Chapter 10 The Bombastic Fool
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"Up, lass," he says gently, shaking me awake. I force my heavy eyes open and look up at the shadow of his head and massive shoulders. I blink a few times to clear my sight. An ache appears behind my eyes, pounding more and more. I groan and hold my clammy hands to my brow, closing my eyes to relieve the pain in them and behind them.
The hunter lets go of my shoulder. "What's wrong?"
"Mmmm." I shake my head in my hands. "My whole body is aching, it feels on fire – ah, my head!" I grit my teeth and lean forward to—"AHH!" My back snaps stiff and straight from the hot poker piercing my lower right side!
"Take yer hands from yer head, let me feel," he says. I lower my hands to my lap. The hunter presses the back of his hand against my brow. Relief cuts through the throbbing ache from his cool skin and from the pressure of his hand against my brow. I lean into his hand without bending my back too much to seek more relief from my pain. "Yer burnin' up." He takes his hand from my brow, letting the throbbing ache push against the backs of my eyes again. I clench my teeth to keep quiet.
"Infection is taking hold," I say between clenched teeth.
He sighs and crouches before me. "Drink all this." He grabs my skin out of my hands, pulls out the cork, and hands it back to me.
"All of it?" I ask, my hand trembling as I lift the rim of my skin to my mouth, the ale rippling inside.
"All of it."
I frown and look down at the shadow of my skin. I don't want to become drunk like he did two days ago. The worst of me will come out. Not just that, but I'll be far more vulnerable.
"Believe me, lass, it'll make the pain bearable."
I lift my sore eyes to him. I don't trust him, especially with this drink…but if I am to reach Hammond's fortress alive, I need to be able to move. I cannot move in my current state of pain and weakness. If I can lessen one of these, then I might be able to push on. I wrap my weak lips around the rim of my skin and tilt my chin back, forcing down each swallow of ale as quickly as possible to avoid its bitter, sour tang. Little good it does with the constant rush of ale down my throat.
"That's it," he says. A chill goes down my spine, freezing me with fear, but something keeps my mouth latched to my skin, downing the last drop. The taste is not terrible. I might even dare to say it's somewhat good. The throbbing pain in my mind recedes, a rather light, airy feeling replacing it. I slowly lower my skin to my lap, not bothering to stuff the cork back in.
"How are ye feelin'?" he asks.
I slouch forward, a dull poking sensation going deep into my back, but it barely hurts anymore. "You're strange…watching me drink the whole time," I say, my voice unusually low, almost incoherent.
"Com'on." He rises to his bear-sized stature, his shadow looming over me like a giant bear about to drop down on me.
My hollow stomach churns with fear. I curl up into a ball, clutching my skin to my chest. "Don't hurt me…please." I cannot see his face in this dark, but I know he's looking at me with the same lustful, evil eyes that Finn had—those eyes of Finn's that I had gouged out. "Please."
"I'm no' gonna hurt ye," he says softly…gently. He slowly crouches before me, his eyes burning into me despite the darkness hiding them. "Let me help ye." He extends his hand to me. I flinch. He stops his hand midair.
"It's alright, Greta," he says, uttering her name. That's not my name, but I'm not going to tell him that! What a bombastic fool that'd make me. Bombastic? Where did that word come from?
"I know ye said ye would never trust me, but ye need to trust me to let me help ye. Take my hand and I give ye my word I will get ye out of this damned forest and to the nearest healer." He holds his hand out to me. I look down at his bear-sized hand…he hasn't hurt me yet with that hand. He's been rough, but he has yet to hurt me. He lent me his coat. He has fed me. He mocked me for thanking him then when he clothed me and fed me...or was he not mocking me? Hell, he gave me his skin and didn't mock me for my gratitude about that! He hasn't mocked my gratitude for every handful of deer meat I took from him. He saved me from the oulinder and has kept them at bay. He did what he could for my wound with his ale. Now, he is offering me his hand and giving me his word.
I look up at the shadow of his head. "Ravenna said she would kill all the evil men and give their lives to good men, but she has been killing good men, too. She killed—" a sob escapes me, my eyes stinging. God, Sara! My dear friend, my dear friend who saved my life, my dear friend who gave me hope, my dear friend who I was forced to consume just to survive that brutal winter! "Is there still hope out here!? Are you a good man?" Words are falling out of my mind and out of my mouth.
He slowly lowers his hand. "I try to keep my word. That much I can tell ye."
