rises to his bear-sized stature. He turns to face me, a stern look etched into his face. My mouth drops again, my eyes drawn to his jaw. It's strong, yet the edges are softened with a little fat. His lips part, saying, "The miners who were no' caught in the cave-in tried to rescue those who were trapped." He leans back against the crate and crosses his arms, still wearing his leather bracers. "But when they removed most of the rocks, that's when blood started flowin' out at their feet." He glances down at the bed and back up at me. "This poor bastard was probably one of the miners who tried to rescue his friends. As soon as he heard the news of the cave-in, he jumped out of bed."
I swallow, trying so hard to bury the nightmare of Sara's frozen corpse back under everything else. "It–how long did it take for them to try to rescue those who were trapped?"
He frowns. "Weeks. There were a lot of rocks and boulders to move."
My heart hurts so much that I rest my hand over it. "How long ago was this?" I manage to ask.
His eyes lift from my chest to my face. "Six years ago."
I wince and glance down at the bed. "Those poor men," I say. "The earth once shook violently during my imprisonment." I lift my heavy eyes to Eric. "Is that when the cave-in happened?"
He nods. "Sounds right."
My chest falls with my exhale. "I...remember that day well. I was lying in my bed drifting to sleep. Then I was suddenly woken by..." I shrug my shoulders "...the world shaking! So much stone was cracking and falling from the ceiling above me that I had to take shelter under my bed. I'm glad I did because when the earth finally calmed, I found a big rock on my bed where my head had been. If that rock had fallen on me, my head would have been crushed."
That distress twists his fair face again. "Please dinnae say that again." He draws in a deep breath, smoothing his face a bit. "I'm glad ye hid under yer bed."
I frown. Please don't say that again? What? That my head would have been crushed by the rock? Was that too descriptive? Damn it, I've begged him to not say that he'll—agh! Even thinking that is so horrible that it lashes my heart.
"I'm sorry. I won't," I say.
Eric shakes his head, frowning. "Dinnae apologize!" He closes his eyes and sighs in exasperation. "It's jus' somethin' I dinnae want to—" He shakes his head briskly and lifts his sad, heavy eyes to me. "I dinnae want to think about it. That's all." He forces a sudden grin across his face. "What do ye think of my beard now!?" He holds his arms out, showing himself off proudly.
It's an abrupt shift to the somber mood. Despite his best efforts to brighten our little world, he only leaves a bittersweet, aching hole in my heart that cries out for him to shore it up. I'm not sure what is in his heart, especially concerning me, but the fact that he doesn't want to think of me dying in a grisly way...it's so different from people wishing to end me in such grisly, depraved ways.
A painfully tender smile spreads my lips. "You call that a beard?" I gesture to him, somehow lightening the air between us. "What is that really? Scruff?"
"Hey!" he feigns offense, though he grins. I cannot help but laugh. "Ye made me cut this!" He tugs at the short ends of his scruff, barely able to hold a single hair between his fingers.
"What!?" I gape at him. "I did not! Yes, I implored you to cut it, but you chose to do so! I could ask you why you chose that!"
His laughter ebbs as he says, "Ye wanted me to, so I did." His words get at my heart more. He did what I wanted. God, that sounds so damn selfish on my part, but how selfless of him.
"See? You are a good man," I say.
His smile nearly leaves him, his brows furrowing with confusion. "Because I cut my beard?"
I sigh. "Because you cut your beard for me even though you didn't want to." My eyes drift down to the thick ring of dried blood stuck to his left sleeve. Now that his beard is out of the way, I must tend to his other wounds as best I can.
"Come on." I grab his hand and drag him out of the little bedroom. "I want to tend to your other wounds."
He sighs. "Alright."
I hide my frown from him and lead him back to his chair. He goes to sit down, but I grab his arm, halting him. He casts me a curious look.
"Now you can take your shirt off." I force a small smile for his sake.
