Love As It Was Made to Be: 13.
Mar. 24th, 2012 09:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
clare_dragonflyWhen he woke it was hot, and there was some bright light, though he knew it could not yet be morning. He sat up, blinking, and realized that not only had someone placed a blanket over him, but they had built a fire. The cave was tiny, just enough space for the three of them and the fire—the donkey, looking grumpy even in sleep, had its front half inside the cave and its rump outside in the rain—but Cicatrix and Hemlock had managed to make it cozy-looking while he was sleeping.
Hemlock, stirring something over the fire, looked up and smiled. “You’re awake.”
He nodded and ran a hand through his hair. “How long was I asleep?”
“A few hours, I think.” Hemlock looked outside at the rain. “It’s dark.”
It was, if you discounted the fire. He did not know whether that was more due to the rain or the night.
“I think you have excellent timing,” said Cicatrix. She unfolded herself from a cross-legged position and half-stood, half-hunched to look into the soup pot. Journey looked up and realized that he would never be able to stand inside this cave. But he didn’t much care about that; he only minded that it was dry. “Yes, the soup is ready.”
“That sounds wonderful,” he said, realizing that his stomach was growling quite audibly. “I’m sorry I fell asleep. You should have woken me. I could have helped set up the camp.”
She shook her head, spooning soup into their dishes. It smelled richly of meat and onions. “You needed to rest and heal. The soup will help as well.”
In fact, to his slight embarrassment (but Cicatrix’s apparent amusement), he ate three helpings, leaving none left over for breakfast. But Cicatrix assured him that they had plenty of food, and when he was healed he could hunt for them to supplement it.
“That’s what I was thinking before I got in the damn fight,” he said, but he couldn’t put any anger behind his words. He was remembering how hard he had fought, and that his mind had not once been on his own health or life, but those of Cicatrix and Hemlock. “Why didn’t you give in to his demands?”
“I knew you would win,” she said simply.
He thought of the dead bandit, laid on the ground like an animal, and suddenly felt sick. He hoped he would not throw up all the nutrition that they had just gotten into him. He swallowed, then said, “Do you think they’ll come back for his body? We just left him there…”
“He deserves nothing more,” said Cicatrix. “But yes, I think they will come back.”
“He was a leader to his people,” said Journey quietly. “He deserves whatever burial they will give him.”
Cicatrix smiled, and said nothing.
They did not leave the cave that night, or the next morning. Indeed, the rain resolved itself into a wet, slushy snow; they rearranged to make space for the donkey, which made the cave smell, but also made it even warmer. Journey had not thought that it was cold enough for snow, but when he commented on that, Hemlock (to his surprise) said that it came from clouds high above them, and it was much colder up there. When Journey asked the boy how he knew that, he only said that it made sense.
“You have taught your son much for his age,” he said to Cicatrix, and she smiled and nodded.
Journey would have thought the closeness of the cave and the lack of privacy would have made him uncomfortable by the second day, especially after traveling for so long with only the same two people, but he found himself perfectly content with it. As long as it was warm, and he could see his companions, it just felt like a cozy home.
However, he grew restless. He offered to brave the weather and hunt or look for greens they could eat, but Cicatrix told him he should be resting his wound, and should not soak himself, as he was now down to only two shirts. When he told her that was her own fault, she laughed and promised to make him another when she could purchase cloth.
His earlier prediction proved correct, and he could not stand in the cave, though he made Hemlock laugh by hunching over with his palms flat against the stone ceiling and pretending that he was holding the mountain up above them. Lucky Hemlock could run around inside the cave, and did, exhausting himself and falling asleep just before the snow petered out and stopped falling.
Journey crawl-walked to the mouth of the cave and, leaning over the donkey’s bulk, looked out at the darkening, but increasingly cloudless, sky. “Should we wake him and use what daylight we have to get a little farther?”
“No, let him sleep. We could all use the rest, and we would not cover much distance today regardless.”
Journey sighed and sat back, then turned around to face Cicatrix again. “I don’t feel like I could use the rest. I feel like I’m going to burst out of my skin.” He reached toward his chest, then stopped his hand, remembering her warning. “The wound doesn’t even hurt anymore, but it itches, which only makes it worse.”
She smiled her strange half-smile. “It is healing, as it should be.”
“Yes… I know.” He crawled further in, then sat next to her, leaning on the rough, curving wall of the cave. “I just wish you could heal away all this restless energy.”
She laughed and put one of her small, dry hands on his shoulder. “Why, Journey, is that an invitation?”
He opened his mouth to deny it, thinking she would be offended, but to his surprise, what he said was, “Only if you want it to be.”