I try to tilt my head to the side, but it drops and nearly hits my shoulder. Tears spill down the side of my face from one eye and pool within the bridge of my nose from my other eye. "Do you promise me that you'll keep your word?"
He nods once. "I promise." He slowly lifts his hand to me.
I look down at his hand. I can just see myself placing my hand in his only for him to rip my arm off…but if I do not trust him enough to help me, what hope do I, the bombastic fool, have of reaching Hammond's? I swallow and lift my shaking hand, my fingers slowly inching closer to his. The closer I draw, the closer I come to either salvation or doom. It could be doom. He didn't tell me he was a good man. Has Ravenna killed all the good men!? I halt my hand, my trembling fingers only a breath's space from his. My doom? My salvation? His hand is twice the size of mine! I, the bombastic fool! My heart pounds against my sternum. My stomach twists and contorts in nauseating ways. My doom? My salvation? A sob bursts out of me. God above, what choice do I have!? This could be my last moment no matter what happens! I am at this man's mercy.
"Please," I say with tears and place my fingers in his hand.
"I'm no' gonna hurt ye. Trust me." He slowly curls his fingers about mine, his fingers thick and strong, his hand so rough! "Trust me."
"Oh God!" I turn into a weeping, blithering mess. "I–I haven't held a hand for fourteen years! A man hasn't taken my hand for fourteen years! He hasn't cared to! He only wanted to hurt me! Kill me! How is any of this happening!?"
"This is happenin'," he says, moving his fingers down my hand until my palm rests in his. "Let me help ye. Trust me." He gives my hand the gentlest, tenderest squeeze. "Trust me."
Fourteen years of loneliness, lack of hope, darkness, mistrust, evil—it gathers up against Maacthis' thick prison bars and breaks through them. It floods my chest with a gush of warmth, filling me to the brim.
"Eric!" I sob his name and fall into him, pressing my dizzy head into his chest. How good the coolness of his vest feels against my burning brow. I let out all my tears with abandon. The hunter makes no move to push me away nor hold me to him. He only keeps my hand in his, giving it the gentlest squeezes and brushing his rough thumb across the back of my hand. I cry and cry, letting out everything that was kept prisoner within me for fourteen years. How is it possible that I was a prisoner within me?
"I know this is a lot for ye, but we have to keep movin'." The hunter grabs hold of my arm and helps me to rise to my unsteady feet. "Find yer feet." He helps me find my balance, not taking his hands from me until I steady myself.
"Com'on." He leads the way, walking slowly enough for me to stagger after him.
On and on we move. He treads lightly while I stagger, the ale I had consumed taking the edge from my pain. He's right. Enough ale makes the pain bearable. He glances down at me, ensuring that I am keeping up with him. My heart softens more for him. It's the ale making me feel this way about him, no doubt, but this does feel good; to feel that hope, that trust in him. I can never trust him completely, but I only need to trust him enough to let him help me.
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My drunkenness slowly fades and my pain grows with each step I take. My head aches more and more with that throbbing pain. I try to keep silent. So far, I am succeeding, but I'm not sure how much longer I can keep my pain contained.
The hunter looks back at me. "How are ye feelin'?" he whispers.
Shame and embarrassment heat my cheeks. I hate to seem like a complaining nag to anyone, especially to a man who could easily snap my neck or lop off my head, but if this pain worsens, I'm not sure I'll be able to keep up.
"I–I could use more ale—" I clench my teeth from a particularly sharp, fiery pain piercing my back. I clutch my right side with both hands and dig my fingernails into his coat, causing myself just enough pain to distract me.
"Let's rest here for a moment," he whispers. We both slow to a stop and rest our backs against opposite trees. He rummages through his satchel and pulls out a skin and something small clutched in his fist.
"Eat. Drink," he says, holding out his skin and a small bundle of dried meat for me.
My stomach churns at the thought of eating meat. "I'll drink, but I do not wish to eat now." I take the skin from him. "Thank you."
He only nods and stores his dried meat back in his satchel while I pull the cork out of his skin and chug on the ale with frightening eagerness. My fingernails dig into the skin, something telling me deep inside to toss the skin as far away from me as possible, but I keep downing the ale, relief from my pain too tempting.
"That's enough, lass." The hunter grabs my hand digging into the skin. Panic rises in me, fearing that he'll rip the skin from me mid drink and cause me to choke, but he waits for me to take my last swallow and push it away. The ale quickly dulls my pain and puts my world off kilter. My head swims. I reach behind me, groping the rotting tree bark to keep myself upright.
