Feagrim awakens to the sound of scraping. It is just getting light and the air is cool and damp. There is a creak of leather as Asbjorn put a small armload of wood by the fire. His iron pot is perched between some rocks and thin threads of steam are drifting up, mingling with the smoke. Eorrid is hunched over a rock rubbing the back of a blade on a plump root of some sort. Feagrim unwraps his cloak, sits up stiffly, and wipes the dew off his face.

“I’ll wager you’re sore this morning,” Asbjorn said with a smirk.

Feagrim winced, checking his bandages. “More stabby than sore. I think it’ll walk off.”

“Hope so,” said Asbjorn, “it’s a long walk to Stormfort.”

There was a small splash as Eorrid dropped something in Asbjorn’s pot.

“I’d spotted a flower I knew by the creek,” said Eorrid. “Their bulbs are small but plentiful. You might think they were fingerling potatoes and they can be cooked the same way. I’m hoping by scraping some of them into a paste it’ll thicken the broth.”

“She asked for a pot,” said Asbjorn, “and the rest of the carcass from last night, some water and something from her purse has been simmering for the past half an hour. I used to do the same thing but with oatmeal or coarse ground wheat. I never thought of making a paste of wild tubers.”

“I want to do my part, so I wasn’t going to ask to rummage through your stuff to look for ingredients I can use.” Eorrid snipped. “Simple breakfast for now. I’ll do something more elaborate later when we have the time.”

“If you’re doing the cooking, I won’t complain about contributing,” said Feagrim.

Eorrid’s expression softened, “The satchel that Eadryth gave me is full of spices. While I won’t call it a recipe book, there are a few lists of ingredients. Sort of a shorthand to remind you of everything you need to add to make something. I can guess what I’ll find in your pack.”

“In that case, when you need something just tell me and I’ll fish it out. She wouldn’t have wrote notes like that if it’s not there.”

“Seed biscuits would round out breakfast,” she said.

Feagrim stood up, grunting when his bandages tugged at scabs. “Give me a minute.”

She put her hands on her hips. “If you hurry up I can toast them so they’ll at least be warm.”

“You two are starting to make this sound like a walking party.” Grumbled Asbjorn.

Feagrim tugged at the lid of the pack. “I get the hint. No more fun, games, jokes, or laughing. Just one foot in front of the other. I need to schedule a defecation in the next ninety minutes Mr. Woodsman, Sir. I request a location with a perch and foliage of the non-scratchy type.”

Eorrid stifled an awkward giggle while Asbjorn rolled his eyes loudly.

Feagrim felt his way through the pack and found a parcel that contained round objects. It had a hole through it. He unwrapped a corner and saw one of the golden biscuits within, they were studded with poppy and sunflower seeds. As he took out the biscuits he pushed the book deeper into the pack. He flipped the lid closed, walked back to Eorrid, and gave the parcel to her.

As she opened the parcel her fingers traced one of the holes. “How did that not go through the pack?”

“Really good biscuits.”

Asbjorn coughed. “I don’t think you can eat biscuits that stop a bolt fired from a crossbow.”

Feagrim narrowed his eyes at Asbjorn. “There’s a lot of stuff in that pack. I’m sure everything slowed it down a little here and there.”

Eorrid started setting the biscuits on rocks by the heat of the fire. “Well, at least my brother’s not around to try again. He’ll never get another chance if I have anything to do about it.”

A few minutes later they were eating the thick, piping hot gravy and dipping warm biscuits into it. Asbjorn muttered his approval and offered his bowl for seconds.

“For unprepared, spur of the moment and out of whatever was on hand this is good, Eorrid,” said Feagrim. “I’ll look forwards to meals. If you have a kitchen again, you’ll need to invite me.”

Eorrid hid her face, but Feagrim could see the flush reach her ears through the hair.

Breakfast finished, Asbjorn kicked the fire apart and sprinkled water on the ashes. Eorrid and Feagrim used handfuls of long grass to wipe out the pot and bowls. Before long they were putting on their packs. Eorrid snatched back the bedroll from Feagrim before he could tie it back under the pack.

“I’ll carry it. It’s only fair to carry the gear you’re using, right?”

“That’s fine,” said Feagrim. “It’s a little less on me.” He eyed the large pack meaningfully.

