Ash came forward and stopped a few feet before him, suddenly awkward. He pushed himself off the tree and took the remaining steps to meet her. Holding out his palms he offered her the apple and the knife. The exposed meat of the apple was starting to brown. If there was a trap here she could not discern what it might be. Quickly she took the items from him. Their hands and wrists touched briefly, and the contact and the whole situation felt so confusing she had to turn away.
"You can give the apple to the horse. This Sull will not be offended."
Surprised by the humor in his voice, she looked over her shoulder. Lan Fallstar was smiling, and it was such a warm and unexpected sight that she smiled right back at him. She was aware of an immense sense of relief, but hardly knew why.
"When two people are parted in the birch way it is best if one stays close to the original point. That way it becomes possible for the second person to find her way back."
Ash nodded softly. After days of short and impatient replies, his explanation seemed like a kindness. Now it was she who had nothing to say to him, and she wrapped the chain carefully around the sickle blade's handle and went to feed the apple to the gelding.
Not long after that they headed on their way. The mist was finally breaking up and cold white sunlight slanted through the birches. Lan's pace was a fraction slower than before and she found herself drawing abreast of him more often. Briefly Ash wondered why they had to walk the birch way and could not ride. She thought about asking him, but stopped herself. She did not want to test this new goodwill between them.
With the mist gone the birches began to gleam like bones. Thousands became visible, layers and layers of trees stretching toward the horizon on all sides. Ash was glad to see her feet and found herself looking at them often. The variety of materials squelched by her boots was the only thing that changed in the landscape. The air smelled faintly of methane, and she wondered if part of the birch way was a bog. If they strayed too far off course here might they sink? For a while she tracked Lan's gaze as it slid through the trees, hoping to discover something about his methods of navigation, but she lost interest after a while. Her hands and wrists still felt hot where he had touched them. Lan said, "Let us stop here."
It was earlier than they would normally stop, but Ash was glad. She was hungry, and tired of looking at trees. As she unstrapped the fallen timber she had collected, the Far Rider set about unpacking his saddlebags. When she realized he was sliding out the tent, muscles in her stomach contracted in a way that made her feel half sick and half excited. Fumbling with the logs, she managed to drop a couple against the gelding's back hoof. "Sorry," she told the horse, kneeling awkwardly to pick them up.
After she'd built the fire and lit it she waited to feel more relaxed. The ground was dry here and she threw down her saddle and sat on it. Lan had finished pitching the tent and was now preparing their supper. She had come to him empty-handed—her saddlebags had been lost south of the Flow—and she was dependent upon his cooking utensils and food to eat. When she had met him she had been living on horse blood for seven days.
Lan cut up slices of cured horsemeat and dried mushrooms and put them in a pot with rich yellow kidney fat, cardamom seeds, and snowmelt. He worked quickly and with precision, using the same knife he had burned his skin with the night they first met. When he was done he cleaned the blade with oil that smelled of cloves, and a scrap of deerskin, and then sat in silence while the water in the pot came to a boil. A full moon rose as they waited.
"Take," Lan said, homing out a bowl of steaming and fragrant soup. She took it and their fingertips touched across the smooth glazed warmth of the bowl. The Far Rider watched her take her first drink. "Good?" he inquired, his voice almost gruff.
She nodded. It was bitter and rich with fat. She drank it all and then took her knife and speared the meat and fleshy mushrooms left at the bottom. It must have given her courage, for she said, "Why put up the tent? The moon is still full." Blood came to her face as she asked the question and she wished she could take it back. It seemed bold and reckless. And he would make her pay for it.
Lan set down his soup, long fingers carefully cupping the bowl. The lead clasps in his hair clicked together as he moved. "It is the first day of the full moon that is most sacred. We cannot count ourselves Sull unless we feel its light upon our faces thirteen days a year." His voice was stiff but she recognized he had made an effort.
She wanted to know more, but had no way of gauging how long his new patience would last so she said nothing further. When she leaned toward the fire and poured herself more soup it seemed to please him. Absurdly she felt glad.
Later, as she rose to tend the gelding, he stood also. "I will feed and water your horse," he said. "It is owed."
From this morning? How could such a small thing incur debt? Baffled, she bowed her head, and watched as he crossed to the area where the horses where pulling seaweedlike sedge from beneath the snow. After a few moments her gaze jumped to the tent.
She breathed deeply and went for a pee. Squatting in the shadows behind the tent, she hiked up her cloak and dress and relieved herself. When she was done she took a handful of snow and rubbed it between her legs.
When she emerged into the light of the campfire her face and neck were icy and dripping; she had washed them for good measure as well. Glancing at the Far Rider she saw that he was intent on picking out twigs from the hoofs of his stallion. He did not look up as she slipped inside the tent.
It was cool in here, and smelled of wolf. Light from the moon pierced pin-size holes in the skins. Quickly Ash stripped off her clothes and made a bed for herself out of blankets and furs. Snuggling down she curled into a ball. And told herself she wasn't waiting.
She felt peculiarly excited by her makeshift preparations. Their practicality seemed audacious. In her mind she had borrowed some forwardness from Katia. It seemed necessary.
Time passed and the pinholes of light changed angles. Noises occasionally sounded from outside; horses blowing air, the hiss of snow on the fire, the mournful call of the great white owl. Ash listened intently at first, her body shivering with restlessness and cold, but when every new sound failed to produce Lan Fallstar she gave up. It didn't seem possible but eventually she slept.
Her dreams were of the grayncss that touched everything yet no one but she could see. The creatures that bided there uncurled their rotting limbs and claws as she passed. Some hissed. They watched her with narrow and glinting eyes, glad that she had not come in the flesh. Beyond them, a dark and immense presence was moving just beyond her perception. She felt its great age and momentum, and perceived the utter coldness of its purpose. Mistressss, it called through shadows that swarmed it like wasps, Do not wake.
Ash awoke. She was not alone. Lan Fallstar lay beside her. his body still, his breathing metered. The moon had set but it was not wholly dark; starlight blued the tent.
What am I? Ash wondered. She had been told she was a Reach by Heritas Cant and Ark Veinsplitter, but she did not know what that meant. She was shaking, she realized, her chest and stomach vibrating intensely. Do not wake. The words had been a warning. Did that mean the creatures in the Blind were afraid of her? Why? Ark had hinted that she could track the shadow beasts, perceive them over distance. Was that reason enough?
Teeth chattering, she rolled over, twisting the blankets and lynx fur around her body. She felt icy cold. The nightmare had sucked asvay her warmth. Do not wake.
She reached for Lan Fallstar in the dim blue light of the tent. She hardly knew what she was doing but she craved his warmth and was desperate to feel his live body pressing against hers. He gasped as she touched him, and she felt him hesitate. He had not been asleep, she was sure of that. A moment passed where he might have moved away from her, where his hands were up and touching her hands and it would have been a small thing for him to push back. He did not push back, instead he sighed sharply, parting his hands and sliding them down to her waist. A quick, almost violent flexing of muscle brought her next to him. Ash smelled him, the altenness of his skin and sweat. As he thrust through blankets and furs to grab her buttocks she kissed him. Her mouth was wet and full of saliva and it coated his lip before he opened them to kiss he back. Their teeth knocked together with an odd dissonance, and it slowed her for a moment. Lan's hand was moving between her thighs now and she could not understand why it was taking so long to reach where it needed to be. Her sex was hot and wet. It ached, literally ached, to be touched.