He laughs and starts unfastening one of his leather bracers. "As ye say," he says with a grin. While he finishes unfastening his leather bracer, towering above me like a bear on his hind legs, I will myself to ignore his smug grin and pick up another clean cloth out of the pile to soak it in the water. He tosses his bracer on the table with a loud clatter, startling me.
"Sorry," he says.
"It's alright." I shake my head, watching him unfasten his other bracer in my periphery while I lift the cloth out of the bowl and wring out the excess water. The cabin wall suddenly creaks under the howling wind outside. I tremble with fear. God, please don't let these walls crumble tonight.
"Sounds like a storm is brewin'," he says as he sets his other bracer on the table this time and tugs his shirt out of his trousers.
"A storm?" I mutter, my hope starting to dim. That's only going to slow our progress to Vilgard.
"The son'ofabitch bit me here." Creaking wood draws my eyes to see him sitting in his chair. He pulls his left arm out of his shirt sleeve and tosses the sleeve over his shoulder, revealing his taut stomach and part of his strong chest. That sinful desire stirs in my loins, but it is quickly dampened when my eyes find the puncture holes wrapped around the thick muscles of his upper arm. I take his arm in my free hand and clean off all the dried and fresh blood with the cloth, revealing every clean crimson puncture hole from the wolfman's fangs.
"Ye dinnae need to be so gentle," he says, my eyes drawn to his. "It disnae hurt."
My heart constricts. I open my mouth—no, saying it aloud will do us no good. He means that he cannot feel anything. His face falls. Neither of us say anything as I look over the rest of his torso, finding more spots of blood crusted to his chest and stomach. A scabbed over slash just above his left hip stands out. A pang enters my heart. That must have been where I slashed him in the dark forest. At least it is healing now. I pray it leaves no scar...so that he does not have that reminder of me.
I drop to my knees before him and press the cloth to the crusted over gash between his shoulder and his chest. His gaze weighs on me as I dab and gently wipe away every speck of blood and dirt from his wounds, revealing the many scratches and gashes the wolfmen inflicted upon him. My heart constricts more. All these wounds...they were all inflicted upon him because of me.
I glance up at him, his eyes soft yet so full of something that I cannot discern. "Did you know you had all these wounds!?" I gesture to his chest.
He glances down at his chest and sighs. "Nae." He lifts his gaze to me. "I barely felt the wolf bite my arm. Ha!" His smile leaves him at the sight of my face.
I discard the now completely reddened cloth under the table, bearing the burden that every single scratch and wound he has now is because of me. The very least I can do is tend to them as best I can. I grab the box of lamia balm off the table and scoop a generous amount of the glistening balm onto my two fingertips.
"Dinnae use so much! Ye need it for yerself!—" I smear the balm onto one of the bite marks marring his arm, silencing him.
I dare to glance up at him, his eyes hardened with disapproval. "Eliza gave me this balm. I can do with it as I please," I say as gently as I can, though a small bite slips into my words. My heart stings some. "Sorry." I tear my eyes from his and start applying the balm to his arm.
He sighs. "Ye shouldnae be too kind. Many will use that against ye." Hearing the faint smile in his words pulls my eyes up to his. His face is softened with that reverent look again. Why? There's nothing to revere about me. If anyone is to be revered, it is him.
"I can afford to be kind with you." A painful, bittersweet smile spreads my lips. I know with all certainty now that he will never use me for his own gain. Not after all the sacrifices he has made for me, both as small as giving up his comforts to make me more comfortable, to risking his own life for mine.
I finish applying all the balm on my fingertips to the wolfbite. I scoop more balm out of the box and apply it first to the scabbed over slash I gave him in the dark forest. There. Surely there will be no scar now when it finishes healing, thus no reminder of me on his skin. I slather the rest of the balm over all his other wounds, my eyes stealing long looks at the many scars on his stomach and chest. A few of the scars stretching across the sides of his stomach look clean and precise, like the slashes and stabs from blades. My heart constricts even more as my eyes travel up his body. Large, faint bite marks mar the side of his ribcage...like some beast had bit down on his chest there. I shake my head slowly as my eyes travel up higher, finding more of the same stabs and slashes most likely made by blades. I've no doubt each scar has a story to it. I've also no doubt that each story is not a grand one of triumph, but rather a grim reminder of how brutal and ugly life can be.