Eorrid slung one of the straps over her shoulder and gave Feagrim a tight smile. She turned to follow Asbjorn through the brambles and back to the road. Feagrim hefted the pack and brought up the rear. There was little left of the goblin corpses at the road, just a few ashy bones. Feagrim paused to pick up several coins he saw scattered about. Asbjorn pointed out a few teeth that weren’t disintegrating. He remembered mention in some of the hero stories about picking up parts of monsters to sell to mages so he gathered them too. Eorrid looked a little disgusted at that so he moved quickly. According to Asbjorn, they wouldn’t find any other water until almost night so they crossed the road to fill canteens and waterskins at the creek.

It was still early and Luma had yet to reach full brightness when they finally took their first steps towards Stormfort. Feagrim guessed that perhaps Heored would be bringing in the coal for the day’s work. Eadryth would be waking up soon and it would be the first day of many they would never meet. He thought of the book with its margins full of notes and memories and pushed the longing ache from his heart. He cursed himself for not leaving something similar, but it was so like her to be the first to think of things like that. Casting his eyes upwards he saw a large puffy cloud with whisps that reminded him of her hair lit from behind. His shoulders sagged, feeling small in her shadow. He wanted to be her rock, her security but he wanted to be in the sun too! He was grateful for the gift of her rain but there was so little he could return. He shrugged the pack’s straps to a more comfortable position and looked up again. Birds whirled on updrafts far overhead. If he couldn’t be her ground he would find a way to be her sky.

They hiked through the morning, Asbjorn in the lead, Feagrim the last, and Eorrid safely in the middle. As a result, he was largely left to his thoughts. He felt renewed after finding a path to peace with his feelings for Eadryth. He didn’t know how to walk down it yet but felt certain he’d find a way someday. Now he found his attention rather stolen by Eorrid. He wondered what sort of conversion the two of them had. Last night she said Eadryth had told her how much he meant. Until his mother had been slain she’d always seemed to hold back a little. The past weeks it was like she threw caution to the wind and only the truly thickheaded wouldn’t get the hint. Her elder sister overheard him accepting her feelings and in her excitement told their mother. Both hopeless romantics, neither gave them any peace. Before he could make his intentions clear, that being he would first fulfill an apprenticeship and earn the right to formally court Eadryth, her father stepped in and forbade their relationship. Now his only choice was to do something drastic to force him to acknowledge his worth. But the Master Mason was as dense and immovable as the stones he worked. He was also certain that Eadryth was planning something. Her younger brother had let slip she was training in sword arts under her mother’s master of guards that oversaw their merchant caravans. It was pretty plain she might have intended on joining him against her father’s wishes, but things moved too fast and Eorrid was yet another unexpected wild card.

He also had to consider the other thing that Eorrid said. At that moment he pushed it away. In times like that, it can be difficult to hide your intentions. Feagrim thought back to all the times he had seen Eorrid, and most of them were at the fringes, the edges of vision. Like she was a distant bystander, helpless but still watching or unable to look away. Things boiled over on the night of the wake and maybe they overshared. Or maybe it was two people in so much pain they were pulled together. Less of a choice and more fate at work. He waved off the idea she had some sort of childish crush or infatuation. The fact was Eorrid was here and Eadryth had stayed behind. He trusted Eadryth’s judgment and he wondered if there would be clues written in the margins of the book.

Eorrid had slowed down and was looking rather intently at something to the left of the road. It seemed to him she grinned impishly. For the first time, he noticed she had a doubled tooth. He couldn’t help but notice she had a certain cuteness and it made him stumble. A second later she had darted off the road into a thicket. In the distance, Asbjorn glanced back but continued on. He wondered if he should just stop and wait. Eadryth had said he needed to be more sensitive to girls’ needs and the code word was “picking flowers.” He’d never needed such language around Catrine but Eorrid was probably of the more delicate sort. He stopped and took the moment to drink some water. Before he could put the waterskin away, she was back at the road, holding the front of her dress out. He started to sigh at her clumsiness but she quickly jogged down the road to catch up with Asbjorn.

Feagrim shrugged and started walking again, briskly to make up the lost time. He remembered the time when Catrine threw pinecones at him during a game of hide and seek when he’d come out of hiding to pee. He did the same thing to her at another time and they called it “catching pinecones” for a while. It confused everyone else. Feagrim couldn’t suppress a chuckle at the memory so he wasn’t paying attention when Eorrid startled him.

“Care to share the joke?” she asked. Feagrim jumped and looked wildly around. “Whoa there, are you alright?”

“Yeah, sorry, I was lost in my own world.”

“So I went picking and thought I’d share what I got.” She was still holding out the front of her dress.

