Several days ago, this thought would have been enough to send her back to her own z'kal without a bite to eat. It was a measure of how wretched she had become that she straightened, stepped forward, and, heedless of the stares, tapped on the flap that covered the entrance to the shelter.
For a moment her knock was greeted only by silence, and Cresenne wondered if L'Norr was elsewhere.
Then she heard a voice call out quietly, "Enter."
She hesitated before pushing the flap aside and stepping into the z'kal. It was dark within, and like all the z'kals she had been in, it smelled like sweat and smoke and food. Her stomach rumbled loudly.
L'Norr sat on the far side of a small fire, stirring a pot of stew. He glanced up at her, but then quickly looked away.
"Sit," he said, waving vaguely at the ground in front of her. "I wasn't certain whether your child eats this food yet, but I made extra, in case he does."
"She's a girl," Cresenne said, still standing.
He looked up at that, meeting her gaze. "Forgive me. She."
He turned his attention back to the stew, stirring it again and crumbling into it some dried leaves that looked much like the rildagreen F'Solya had used. L'Norr looked much like the other Fal'Borna men Cresenne had encountered. Broad in the shoulders and chest, with long white hair that he wore loose to his shoulders and bright yellow eyes that glittered like gold coins in the firelight. His face was rounder than that of the a'laq or F'Solya's husband, which made him look barely old enough to be living away from his parents.
The man glanced up at her again. "Please, sit," he said. "You have nothing to fear from me."
"You know that I'm Grinsa's wife," she said, not moving. "I don't consider myself his concubine, and I'm not looking to be anyone else's. Not even for food."
A slight smile touched his lips. "I have a concubine."
Cresenne felt her face reddening. "Oh."
"The a'laq told me you needed food." He shrugged. "I have more than I can eat. So sit down, and have something."
Still uncomfortable, she lowered herself to the ground on the opposite side of the fire. Bryntelle was looking around the z'kal, chattering nonsense, her pale eyes wide. Eventually, her gaze came to rest on a small pile of items that sat along the edge of the shelter: a small hide-covered drum, a shield and spear, what looked to be a ceremonial mask. The child let out a small squeal and then tried to wrench herself out of Cresenne's grasp so that she could go investigate. Not that she could crawl or walk yet, but she seemed determined nevertheless, and she began to fuss again when Cresenne didn't put her down.
"Is she all right?" L'Norr asked, a slight frown on his face.
"Yes. She's just curious."
"About what?"
Cresenne laughed in spite of herself. "About everything."
He nodded, but said nothing more, stirring the pot again. Cresenne felt that she ought to say something, but nothing came to her and as their silence lengthened she grew increasingly uncomfortable. Before she could break the lull in their conversation, however, there was a quick tap on the flap covering the entrance to the z'kal. L'Norr glanced up, looking alarmed, but before he could say anything, the flap was pushed aside and a young woman stepped into the shelter.
"T'Lisha!" the 'Weaver said.
She didn't answer him. Instead, she stared down at Cresenne a hard expression on her pretty oval face.
"So, it's true," she said after some time. Her gaze flicked toward L'Norr briefly, then quickly back to Cresenne, as if she expected her to attack at any moment. "They said that she was here, but I didn't believe them."
Coltish. That was the one word that came to Cresenne's mind as she looked at the girl. She was tall for a Fal'Borna-nearly as tall as Cresenne herself. And unlike F'Solya and so many of the other women of the sept, she was lanky, her body showing only the first faint signs of maturing to womanhood. Her skin was smooth and colored golden brown like that of the other Fal'Borna, and her eyes were so pale they almost looked white. She was exceedingly pretty, but Cresenne couldn't help thinking that she was far too young to be any man's concubine.
She didn't give voice to this, of course. Rather she extended a hand in greeting. She would have preferred to stand, if for no other reason than to put herself on equal footing with the girl. But she still held Bryntelle in her lap, and without being certain how T'Lisha was going to respond to the situation, she didn't want her child anywhere but in her arms.
"My name's Cresenne," she said, making herself smile.
"I know who you are," the girl shot back.
Cresenne kept the smile fixed on her lips. "Good! Then you understand that I'm already married and that you have nothing to fear from me."
The girl narrowed her eyes, but didn't respond immediately.
Cresenne pressed on. "With Grinsa gone, my daughter and I have no food, and at the a'laq's suggestion we've come to L'Norr for our evening meal. He's generously offered to share his stew with us. Will you be joining us as well?"
The girl eyed her for another moment, still looking confused.
"He's mine," she finally said, her expression hardening once more. "You claim the Forelander as your husband, but you're no Weaver."
"No," Cresenne said, still wishing she could stand, "I'm not. But where we come from that doesn't matter."
"Well, it does here. And with Q'Daer gone, and your man with him, L'Norr is the only Weaver left who doesn't have a wife."
"That's enough, T'Lisha," the young man said quietly.
"You think I'm too young to understand why you're really here?"
"I said that's enough." He had raised his voice this time, drawing the girl's gaze.
He stood, stepped around the fire, and took her by the arm, though not roughly. "Come with me," he said, his voice low again.
She glared back at Cresenne, but she allowed L'Norr to lead her out of the z'kal.
They started arguing almost at once, and though Cresenne could hear their voices clearly, she made a point of not listening, choosing instead to sing to Bryntelle.
Eventually the flap opened again, and L'Norr reentered the shelter. He faltered for an instant, glancing down at Cresenne, but then returned to his place on the far side of the fire and sat. He stirred the stew once again, before reaching for bowls.
"She won't have any?" he asked, indicating Bryntelle with a curt nod. "No, thank you."
He spooned some stew into a bowl and handed it to Cresenne along with a second, smaller spoon. He served himself and immediately began to eat, seemingly doing his best to ignore both Cresenne and Bryntelle. After a moment, Cresenne began to eat, too. The stew wasn't nearly as flavorful as F'Solya's had been, but it was warm and Cresenne was ravenous.
"It's very good," she said between mouthfuls. "Thank you for sharing it with us."
L'Norr grunted something that might have been a "thank you" or a "you're welcome"; it was hard to say for certain. Before long, Cresenne had emptied her bowl, and despite the awkwardness of the situation, she held it up for him to see.
"May I?" she asked.
He nodded, barely bothering to look at her.
She refilled her bowl and sat back again, eating this second helping almost as quickly as she had eaten the first.
"I'm sorry if our being here has created problems for you," she finally said. Her bowl was empty again, but she decided to wait before asking for more.
L'Norr shrugged.
"You could have invited her to join us."
"This is my z'kal," he said, casting a quick, dark look her way. "I don't need you telling me what I can and can't do."
"No, of course you don't," she said. "That's not-"
"You're here because the a'laq has commanded me to share my meals with you. You have no claim on me or on my shelter or even on my food. Were I to decide to give you nothing more than rancid meat and stale bread, I would still be living up to the a'laq's expectations. I share this food out of kindness. So I'll thank you to leave me alone while I'm eating and to say nothing about matters that don't concern you."