"Where did you get all these scars?" I finish applying the balm to the last wound and sit back on my heels, eyeing one particularly nasty scar that stretches across most of his stomach, distorting his navel in a lopsided fashion.
"Wars. Battles. Drunken brawls, hunts." I glance up at him, our eyes meeting. Drunken brawls and hunts? That would explain many of the scars, including the massive bite mark to his ribcage, but wars and battles? Eric shakes his head, his face both stern and somber. "No' all these scars are honorable. I've lived a fool's life for many years."
I frown up at him. I wish he didn't see himself that way...but I cannot deny the truth to it. "Then which ones are honorable?"
He glances down at all his scars and sighs. "This one and this one," he points to a few small scars on his stomach, "and this one here." He pulls his shirt up, revealing more of his chest. I swallow hard at the sight of his strong chest and the cleft of his sternum. He points to one jagged scar stretching down his right chest. "This one here was the first one I've ever gotten in battle." He looks up at me, his eyes a little lighter with amusement and a cocky smirk. "This was done by a phantom soldier's hand alone."
"What!?" I gape up at him, barely able to envision the black glass shards of the knight's hand carving into his chest. "Didn't you wear armor!?"
Chuckling erupts from him, coming from deep within his chest. "Aye, I've worn armor into every battle I've fought, but the armor foot soldiers like me got wasnae the king's armor."
"Oh." I remember seeing my father in all his armor, the greaves, the gauntlets trimmed with gold, the king's regalia upon his breastplate and the crown on his helm. It looked to be armor that would defend against every blow from the sword and against every dash of the arrow. "What about this scar here?" I gingerly trace a finger along the one scar that stretches across most of his stomach. This looks to have been an attempt to disembowel him. God, what a disturbing thought! I can't help but cringe.
"Ah, that one." He looks down at his stomach and trails his finger along the same scar. "That was a tavern brawl. The bastard was quick, pulled out his knife and slashed me before I could react." His eyes dart up to me, somehow both amused and stern. "I had to keep my hand over my wound just to keep my guts inside me."
"Oh! Please don't say that! I—oh God!" I groan with disgust.
He chuckles, not as heartily as before, but he still finds it amusing for some foolish reason! "At least Torrance was there to patch me up."
I perk up. There's that name again. "Torrance? Who's he?"
Eric raises his brows at me. "If ye ever meet Torrance, ye'll know him when ye see him. He…" Eric bobs his head, trying to find the words to describe the man. "Hmph!" He shrugs his shoulders and slips his arm back into his shirt sleeve. "Ye'll know him when ye see him." He pulls his shirt back down, not bothering to tuck it back into his trousers. "He's a healer. Probably one of the best out there. He's an old friend, too."
"Mm," I hum, nodding. A sudden yawn pushes its way up my throat and out of my mouth. God, I feel so tired. So heavy. So exhausted. My whole body aches, every muscle stiff and sore. My right shoulder aches more than anywhere else, but even this pain is nothing compared to what I felt when my arm was first ripped out of its socket. My eyes grow heavier and slower with each blink. The fire is warm at my back. The flames crackle and pop softly, a soothing melody against the muffled rage of the snowstorm outside.
"Ye should get some sleep," Eric says softly, his voice almost distant. The chair creaks as he rises to his feet, towering over me. I lift my tired eyes up to him, a strange, dry sensation coming over them, begging me to close them for some relief. "Ye want to sleep in the bed or here by the fire?" he asks me with a knowing smirk.
"Mm...fire's fine," I say. "You must sleep too."
"I know," he says. His smirk grows to a small smile. "Alright. Ah…," he trails off, looking at his clothes on the table, then to my clothes on the chair, then to the bedroom. "Maybe there's somethin' in there," he says to himself. He turns for the bedroom, my eyes following him—his stab wound!
