Faithful Pebble
Part Fifty-Six
Pebble sighed as she put the last roasting stick into the fire. Absently, she watched as its flame devoured the tiny skewered skeleton. She grabbed the watch and walked over to the wanderer offering it gently with a grease soaked hand. "I'd like to go with you," she said. "At least until I can find my feet. You still don't mind my company, correct?"
The wanderer didn't answer. He eyed the watch particularly the broken face—the shattered face—the splintered face staring up at him from between black and clawed and dirt smeared fingers. The wanderer blinked. The hour hand pointed to the third number. The wanderer stared. The minute hand pointed to the twelfth number. The wanderer licked his lips. The second hand pointed to the sixth. "Well then," he nodded quickly. "I guess, we best be on our way."
His face drained its color. Then as he bent to retrieve his now reassembled sac, swung it upon his now burdened and broad and hell-bent shoulder, a thought seemed to harden the wanderer's eyes, re-strengthened his grip and tightened his jaw. The wanderer turned to his companion watching her, observing her, considering her gently with eyes she couldn't place. They made her think of the moon. Those cyan irises', his blue dipped gaze made her think of her tears and their embrace, of his kiss in the well. Tender and determined, it was a caress given purposely, offered freely under an empty canvas of night and stars. If her hood didn't hide her cheeks, if it didn't shield her face, he might have seen their color darken with blood and attraction.
But of this, he was blind. He re-shouldered the rope as his gaze, those blue dipped irises' slanted again to the watch. "We'll take care of this first," the wanderer said. He reached for the broken—shattered—splintered hoary timepiece. It rested calmly within his Pebble's black and clawed and dirt smeared fingers…
…His Pebble.
The wanderer took a breath, bit his lip and then snatched it. Pocketing it quickly, he turned away smothering their fire and making a b-line for the path back towards the village. He practically ran.
From her place, before the dimming fireplace, before the cooling coals, Pebble watched him silently. He just stepped over the crest of the hill when he finally noticed that she wasn't following.
The wanderer stopped. He turned back to her, absently eyeing the bush where his stowaway was hiding and probably waking. The wanderer rubbed the back of his neck. He sighed, "Something wrong?"
- Calla