Feagrim blinked, wondering why, with such an innocent look, she would ask him to share in her “picking flowers.” He slowly looked down and saw that she had gathered handfuls of small, blue, berries using a fold of the dress to hold them. He sighed in relief. Reaching into his satchel, he took out the cloth. Until last night had held the food from home. Inwardly he corrected himself. It was his food from the pantry of his father’s house and Catrine’s parting bread. He shook the last crumbs from it and folded the cloth into a pouch for the berries. Together, they tumbled the berries into the cloth. Feagrim caught a glimpse down the front of her dress as she shook the berries into the pouch. Old bruises faded and yellow peppered her pale skin. An icy chill flashed down his spine and where it pooled fire kindled and seethed.

The last, stubborn berry released its hold on her dress and fell to join its brethren. Eorrid shook out and straightened her dress. She looked towards Feagrim, reaching for the pouch. Her hand quickly retreated and squeezed together the fabric below her chin. For a long moment she froze before looking up into Feagrim’s stony expression. Her grip on the dress relaxed.

“Of course. You would have seen everything last night…”

He cut her off. “I did not. I moved downstream and turned my back.”

“Because what you saw was so ugly you didn’t turn around…”

He cut her off again, “It was the only privacy I could give you. There was damn little I could do, even before now.” Feagrim paused. He reached into the pouch, took out some berries and began to eat them. They were sweet and just a little tart. He winked at her. “Why would you know that I never turned around to peep at you washing up?”

She blushed. “They’re good, aren’t they? We’re pretty lucky to find such a large patch, right?”

Feagrim started hiking briskly. “We can’t let Asbjorn keep the next one to himself.”

Eorrid had to jog to catch up.

“How many?” he asked.

“What? How many berry bushes?”

“Bruises.” he started eating another handful of berries. He could feel his mouth pucker. He could see her thinking.

“Nine. I think.”

Feagrim passed the berries to Eorrid. He noticed her freckles didn’t blush with the rest of her skin. He rolled his shoulders under the straps of the pack.

She took the pouch. “Are they still sore?”

“In this regard, your brother is a most thorough man. I do not remember if this is one of his or the goblins.”

“I could make a salve to heal them quicker. The plants this time of year won’t be as potent, but it would at least be something.”

“When was the last time you made it?”

“Oh, it’s been months and months.”

Feagrim looked down at her. “Is there any left from the last batch?”

“Of course not, it went a little rancid so I got rid of it before winter…” she trailed off awkwardly.

“So you’ll make some to help heal the injuries your brother inflicted, right?”

“Well, of course,” she said brightly, “as soon as I find the plants and something to use for a base. If the next animal Asbjorn hunts for supper has enough tallow, I can use that.”

Feagrim reached for the pouch of berries and rather than reaching in for them, or taking it from her, he only pinched the cloth of it. They walked for several steps. “So you’ll make it and We’ll use it to heal Our bruises,” he emphasized.

“Y-yes,” she stammered.

He let go of the pouch. “Your brother did more than just mark your skin. I don’t have a magic wand or a staff of power to wipe away the scars. I’m not even sure it’s my job to keep you from getting more. For now, you have a chance to heal up, don’t waste it.”

Feagrim pulled out a waterskin and took a long drink. He was about to put it away when he noticed her eyes focused on it. He stared ahead to where Asbjorn stopped by the side of the road.

“If you count each set of fingerprints as one bruise, how many?” he asked as he passed her the waterskin. It dangled for several moments.

“Seven,” she said quietly.

“He’s found something.” He thrust the waterskin into her hands and jogged up to Asbjorn.

“It’s a little early, but we can take a break and eat something more substantial. I see some of the flowers that Eorrid found. Maybe we should dig up the tubers while we’re stopped,” said Asbjorn.

Feagrim looked back at Eorrid. She was just putting the stopper back in the waterskin. “I don’t know that she’ll be excited for them. If I’m any judge there’s more than enough food in my pack.” Feagrim paused, then quietly said, “but she needs to feel useful right now. There’s something she wants to make but it needs tallow. Any chances of hunting something up? A katoko might be too much.”

“I saw a begdar burrow, there’s probably a colony of them around.”

Feagrim grimaced. “But the meat from those. . .”

Asbjorn thumped him on the shoulder. “She’s carrying spices, right? I’ll look for one nesting near one of those berry bushes. Get that pack off and give your shoulders a rest.” He pointed at a cluster of orange bell-shaped flowers. “The tubers are over there, I’ll see if I can go wake up a begdar.”

Feagrim shrugged off the pack as Asbjorn wove through the trees away from the road, bow in hand.