I'm on my feet before I know it, my hands scrabbling at the hem of his shirt. "Eric, your stab wound! I didn't—" He wheels around to face me, ripping his shirt out of my hands! My heart takes off racing and a terrible knot forms in my stomach, his hard gaze on me. Why the refusal to let me see his stab wound!? "Eric, what!?—"
"Ye've tended to me enough!" He grabs my arms, pinning them to my sides. "Ye need to sleep—"
"Why won't you let me see your wound!? You weren't so shy about your scars!" My voice is raised, bouncing off the cabin walls, but I cannot help the fire building in my chest nor the stinging behind my eyes.
His mouth presses into a thin line. "Lass—"
"What are you keeping from me!?" I say, unable to keep the sobs out of my voice anymore. Tears stream down my cheeks. "You said you'd tell me everything that I needed to know, yet here you are forcing me to go to sleep!"
"I'm no' forcin' ye to do anythin'!" His eyes drop down to his tight grip on my arms. As if realizing the contradiction of his words and his actions, he reluctantly lets me go. "Ye can barely keep yer eyes open," he says, his anger and frustration reined in this time.
"They're open now!" I grab his shoulders. "Let me see your wound. Then tell me everything I need to know." I try to turn him around, but he remains unmoving like a mountain. Frustration pricks me in all the wrong places. "Eric!—"
"Seein' it will bring ye nae comfort," he says, as blunt, harsh and sharp as a double edged sword.
I swallow hard. What is his aim to hiding all this from me? To spare me? Ignorance can be blissful, but not now. Not when his life...no. Not now. I shake my head at him, tears still slipping down my face. "I need to see...so I know—" I draw in a shuddery breath, no proper reason coming to mind. "I just...need to see. Please. Ignorance will bring me no more comfort than seeing your wound."
For a moment, he only looks down at me, not saying anything, only his chest and shoulders rising and falling with his steady breathing. His gaze is neither softened nor hardened with anything, but only plagued with whatever thoughts and fears are tormenting him.
Another moment passes. The fire's soft crackling is no longer soothing, but rather creates visions of the flames of hell chasing after me for all my sins. A pop pricks my ears like a sudden piercing of metal, making me flinch.
Finally, he starts turning about, slowly bearing more of his back to me. He drags his feet as much as possible, trying to delay the inevitable. The fear and cruel anticipation wrack through me like violent waves. My hands move before Eric turns completely, yanking his shirt up to see the wound. He stills instantly. A choking sob strangles me. A wave of tears surge forward, blurring the blackened skin surrounding his stab wound. He doesn't need to say it. I've seen the blackened stubs of my toes before they fell off from that harsh winter two years ago. Blackened flesh that has not been touched by fire is death.
"Incendium poison…" Eric starts, his voice gruff and so quiet that I barely hear him "...It slowly turns the flesh necrotic from the point of entry, but that's no' what kills the man." I glance up at him, meeting his sideways glance with my teary eyes. Part of me is relieved that I don't have to look at his blackened flesh anymore, but it's still there. "If ye've ever been burnt by fire, then that's what it feels like when the poison enters the body."
I suck in another shuddery breath. Memories flash across my eyes. That fireball landing on my arm from my failed attempt to burn Sara's corpse to keep the rats from eating her. The all-consuming pain that ravaged my arm and hand and left me disfigured. That dreadful laughter of Finn and the men as they mocked me...It takes everything in me to not burst into bitter weeping right now. I would never wish the pain of fire on my worst enemy, let alone the thought that Eric endured that pain piercing into his back when that bastard plunged the poisoned knife into him! God, what an underhanded, barbarous, devilish way to fight!
"It hurts at first, but no' for long. Then ye lose all feelin'. Ye go completely numb. This numbness…" he shakes his head and tears his gaze from me to look down at the fire "...it eventually turns to paralysis. It starts with the toes and fingers...then it works its way up the legs and arms and then...I willnae be able to breathe."
