“What are you doing?”
“Making a spear.”
His blade scraped against the wood, timber flakes curling in a pile at his feet. He’d cut down a long, spindly tree and had been busy chopping and whittling for some time.
It sat across his lap, already shaping into something smooth and even.
The little forest crowded around them, the tree trunks flashing red against the flames. The moon peered down through the branches, yellow tonight.
Grinda licked the grease from her mouth, the taste of the fox she’d eaten still salty and thick on her lips.
“Do you need to?” she said. “We’ve been eating well enough.”
“It’s not enough for me, biala. And it shouldn’t be enough for you. Not while you’re with babe. I’ll catch you real food.”
She instinctively touched her belly. Ten weeks, she thought, but she couldn’t be sure. The days and weeks and months were starting to roll into one.
It was still too soon for a big appetite, though. She wasn’t even showing yet. “Like what?”
“Boar, deer, maybe even wolf.”
Her heart flipped. “Wolf?”
He looked at her, eyes dark against the flames. “Yes. The farther we travel north, the thicker and older the forests become, and the more predators there’ll be.
“Fear not. I’ll protect you. I killed my first wolf when I was still a boy.”
A long sliver of wood fluttered to the ground. She watched him quietly. It was hard work, she could see. The muscles in his upper arms bulged, his veins stood out, that long tendon in his neck was taut.
He hadn’t noticed, but his kinta had ridden high up his thighs, giving her a very revealing view of his manhood. She licked her lips again.
“If you continue to look at me like that, I’m going to cut myself.”
“Sorry.”
Eyes still on his work, he smiled. His hair trailed over his broad chest, looking almost red in the firelight. That masculine knot in his throat bobbed as he swallowed.
And those fingers—so strong, so deft. Despite what he’d claimed, he would never cut himself.
She continued to watch him.
Winter nickered in his sleep as he stood roped to a nearby tree, his head low, his white mane hanging around his big, flat head.
“Will you give me a try?” she asked.
“Try what?”
She nodded at the half-made spear. “A throw.”
He peered at her in surprise. “I suppose. But it may be too heavy for you.”
She straightened, fisting her hands around her knees. “I might be small, but I’m not that weak.”
Turning back to the spear, he gave a knowing smile, a deep, sultry groove in one cheek. “If you wish it. Anything you want.”
It was a good morning for a hunt, Grinda thought, though she hadn’t actually hunted before, so she couldn’t be sure. A cloudless day with a gentle breeze.
They walked to the edge of the trees, then out into the open. Grinda squinted against the harsh blaze of light. Mock kept walking, and she followed until they stood a considerable distance away from the woods.
He looked down at her, smiling that frustratingly knowing smile, as though he already knew she was going to fail.
“Patience, biala. You haven’t even thrown it yet. Practice first.”
Grinda pursed her lips.
“Now,” he said, hefting the spear onto his shoulder. “Step away.” Facing the woods, he focused. Several moments passed before he took his first step.
He was slow at first, taking long strides before falling into a sprint. He pulled his arm back. The big muscles in his shoulder bunched; his neck corded. Then he released.
Grinda’s eyes widened as it soared high into the air. It was so fast she could hear it whistling. It arced, peaked, then fell, lodging deep into a tree with a heavy thud that she felt through her feet.
She stared. Mock’s eyes glittered as he turned to her. “Easy as that. Now, your turn.”
They stood at the tree, Mock waiting patiently as Grinda tried to yank out the spear, or at least what he called a spear. It didn’t have a proper point yet, merely his knife tied tightly to the end.
Once he made his first real kill, he would shape and sharpen some bone instead.
He tried not to smile as she struggled. It was a good throw, even for him, particularly since the shaft had a curve to it, which meant it didn’t fly entirely straight.
The throw had required a lot of skill but luck as well, though he wouldn’t tell Grinda that.
Finally, he felt pity and reached for it. “Here, let me help.”
“No,” she gasped. “I’ve got it.”
He stepped away. Bracing a foot against the trunk, she heaved, failed, then heaved again, finally wrenching it free. Surprised, she stumbled back, falling on her arse. Mock laughed. Grinda tossed her hair.
Standing awkwardly, she held the spear like a post, one end braced against the ground. It was taller than she was. He twisted his lips, trying not to smile.
Grinda nodded. “Let’s do it, then.”
She tried to hold the spear in one hand as she walked, but it was too heavy, so she cradled it against her chest with both hands instead.
Mock’s heart lurched. He should have made a shorter, lighter spear. But how could he have predicted she’d want to hunt? She’d never shown any interest before.
She kept walking, apparently determined to throw from where Mock had. He squeezed her shoulder, stopping her halfway. “Far enough.”
Turning to face the trees, she held her mouth tight and narrowed her eyes. Though she tried not to show it, he could see how she strained to raise the spear to her shoulder.
It wobbled. The back of it hit the ground. She used her other hand to try and straighten it, only for the point to dip instead.
Finally, she dropped it with a hiss, shaking her hand at the strain in her wrist. He was about to make a joke when he saw the tears in her eyes. He picked up the spear.
“Here, biala,” he said gently. “Let me help for now until you’re ready.”
She said nothing and didn’t resist, keeping her head lowered as she tried to hide her disappointment.
Helping her to hold it aloft, he shifted her hand farther down the shaft. “Try here. Now, spread your legs. Left foot forward and make sure you’re evenly balanced.”
He stood close behind her, one hand on her hip, the other tightened around the hand gripping the shaft. “Keep it steady. Now, just focus on throwing straight, not on power.”
She stared ahead.
“Take a few steps, then run, making sure to pull back as you do.”
He raised his eyebrows. It had lodged in the base of the tree. Not deep, barely piercing the bark, but enough that it held for a few moments before falling to the ground.
And more importantly, Grinda was smiling.
Brushing aside her hair, he pressed his lips to the nape of her neck. “Good job.”
She nodded. “It’s a start.” She turned, smiling up at him as she placed her hands on his hips and drew him close. “You’re a patient teacher.”
He kissed her head. “I’ll make you a shorter, lighter one.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“Yes, I do. Then we can hunt together.”
Her smile turned doubtful. “Do the Quarthi women hunt?”
“Some do.”
“Are they good?”
“Very good. But they learn as children. It takes years of practice.”
Lowering her eyes, she nodded.
Curling an arm around her waist, he lifted her chin and kissed her. “You did good.”
“Thanks to you.”
They smiled at each other.