"Damn, it disnae take much for ye," he says. He pushes himself off the tree. "Can ye walk!?"
"Mm." I look down at the pitch black ground. All my weight goes to my head, nearly toppling me over! I cling to the tree and lean my heavy head back against the bark. I do not yawn, but my limbs feel so heavy yet pleasant. "I want to sleep," I say, each word taking extra effort to shape my lips properly.
The hunter sighs and grabs my hand, his coat sleeve providing some kind of barrier between his skin and mine. On the inside, I startle, but I'm too heavy on the outside to jump back and pull my hand from his.
"Com'on, we need to keep movin'," he says, pulling my hand from the tree and half-leading, half-dragging me along. I stumble and stagger over my two heavy feet, my sense of balance having completely picked up and shifted to my left. With nothing else to hold onto, I cling to the hunter's arm with my free hand and do my best to walk with him. His arm tenses beneath my hand, his hard muscle palpable beneath his thick woolen sleeve. My heart flutters. His strength emanates from him like fire. I look up at the shadow of the hunter's head. He is focused on the journey ahead, but there is a different air between us than there was this morning when he roused me from sleep. Perhaps it's because of my drunkenness that I am feeling this, but to feel his strength and know that he is not going to hurt me with it, but has rather protected me with it and is now supporting—no, upholding me with it, I feel…safe beside him. He gave me his coat to clothe me and shield me against the young winter. He has fed me and gave me his ale for my thirst and pain. His colossal body is a shield for me now against the darkness, loneliness, and death of this forest. He is alive, so he fends off this dark forest's death. He creates light when we rest for the night. Even when we tread in this darkness throughout the day, he is leading the way like a ray of sun breaking through the pitch black of night. Lastly, he is here with me now.
God, it has been fourteen years since I have felt safe. Fourteen long years of questioning each day when death would come for me. Now, death has never felt farther from me even though I am near death with my infection. I cannot die for Greta and Sara's sakes. The hunter gave me his word that he would get me out of here. I believe him. I trust him enough to believe he will get me to the nearest healer. I loop my free arm around his, half hugging his strong arm as we continue on.
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"We'll rest here tonight," he whispers. He guides me to one of the trees and helps me to sit my weak, wobbly body down against it. He pulls his arm out of my hands despite my weak attempt to cling to him. As soon as his hand leaves mine, the darkness, loneliness, and death of this dark forest closes in around me, threatening to consume me.
"Please," I say softly, half drunk, half aware of the words spilling out of my desperate mouth. "Please don't leave me."
"I willnae, lass. I'm gonna start a fire. Rest here." He turns and walks to the edge of the clearing without a second glance. I watch him as he draws his hatchet from his back and chops at thick branches to gather kindling. He sheathes his hatchet, gathers the logs in his arms, and returns to the center of the clearing. He crouches and assembles the logs and brambles. He pulls something out of his satchel and starts a fire by striking his knife against his flint. He blows on the little flame and pokes at it with a stick until the fire is almost as tall as his crouched form. I try to move my eyes elsewhere, but they are tied to the hunter's face. His eyes are downcast on the flames while he pokes at them with a stick, but his mind is somewhere else.
"What are you thinking?" I ask.
He stops poking the fire and lifts his eyes to mine, the fire burning in them. Lightning shoots down my chest to my stomach, zapping all my nerves on the way down, leaving them tingling. I cannot believe I asked that aloud! I would not have said a word if I was entirely sober.
He opens his mouth to speak, but his breath hitches in his throat and his eyes drop to my chest. My heart takes off racing while the throbbing heat stirs between my legs. I clench my thighs together and look down at my chest. His coat is barely open, showing only the skin of my sternum, but there resting between my covered breasts is Sara's ring still looped about my throat. I take Sara's ring in my fist and pull his coat about me with my other hand. I lift my eyes to his. His eyes are still focused on my clenched fist about Sara's ring.
"Where'd ye get that ring?" He lifts his eyes to mine, sending another bolt of lightning through me that leaves my nerves buzzing.
I glance down at my clenched fist hiding Sara's ring from sight, the memories of her flashing across my mind. "It was…about two years ago? If I kept proper track of the days, then it's been close to two years. There was a cell across from mine that would see the comings and goings of many prisoners. For twelve years, most everyone was the same. They either ignored me, mocked me, or begged me to save them." I scoff. "As if I could have done anything imprisoned behind my own bars!" I grit my teeth and shake my head, doing my best to banish that same pressure building within my chest that will eventually make me erupt.