My heart falters, missing a few beats. My whole world nearly crumbles about me. The ground threatens to disappear from under me, eager to swallow me into a deep, deep grave. My God, I didn't see it before, but Eric...he has become such a big part of my world. I could think all the fanciful words I want and none of them would justify how essential he is to my lungs drawing breath and to my heart beating. It's not a simple fact of if he wasn't here, then I wouldn't be here. No, it's more than that. So much more...yet I have no words to describe it.
My legs grow weak, my knees aching, begging for rest. I sink to the floor, unable to do anything else. My mind conjures up the worst visions of Eric's numb body becoming paralyzed. I can see him, as clear as day, collapsing in the snow suddenly like his back was broken. Despite our blazing fire, the darkness closes in all around me, threatening to take Eric away from me and return me to the hell that I had endured for fourteen years, despairing and so alone, but this time with no light and no hope.
The silence stretches on between us. The blizzard still rages outside. The fire casts its searing heat onto me, making me perspire. The flames crackle as they writhe on the charred logs, a small pop here and a bigger pop there. My chest constricts so much that it gives my heart too little room to pump my blood efficiently. My eyes fall shut. Tears streak my face, leaving behind the only wetness to be felt in this world of evil and death. I manage to lift my heavy hands and hide my face in them, just...letting my tears drip and collect in my palms.
The floor groans beneath Eric's boot, pricking my ears, but I lack the will to move nor make a sound. Two strong arms wrap around me. A small sob escapes me and I drop my head to his chest. Another sob shakes me, and another, until I am a sobbing mess.
"I'm still here," he says above me, though his words do nothing to soothe me. He cradles the back of my head with one hand and rubs my back with his other hand. "I'm still here," he says again, still failing to comfort me. My heart beats hard on my ribs like they are prison bars, begging to be closer still to Eric. I throw my arms around his neck and rest my hands on the back of his shoulder. I savor the rise and fall of his shoulder beneath my hands and the rise and fall of his chest against my forehead with each breath he takes in and lets go. The merciless passage of time goes on unaffected. My body is so heavy. So drained. I have not slept since those wolfmen, or the wolves with delvir souls, attacked us last night. It must have been the dead of night when they attacked Eric and me. God, all I want to do is sleep now, but there's still too much I must do! But what can I do? His flesh is slowly dying. I cannot restore flesh that has already died!
He sighs against me, throwing me out of the steady rhythm of his breathing. Panic races through me and I pull back to assess him despite my blurry sight. "How's your breathing!? You're not struggling for breath!? It's alright!?"
"Lass—"
"You're alright!?"
"I'm fine!" He squeezes my arms, trying to reassure me, but he still fails. He clears his throat and rubs my arms. "Remember I wanted to show ye somethin' once we stopped for the night?"
I nod while I scrub the tears from my eyes with the heels of my hands. God, I welcome any distraction from these tears.
A blurry smile turns up his mouth. "Let me show ye then." He lets go of me and rises to his feet, towering over me like a bear on his hind legs. He walks past me, out of my sight. I turn my head to keep him in my sight. He goes to the table and pulls something from one of his belts. Clutching the mysterious object in his hand, he turns to face me. "Remember I told ye that Hammond's is to the east?"
A sense of dread forms in my stomach, but I will myself to stay focused. "Yes," I say with a quiver.
He glances down at the hidden object in his hand as he slowly approaches me. "My mother loved to explore dwarven ruins." He lifts his eyes to me, something brightening them a bit. "It was her passion second only to bein' a mother. She knew more about the dwarves than anyone else did, except for the wee bastards themselves, obviously."
"Obviously," I say, a faint smile pulling at my mouth.
His smile grows a little and he looks down at the object in his hand again. "Everyone thought my mother was off her head for studyin' the dwarves and writin' about her findin's as much as she did, but she was a wellspring of knowledge. She knew everythin' there was to know about everythin'." He looks up at me, his smile bigger. "She said one of their best accomplishments was navigation."
