“Safe travels,” Korik echoed. He and Varen stood there for a moment, then Korik helped him gather up the extra bags of their new belongings, and they set out.
“What was all that about?” Varen asked when they had put some distance between them and the springs. “I didn’t understand much of what she was saying. She was the clan leader, right?”
“Yes,” Korik replied, unsure of how much to tell. “They’re going to camp here for the worst of the winter, so we got here at a good time. Then she was offering to trade for healing. She said she could, er, tell I had some magic.”
“It seemed like she was asking you a lot of questions,” Varen remarked. Korik hesitated. Was it just idle conversation, or was Varen trying to press him for more information?
“The younger boy who brought us the snowshoes,” he finally said, partly deflecting. “She said he had the gift. Magic to become a druid. But they don’t have anyone left in the clan to teach him. So she was asking me if I would stay and teach him.”
He heard Varen sigh beside him, but couldn’t bring himself to look at the elf. “Poor boy. Must be difficult knowing you have the talent, but no teacher to help shape it.”
Korik nodded, trying to ignore the stab of guilt at his words. “Yes. I was sorry I couldn’t do more. He was frustrated, too.”
“Hopefully he can find someone,” Varen said. Korik didn’t respond.
Their new snowshoes worked much better than the handmade pairs Korik had cobbled together, so they made faster progress than expected. When the sun began to set, they found a good place to camp under the shelter of a cluster of trees. With the supplies they had received in the trade, they had an actual hot, hearty meal: a savory porridge with the pork and grain, plus a handful of greens that Korik had gathered.
Korik’s belly was full when they laid down to sleep, an experience he’d sorely missed. The sky was clear, letting the stars and moon fill his vision as he lay on his back. The air was cold and crisp in his nose; but their campfire was warm, and Varen beside him was warm, too. This time, when the elf shuffled closer to him for warmth, Korik let himself turn toward him. One arm draped over Varen’s smaller body, and he didn’t pull away.
His thoughts continually went back to Rhagir, Dekir, and the mountain clan. He had been so quick to turn them down; but maybe they could come to some arrangement, where he spent time with them when he wasn’t in Drol Kuggradh. He wanted to travel more now, and doing so in the safety of a clan was always preferable. It would be something to think about, but later.
Korik tried to push it from his mind and focus on the sensation of the elf beside him, rather than thoughts of the future. They were comfortable and safe. It was the most he could hope for, so he would enjoy it for now.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Korik
Ittookthreedaysfor their supplies to run low again. While they weren’t depleted entirely, it was enough for worry to take hold in Korik’s thoughts. They still had a day’s worth of the salt pork, and two days of the grain, and that was all. Even if they halved their already-scant portions, it wouldn’t be enough to get them to the outpost. Foraging in the snow was a gamble, and hunting had been too scarce to be relied upon. They were still five or six days from the outpost by Korik’s estimations, but the hungrier they were, the slower their progress would be.
Korik was sure Varen was having the same thoughts. He’d picked up on the elf’s pensive expression during their morning meal, as he eyed the meager amount of food left. He’d seen the way his eyes were constantly darting around as they walked through the snow, searching for any sign of game to no avail.
It was a strange feeling, knowing things were not quite direyet,but would be soon if nothing changed. He didn’t think it would get to where they might starve—unless they got lost or snowed in again—but it would make for a very difficult conclusion to their journey. He would, of course, much prefer to avoid things coming to that, so he scanned every tree and bush that they walked past for signs of anything edible. Plant life was sparser here; and while he found some trees with edible bark, it would really only stave off the worst of the hunger pains, not fill their bellies. Varen’s bow was now constantly in his hand, ready to hunt at the first sign of game, but it remained unused. They were moving too slowly and noisily in the snow for decent hunting; and now that they were off the mountain, they saw hardly any wildlife at all.
With fewer trees and less variance in the landscape, at times it felt as though they had made no progress at all, simply wandering aimlessly in an endless expanse of white snow. Korik knew this was not the case; he knew they were going in the right direction from the position of the sun, their footsteps in the snow behind them, and his scouting ahead morning and night. But it was hard to shake the feeling when the view seemed the same in every direction for so many hours of the day.
Finally, though, more trees were appearing around them—not quite forested, but not nearly so sparse as it had been. Varen even managed to snag a squirrel, which had been perching on a tree and reaching into its stash of acorns. It felt like cause for celebration. Things had changed so quickly, Korik thought as he placed all the acorns in his bag, and now he was thankful for a single squirrel and some tree nuts to give them one more meal, no matter how small.
“Korik,” Varen said softly, pulling him from his thoughts. “Do you see something in that tree up ahead?”
For a moment, Korik was eager, thinking Varen had found something else to hunt. His tone, however, was even and cautious, quickly tempering his gaze. He followed the direction Varen was looking—his bow was out, but not yet drawn. The trees here, though spaced out into small clusters with swaths of empty space in between, were thick and tall with their limbs criss-crossing near the top of the canopy. Leaf cover was all but gone, so he doubted anything could hide—
Then his eyes found what Varen was seeing in a tree about fifty feet away, lower down where its branches were thicker: a huddled shape pressed against the trunk with fur the same mottled grayish-brown coloration as the bark of the tree. It was perfectly still, and Korik surely would not have noticed unless Varen had pointed it out to him first.
“I see it,” Korik said softly.
“Please tell me that isn’t a razorfang cat,” Varen replied, barely above a whisper. Korik winced. He had never seen a razorfang in the flesh before, but had heard stories about others encountering them. He could count on one hand the hunters that he’d met with their pelts as hats or vests; and their long fangs wrapped in twine to make a necklace, fashioned into spear tips, or made into prized arrowheads. So he could not say for sure, but what else would it be? No other large cats dwelled this far north, at least none he was aware of. Even at this distance, he could make out the telltale shape of its fangs protruding from its mouth and past its chin, like the inverse of the tusks that pushed past his upper lip.
“I think that’s exactly what it is,” Korik replied, also keeping his voice low, even though the creature had clearly already seen them. “Unfortunately.”
“We need to back up slowly,” Varen murmured. He remained motionless beside Korik. “We’ll head a little south to get out of its territory, then continue on our way. Hopefully, this will be the only one we see.”
“I’ll follow your lead,” Korik said, nodding. He’d kept his eyes locked on the creature through their conversation; he didn’t look away as he felt Varen step further from him, his snowshoes crunching softly in the snow. They both took a few steps backward, still facing the cat that watched them motionlessly from the tree.
The cat’s body tensed as they moved, and with a terrible cry, it leapt from the tree down into the snow. Its spine curled, and its long fur was standing on end, making it appear larger—the sight had always been comical with Roz, but was much more intimidating on this creature that was many times her size and far more dangerous besides.
“Shit,” Varen hissed, stumbling back. “Don’t run. Just keep backing up—”
The razorfang lunged at them, hissing and spitting as its huge claws slashed through the air. Korik and Varen stumbled backward, still retreating. The cat paused, glaring at them, then lunged once more.