"Most of them were like that except for three people. A man, whose name I never learned, and two women. It was almost two years ago when one of the women…," I shake my head and let out a quivering breath, "…when she came into my life. Even though I only knew her for a day"—I sniffle while my eyes and nose burn with the need to cry—"she…she quickly became my dearest friend. I…" Should I say it? God, what good would it do for me if the hunter learns that I contemplated taking my own life? No good, that's what it would do.
"She saved me," I say, the answer vague, but horrifically true. "She made me smile, she made me laugh…she made me happy." A small smile spreads my lips, the memory of Sara's scarred but pretty face flashing across my sight for the blink of an eye. My heart softens and hurts all the same, memories of her skinless, eyeless, handless corpse invading my mind. My smile leaves me. "I had not smiled, I had not laughed, I had not felt a glimmer of happiness for twelve years until she came into my life. She made me realize that hope is real and that it is not a lie." I manage to lift my teary eyes to the hunter. He just looks at me, his expression almost…devoid of anything. "Before she was taken away to be murdered, she asked a favor of me"—I open my fist enough to show him Sara's ring—"to deliver her ring to her husband." I close my fist tightly about her ring.
"We couldn't reach each other through our prison bars and the black glass knights were coming to take her away!" A sob escapes me, tears slipping down my cheeks. "She threw herself at her bars, breaking her bones just to get her ring into my hand." I gasp in a shuddery breath and scrub my tears away with my free hand. I should not weep like this before the hunter. I am so exposed, so vulnerable to him, yet the trust and safety he has coaxed me to feel are little now. I cover my eyes with my hand and draw my knees to my chest, curling up to protect myself and Sara's ring. I must be acting like this because of the ale; so emotional, so stupid. Indeed, I am the bombastic fool, though bombastic does not make sense.
"Ye've been through hell," the hunter says, his gruff voice barely reaching my ears amidst my weeping and the crackling fire. I heard him, though.
I shake my head fervently and look up at him across the flames. "You don't know half of the hell I've endured, and yet my dearest friend, who I only knew for a day, endured a hell far worse than mine! You asked me what do I know of sorrow? There was a point in my life where—" I stop myself from saying it outright. No, I'm wrong. "I know so little sorrow, yet I have witnessed so much." Truly, I have. Really, I am blessed considering how little sorrow I have known when compared to Sara, and perhaps compared to the hunter.
He sits down on the ground layered with brambles and twigs, cracking several twigs under his weight. He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. "Ye cannae compare yer life to someone else's. Ye were imprisoned and starved for fourteen years, right? How old were ye when ye were imprisoned?"
I swallow. Should I answer his questions truthfully? "I…I had nine years."
He looks down at the fire, shaking his head. "Damn," he curses. He lifts his gaze to me. "Sometimes the scars of the soul are far worse than the scars of the body. Ye have few scars on the outside, but ye are mangled on the inside."
A sting fills my already aching heart. "Mangled!?" I say, my voice full of tears. "I know I'm hideous! Starved! What other insults have you!?"
"Ye misunderstand me. It's yer heart that matters, no' yer scars. Ye could be covered in scars and still be beautiful."
My anger dissipates, leaving behind confusion that furrows my brows. "I don't understand."
He sighs. "Yer fourteen years of hell has left many marks on ye, but ye huvnae lost yer heart yet. Hold fast to it. There's no' many left." My eyes widen, his words barely getting the chance to sink in while he says, "Now tell me, this lass, yer dearest friend, do ye know who her husband is? Do ye even know if he's alive?"
"Uh…," I trail off. Ye huvnae lost yer heart yet. Hold fast to it. There's no' many left. "I…no, I don't know who he is, and he could be dead now, but I have to try to find him for her, and I will keep my promise to free Greta—" My stomach twists about a thousand blunt knives. Oh God.
"Greta?" he asks, suddenly suspicious.
I must rectify this now! "The other woman, she has the same name as me." I cringe. Stupid lie. Stupid, stupid lie! If he does discover my lie, I will never get the chance to fulfill my promises to Greta and Sara!
"Hmm." He nods slowly, either disbelief or scrutiny in his mind.
Panic stirs my stomach, but I fight to keep my mind clear and my voice calm. "You don't believe me?"
He cocks his head to the side. "Why are ye askin' me that?" he asks, scrutiny thick in his voice.
