The sound of footsteps caught his attention. He froze, peering out into the woods, and saw Varen coming back to camp with three rabbit carcasses hanging from his belt. Korik’s tension eased into relief, seeing that his hunt had been successful.
“You’ve been busy,” Varen remarked with a slight smile, gesturing toward the wooden panel propped against the cave opening.
“So have you,” Korik replied, and Varen laughed.
“I was lucky,” he agreed, pulling the rabbits off his belt. He pulled his bag off his shoulders as well, pulling it open to reveal two pheasants and a small cloth sack. Varen handed him the sack. “These are edible, right? The birds were eating them, so I figured it was fine.”
Korik opened the sack, which was half-full of berries. They looked rather like raspberries, or blackberries, with many tiny clusters forming one berry; but each cluster was a different color, ranging from different shades of pink, red, purple, and even a few that were faintly yellowish.
“Gem berries,” Korik remarked, popping one into his mouth. It was a little hard and more sour than sweet—they would have been better harvested in another week or two—but he couldn’t complain. “They’re edible. Not quite ripe, but still good. An uncommon find.”
“Guess I was luckier than I thought,” Varen chuckled. He’d sat down in front of the fire and was already setting to work preparing his kills: the pheasants went into the embers to burn the feathers off, while he pulled his knife to skin the rabbits. “Wish we had more time so I could tan these. Might help us keep a bit warmer. I’ll set the pelts above the fire to smoke cure, so they at least won’t stink up the cave, but I don’t know if we’ll have enough time for them to be any good.”
“I think we’ll be alright without,” Korik said, gesturing to the cave. “I put some extra rocks in there to help keep warm without needing a fire. It shouldn’t take too much magic, and we can alternate heating them up.”
Varen nodded. “Perfect. I won’t worry about them, then. Something to work on afterward.”
Korik watched him for a moment. Even in work as messy as skinning a kill, there was both an elegance and efficiency to the elf’s movements. He had seen it in other elves all the time, but it was a strange contrast to still see such beautiful precision in their dire circumstances.
He felt himself flush. What in all the hells was he thinking?Beautiful? He was losing it. All elves were pretty, sure, but Varen was no different. They had spent too much time together, he thought.
Korik shook himself. “I can handle cooking these if you want. If you think it might be worth it to try and hunt more.”
Varen paused. “Alright. I’ll see if I can find anything else. Better to have too much than not enough, hm?”
“Right.”
“Or do you just want to get rid of me already?” Varen asked as he stood and stretched. He was smirking as he said it, though, so Korik only rolled his eyes and shook his head. The elf laughed and slung his bag back over his shoulders. “Alright, I’ll be back soon. I don’t want to get caught out there.”
Korik took up his spot in front of the fire as Varen headed back out into the forest. The rabbit pelts had been removed and were sitting in a neat line beside the fire; Korik scraped them clean while monitoring the carcasses roasting over the fire, turning them occasionally.
Sitting by the fire, he didn’t notice exactly when it happened—everything had been cleaned, cooked, and wrapped in cloth to store, and Varen had been gone for about an hour—but Korik noticed that the air felt decidedly colder against his skin. His heart sank. The storm would be hitting soon. He looked around, realizing the wind had picked up, too, as the surrounding trees shuddered with movement.
Korik stood and paced around the camp, looking through the trees for any sign of Varen. There was none; they still had time, of course, but the sooner the elf returned the better. He put the food into the cave, so it would be easily accessible, then made sure all their blankets and clothes were unpacked and dry. All that was left was for Varen to arrive: they would clean and cook whatever he’d brought, and by then it would be time to hunker down and wait for the storm to pass.
A faint sizzling sound came briefly from the campfire; a little flake of snow had landed upon it and melted away instantly. Korik grimaced, looking up. They were few and far between, but he saw more flurries descending from the thick, darkening clouds above. They were running out of time.
Korik paced around nervously again. Should he try to look for Varen, or call out for him? He could try using his magic to seek out the elf—to call him back if he wasn’t already on his way. But he didn’t even know which direction Varen had gone. He cursed himself for not paying closer attention when he left, but he knew that if Varen was trying not to be seen or heard, it would be all but impossible to find him.
He kept the fire going. He would wait outside for Varen until he returned. Despite the beginning snowfall, they probably had an hour or more before it began to truly storm.
But what would he do if Varendidn’treturn? Anxiety clawed at his chest. Had he sent the elf to his demise? Had it been worth the risk for maybe one more meal? Korik didn’t think he could survive on his own for long out here. He might make it through the storm, but after that... If Varen did not return, the guilt alone might be enough to do him in.
Korik considered what would happen if he died. Roz would just vanish—as his familiar, ultimately she was just a piece of his magic separated from himself and given form. With her gone, would the orcs of Drol Kuggradh know what had happened to him? Would anyone notice? Or would they think the cat had simply wandered off, and they would be left wondering if their healer would ever return, until he was eventually forgotten?
Maybe he would be lucky and run into a mountain clan somewhere nearby, though it seemed the chances of that were slim. If he were on his own, it would be his best bet for survival.
Snow was drifting down more frequently now. Korik paced nervously around the fire, peering through the trees for any sign of Varen and looking up at the sky in equal turns, but with increasing frustration. He never should have prompted Varen to go back out. He should have checked to see how close the storm was first. Varen should have argued with him, like he always did, instead of just agreeing. Why hadn’t he pushed back? He always pushed back.
A crunching sound in the distance snapped him to attention. A quiet, rhythmic sound that had to be footsteps—Korik stepped into the trees, eyes searching frantically. Varen was coming up a nearby slope, two quail on his belt. Soft flakes of snow were stuck to his dark hair, stark white in contrast; and even from afar, Korik could see his cheeks were red with the cold.
His heart squeezed with relief to see the elf. Without thinking, he stepped out into the trees to get closer to him. A grin split Varen’s face, and he waved.
“Made it just in time, eh?” the elf laughed, completely oblivious to the anxiety that had taken over Korik. “Not much luck, though. Everything’s hiding away from the snow now.”
“Let’s get those on the fire,” Korik said, his voice coming out shakily. Varen gave him an odd look for a moment, but said nothing as they headed back toward the camp. “We should get inside sooner rather than later.”
“We’ve got some time, I think,” Varen said, looking toward the sky. “But I suppose you’re right.”