My brows furrow. "Navigation?"
"Aye. Ye know the four directions? North, south—"
"East, west," I say, nodding.
He peeks down at the object in his hands while he kneels beside me. "My mother gave this to me. This…" he opens his hand, drawing my eyes to the object. My eyes widen and my jaw drops with a gasp. "This is a compass."
"Oh my God," I whisper, entranced by the gleaming gold encasing a brilliant blue stone. A gold needle is fixed to the blue stone by a single point in the center, balancing the needle just above the stone and beneath a layer of clear glass. Etched into the stone at the four corners are four prominent symbols made of the same gleaming gold as the casing of this compass, and many smaller silver markings lie between each of the four prominent symbols. They look distinct and different from the symbols in Eric's journal. Those must be dwarven symbols. Dwarven language.
"This needle here follows the iron deep in the earth." He points to the needle balanced above the blue stone by the single point. "The dwarves have perfected this design and made it quite sophisticated, but all ye need to know are these two thin's." He points to one of the four prominent symbols that looks like a crescent moon with an arrow passing through it. "This is east, and this…" he points to another golden symbol just adjacent to it, looking like a single arrow pointing up to the sky "...this is north. Ye always hold north at the top when gettin' yer bearin'. Let me show ye. Take this." He grabs my right hand and places his compass in my palm! I gasp and wince, fearing that I may drop this precious piece and break it! His compass is surprisingly light, yet so fragile, I'm sure!
"See how north is farthest from ye?" He points to the single arrow pointing to the sky, like the north symbol is leading the way. "Stand up." Eric takes my left hand and helps me to stand on my feet. "Now keep turnin' until ye get the point of the needle to line up with the east."
I glance up at him, my stomach knotting with nerves. "Are you sure?"
He chuckles at me and takes my left hand, pulling it above my head. "Aye, now turn around like yer dancin'." He guides me into a slow spin by my hand, my head turning to keep my eyes on him. He chuckles again. "Eyes on yer compass, no' me!"
"Sorry." I tear my eyes from him to look down at his compass. As I slowly spin about, I watch the needle spin with me. It leaves north, passes one prominent symbol, passes the second symbol, and finally lands on the crescent moon with the arrow passing through it. East! "I got it!" I look up at Eric, my eyes crossing his smiling, gleaming ones.
He gives me a big grin. "Good! Ye saw how the needle spun?"
"Yes!" I glance down at his compass and back up at him. "It's impressive." My heart softens towards him. Perhaps too much. "Thank you for showing this to me."
"Aye. Just remember Hammond's is to the east. Just keep goin' east, and ye'll reach his fortress."
"Keep going east." I nod. It sounds simple enough. I glance down at his compass. Guilt nags my heart. This is his compass, given to him by his mother. I can't keep holding this no matter how much I want to. "Here." I offer him his compass back.
His smile lessens and he shakes his head. "Ye keep it. It's yers now."
My mouth falls. "Eric, I–I can't take this from you! Your mother gave this to you!"
The last of his smile drops to a frown. He glances down at his compass in my hand before looking up at me with a harder look. "I want ye to have it. I know all of Tabor like the back of my hand, I'll be fine! But ye can use it."
I cannot tear my eyes from him. Yet another precious gift he has given me. This is also another sacrifice he has made for me, even if he truly wants me to have his compass. My heart beats harder, begging for me to close the distance between us. Unable to resist my heart anymore, I clutch his compass to my chest and throw my free arm about his shoulders for a tight embrace. I bury my face into his chest and say, "Thank you for this. Thank you so much!" My tears start to flow again, soaking his shirt.
He wraps his arms about me and pulls me down to sit on the floor with him, keeping me tucked between the warmth of his body and the warmth of the fire at my back. "Try to sleep, lass." He strokes my back and presses a kiss to the top of my head, though he ends up kissing my coif. Regardless of the clothing separating his mouth from my head, his kiss lulls me into that restful black abyss...only to find no rest.