I shake my head at him, some deceptive, manipulative words coming to mind. "Because I made the decision to trust you—" a sting enters my heart, forcing the next words out of me. "I mean, I trust you enough to let you help me. I trust you, but do you trust me?"
He chuckles. "I trust ye enough to no' attempt to kill me in my sleep." His smile drops and he tilts his chin back, putting on an intimidating display of power over me. "Ye should eat."
My stomach churns with nausea. "I don't want to eat now."
His face stiffens. "Then go to sleep."
I recoil against my tree, wishing to God that I could fold myself within this tree and never have a human eye look at me again, but here I am subdued beneath the hunter's gaze. How did it come to be that I trust the hunter more than he trusts me? Have I let myself become the bombastic fool? I hide my face in the bend of my arm, burying myself in the darkness while I try to forget about the hunter's burning eyes and my embarrassment.
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"You will die here, little bitch!" Finn sneers, slamming my cell door shut and locking me up with the jingling of keys. The pain blooms in my face. The tang of blood touches my tongue. My lips start swelling, growing tight. Finn marches off, his footsteps growing softer until the wood door slams shut—a hand clamps over my mouth! Finn! Heart racing, muscles tensing, I thrash about, throwing blind punches and kicks at him in the dark!
"Shh! Stop, lass! Stop!" he whispers, deflecting all my blows. He manages to pin my legs beneath his and my left arm at my side, almost laying his whole body atop me! God no! He's going to force himself on me! I fight against him with every bit of strength I have. I pound my free fist into his side and back, trying to land a blow to his head, but he manages to deflect me every time!
"Calm down!" he whispers. "Shh! Calm down, calm down." That's not Finn's voice. I stop punching the man atop me and quiet myself. I know that voice.
"That's it. Easy." The man slowly lifts his bear-sized hand from my mouth. The winter pricks my lips and skin where his hand was, though I barely feel the cold because of my fever. I breathe in and out shaky breaths, my chest quivering, my eyes stinging with hot tears.
"Eric?" I whisper, my voice shaky. Please let it be him. This man has not forced himself on me yet, so perhaps it is him.
"Aye."
An ocean of relief pulls me under, calming my heart and steadying my breathing.
"That's it," he says. He squeezes my arm and climbs off me, freeing me. A strange feeling comes over me. I feel…exposed, empty…alone. There was something about the weight of his legs on me that frightened me at the beginning, but now…I miss them. I miss his hand on my arm and the gentle squeeze he gave me. Why? Perhaps it was the protection, the shielding? Or perhaps I'm still a little drunk.
I brace my hands against the forest floor and slowly push myself up, biting my tongue to keep silent from the burning pain of my wound. Despite the pain, I manage to sit up and look at the shadow of the hunter crouching beside me, overwhelming me with his size and strength.
"Wh–what happened?" I whisper.
He sighs, his colossal shoulders dropping. "Ye woke up screamin', so I had to quiet ye. We dinnae want ye attractin' oulinders or any blighted man out here."
My eyes widen, fear filling me. "Blighted man!? There are others in this dark forest!?"
He nods. That twists my gut with terror. "Probably. Anyone still alive out here, except us, is deranged from continual exposure to black blight shroom spores. If ye breathe in the spores for a day or more, yer mind melts, turning ye more and more feral before ye finally die. Those infected beyond healin' by the spores will attack any man and creature they see."
I shudder, my mind conjuring up an image of a deranged man, his eyes glazed over, his mouth frothing at the corners, his pale skin mottled with the black of the black blight shrooms—a terrible thought emerges. "Am I…am I becoming feral!? Am I blighted!?" I ask, panic starting to take hold of me.
"Nae. If ye were, ye would have tried to bite out my throat already."
"Mm," I hum and nod quickly, still shuddering with fear…or with something else. I feel a little strange. Sweat clings to my skin despite the winter air. My flesh tingles about my mouth. I try to stop myself from shuddering, but my body shakes beyond my control.
"Yer shakin'. Are ye cold?"
I shake my head. "No, I'm just…shaking." I try breathing in slowly and breathing out slowly…breathing in slowly…breathing out slowly. I'm still shaking!
"Ye should eat. Ye huvnae eaten for more than a day."
Nausea churns my stomach. "God no. I'm not hungry, but I'll drink some ale if you have some to spare." My trembling hand reaches out on its own, my fingers eagerly waiting to clutch a skin heavy with ale.
"Ye should eat to keep up yer strength," he says, but he reaches into his satchel and pulls out a skin sloshing with a lot of ale in it.