She nodded, then leaned close to kiss him. Her lips were warm, soft, and moist—so unlike her hands, but so like the rest of her. She pressed him down slowly, and he did not notice how hard the cave’s floor was.
Previous. | Next.
Hemlock, stirring something over the fire, looked up and smiled. “You’re awake.”
He nodded and ran a hand through his hair. “How long was I asleep?”
“A few hours, I think.” Hemlock looked outside at the rain. “It’s dark.”
It was, if you discounted the fire. He did not know whether that was more due to the rain or the night.
“I think you have excellent timing,” said Cicatrix. She unfolded herself from a cross-legged position and half-stood, half-hunched to look into the soup pot. Journey looked up and realized that he would never be able to stand inside this cave. But he didn’t much care about that; he only minded that it was dry. “Yes, the soup is ready.”
“That sounds wonderful,” he said, realizing that his stomach was growling quite audibly. “I’m sorry I fell asleep. You should have woken me. I could have helped set up the camp.”
She shook her head, spooning soup into their dishes. It smelled richly of meat and onions. “You needed to rest and heal. The soup will help as well.”
In fact, to his slight embarrassment (but Cicatrix’s apparent amusement), he ate three helpings, leaving none left over for breakfast. But Cicatrix assured him that they had plenty of food, and when he was healed he could hunt for them to supplement it.
“That’s what I was thinking before I got in the damn fight,” he said, but he couldn’t put any anger behind his words. He was remembering how hard he had fought, and that his mind had not once been on his own health or life, but those of Cicatrix and Hemlock. “Why didn’t you give in to his demands?”
“I knew you would win,” she said simply.
He thought of the dead bandit, laid on the ground like an animal, and suddenly felt sick. He hoped he would not throw up all the nutrition that they had just gotten into him. He swallowed, then said, “Do you think they’ll come back for his body? We just left him there…”
“He deserves nothing more,” said Cicatrix. “But yes, I think they will come back.”
“He was a leader to his people,” said Journey quietly. “He deserves whatever burial they will give him.”
Cicatrix smiled, and said nothing.
They did not leave the cave that night, or the next morning. Indeed, the rain resolved itself into a wet, slushy snow; they rearranged to make space for the donkey, which made the cave smell, but also made it even warmer. Journey had not thought that it was cold enough for snow, but when he commented on that, Hemlock (to his surprise) said that it came from clouds high above them, and it was much colder up there. When Journey asked the boy how he knew that, he only said that it made sense.
“You have taught your son much for his age,” he said to Cicatrix, and she smiled and nodded.
Journey would have thought the closeness of the cave and the lack of privacy would have made him uncomfortable by the second day, especially after traveling for so long with only the same two people, but he found himself perfectly content with it. As long as it was warm, and he could see his companions, it just felt like a cozy home.
However, he grew restless. He offered to brave the weather and hunt or look for greens they could eat, but Cicatrix told him he should be resting his wound, and should not soak himself, as he was now down to only two shirts. When he told her that was her own fault, she laughed and promised to make him another when she could purchase cloth.
His earlier prediction proved correct, and he could not stand in the cave, though he made Hemlock laugh by hunching over with his palms flat against the stone ceiling and pretending that he was holding the mountain up above them. Lucky Hemlock could run around inside the cave, and did, exhausting himself and falling asleep just before the snow petered out and stopped falling.
Journey crawl-walked to the mouth of the cave and, leaning over the donkey’s bulk, looked out at the darkening, but increasingly cloudless, sky. “Should we wake him and use what daylight we have to get a little farther?”
“No, let him sleep. We could all use the rest, and we would not cover much distance today regardless.”
Journey sighed and sat back, then turned around to face Cicatrix again. “I don’t feel like I could use the rest. I feel like I’m going to burst out of my skin.” He reached toward his chest, then stopped his hand, remembering her warning. “The wound doesn’t even hurt anymore, but it itches, which only makes it worse.”
She smiled her strange half-smile. “It is healing, as it should be.”
“Yes… I know.” He crawled further in, then sat next to her, leaning on the rough, curving wall of the cave. “I just wish you could heal away all this restless energy.”
She laughed and put one of her small, dry hands on his shoulder. “Why, Journey, is that an invitation?”
He opened his mouth to deny it, thinking she would be offended, but to his surprise, what he said was, “Only if you want it to be.”
She nodded, then leaned close to kiss him. Her lips were warm, soft, and moist—so unlike her hands, but so like the rest of her. She pressed him down slowly, and he did not notice how hard the cave’s floor was.
Previous. | Next.
no subject
Date: 2012-05-13 02:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-05-13 05:17 pm (UTC)