"I'll eat later," I say, my voice shaking. He pulls the cork out of his skin and hands his skin to me. My fingers wrap around his skin, but my hand shakes terribly as I lift the skin to my lips, splashing some of the ale out of the skin and onto my hand. Despite my shaking hand, I manage to wrap my tingling lips about the rim and start downing the ale. I chug, chug, chug much like the hunter did two or three days ago, eager for that numbing, pleasant heaviness in my body.
The hunter chuckles as I continue drinking the ale. "I'm a bad influence on ye," he says.
I almost laugh, nearly choking on the ale, but I manage to pry the skin from my mouth and swallow the last of the ale safely down my throat. I look at the hunter's shadow and nod, a smile creeping onto my lips. "You are."
He and I chuckle…both of us…together. I…I haven't chuckled for nearly two years. Our chuckling dies quickly. The hunter snatches his skin out of my grasp!
"Hey!" I almost try to steal his skin back, but I stop myself. I'd be a fool to lunge at him. He might think I'm blighted and kill me.
He laughs quietly and lifts his skin to his mouth. "I jus' want a drink." He takes a swig of his ale and offers his skin back to me.
"Oh." I glance down at the skin clutched in his steady hand and look up at the shadow of his head. I wish I could see his face right now. Is there amusement in his eyes, a mischievous gleam, or that smirk that he had on his face two nights ago when he called me out for staring at him?
"Thank you," I accept his skin with my shaky hand. I barely see him nod while I take a smaller swallow of his ale, more conscious of the fact that he will want more. I offer his skin back to him.
"Huh," he says and takes his skin from me. "Are ye done?"
"No." I shake my head. "I just thought you might want more."
"Thanks," he says, pleasant surprise in his voice. He takes another swig of his ale and passes it back to me.
"Thank you." I take my swig and hold it out to him again.
He chuckles and accepts it from me, taking his swig before passing it back to me. I chuckle with him and take my drink. A strange feeling enters me as we continue passing his ale back and forth. There's this…excitement in my stomach that puts a grin on my face. I feel happy, but there's something else accompanying it.
He passes it to me. "Ye can have the rest."
The excitement in my stomach fades and my smile lessens. "Are you sure? I liked sharing your ale with you." My eyes widen as realization hits me. The buzz from the ale has loosened my tongue. "I was having fun." I sigh, the revelation sweeping me off my feet even though I'm sitting. "I haven't felt the excitement of fun for fourteen years and you helped me to feel fun again."
He laughs, keeping his voice low. "It's the ale, lass. No' me."
I shake my head at him. "It was definitely you. Perhaps the ale loosened me up, but you—" I point at him, my hand less shaky "—it was sharing your ale with you, passing your skin between us…" I drop my hand in my lap. "Laughing with you, that's the fun I'm speaking of. If you weren't here laughing with me while I numb my pain with this—" I lift his skin and lower it to my lap "—then I would not have felt fun again."
He laughs once and nods at me. I feel his eyes on me, scrutinizing me, thinking only what he and God knows.
"Drink the rest and get some sleep," he says. He rises to his full stature, towering over me like a bear rearing up.
I nod and watch him as he walks past me out of my sight, his leg lightly brushing past my shoulder. My nerves in my chest and stomach tingle from the brief brush of his leather trousers against his leather coat. I chuckle aloud at the thought. It's not as if his skin brushed against mine, but it was the weight, the movement of his—"What're ye laughing at?" the hunter asks from behind me, amused.
I twist around to look up at his towering shadow, my cheeks heating up. "I…," I trail off, drinking in the broadness of his shoulders, his strong chest, his slender waist—the hunter laughs, hitting a particularly deep timbre in his voice that sends a pleasurable chill down my spine.
"Try to sleep," he says, turning from me and walking to the edge of the clearing. He sits down against a tree to keep watch throughout the remainder of the night.
I finish off the rest of his ale and cork his skin. "Hunter?" I call him softly.
He looks my way.
"Catch." I toss his skin his way. His hand shoots up and catches his skin midair. "Ha! Good catch."
"Thanks." He nods once and stows his skin in his satchel. "Now try to sleep."
"Alright." I lay down on my side, laying my head on my arm for a softer place than the splintered twigs and thorny brambles of the forest floor. The ale has successfully numbed my pain and pushed the pleasurable heaviness throughout my body. There's something small inside me warning me to keep my guard up, but I ignore it and let my eyes drift shut. I trust the hunter enough to help me get out of this forest and to find the nearest help for my wound.