“Yes, bring them along,” said the one who had been speaking; he looked to be a bit older, and the other seemed nervous, as if he were still in training. “Ranger Myrla would love to see them. She’s our Master of Hounds.”
Varen raised an eyebrow, taken aback; but the two were already leading them back to the gate, so he followed. When he glanced back, Korik was following with the same blank expression, not quite meeting his gaze. The two kits pursued him, the shy one nearly tripping at his feet with how close it hovered.
They had finally made it. He should have been overjoyed, giddy with relief that they had survived when he had been so afraid that they would not. But now he was just tired and sad. The prospect of things going back to the way they were before had lost all of its appeal, especially considering all the reports he would have to make after their ordeal. He hated paperwork.
Maybe it was time to start thinking about retirement. Maybe with enough free time, he could eventually win Korik over again.
Chapter Thirty
Korik
Korik’sheartfeltasif it had frozen over. The way Varen so easily slipped back into the cold, arrogant person who he’d been before had taken him completely off-guard, destroying the fragile hope of them being something more—or at least, talking about it earnestly. It had been so long since he had seen that callous part of the elf; he had thought maybe Varen had truly changed, but it seemed everything that had happened between them so far meant little to the other man.
As he followed Varen stiffly through the gates of the outpost, Korik considered how much of their relationship had been wholly in his head. Varen had been honest from the beginning that it was meaningless sex to him, and Korik had let his feelings cloud his judgment. But for a time, it really had felt as though Varen was a different person when they were alone together for so long.
He wasn’t even relieved at having made it to the outpost anymore—not that spending any more time alone in the wilderness with Varen seemed appealing, either. It was as if everything became muted and dim, not quite reaching the aching hole where his heart used to be.
We don’t ever have to see each other again. The casual way Varen had flung the statement at him echoed over and over in his mind. Before yesterday, the thought had made him despair. Now, he considered it was for the best. Seeing Varen again, back in Drol Kuggradh—after everything they’d gone through, just for the elf to drop him like a toy he’d finally grown bored of—no, he hadsomespine left. If Varen never wished to see him again, Korik wouldn’t wait around for him.
He had wanted to travel more anyway once all this was over. Avoiding Varen was just another reason to do so.
Korik had been curious about the empty village when he’d first spotted it in the distance; but now he barely cared enough to glance around as they trudged through it toward the tower of the outpost. Most of the buildings here were boarded up; even the tree-temple looked as though only the barest of maintenance was performed, not at all like the resplendent place of worship he’d glimpsed in Castle Aefraya.
A few paces ahead of him, Varen was speaking with the two soldiers who had met them at the gate, looking for all the world like the stuck-up elven commander Korik had met those months ago. But maybe that was who he had been all along. He should have known better than to think someone could change in such a short amount of time.
A nervous meow caught his attention, and he turned back to see the two kits. The boisterous one had stopped to sniff at a wooden crate pushed up against the wall of one of the abandoned buildings. The other was still following Korik closely, but kept looking at its sibling, plaintively calling for it to keep up. Korik sighed, a tiny smile curling around his tusks, despite all his despondent thoughts. He reached down to pick up the closer kit. He’d been thinking of it ashiskit for the past few days, in spite of his efforts not to get attached. The other, seeing Korik pick up its sibling, came scampering up to join them, jealous of the attention. So Korik scooped the other up, too, and carried them both as they entered the outpost.
The homes closer to the tower appeared to be inhabited, but past the gate into the tower courtyard, he finally saw more signs of life. Several elven soldiers were within: one at the gate, another standing post at the entrance to the tower on the opposite side of the courtyard, and several more going about their business in the yard. It felt as though every single one was staring right at him. Korik hunched his shoulders and looked down at the razorfang kits in his arms, trying to focus on anything but the painful weight of so many strangers looking at him.
Suddenly, the bold one squirmed, trying to escape—the shy one hissed, but not at its sibling. They were both looking at something in the distance—Korik followed the path of their wide eyes to find what had startled them.
Striding across the courtyard was an elven woman, dressed in practical leathers with her hair up in a tight, smooth bun. Behind her was a razorfang cat—a full-grown one, as big as the mother cat that had attacked them—with what looked like a leather collar around its neck. Korik froze, staring at it in shock. The cat was looking in their direction with interest.
Before he realized it, the squirming kit had leapt out of his arms and was darting toward the big cat. For a moment, Korik was terrified that they would fight, and the adult cat would easily kill the little kitten—but despite how its fur had puffed out fearsomely, the kit stopped when it reached the bigger cat. It sniffed at the bigger cat’s paw, which in turn sniffed the kit’s body; then it meowed loudly, before falling onto its back and pawing at the cat’s face in play. The other cat looked entirely relaxed, still sniffing the little kitten all over.
“Incredible,” the woman laughed, as Korik hesitantly approached. “When I heard you were bringing razorfang kits, I came running, but I didn’t expectthat. I’m glad he’s playful, though.”
“I’m... glad they’re getting along,” Korik said faintly, still reeling. “Are you the Master of Hounds?”
The woman smiled at him. “That’s me. I’m Myrla. Nice to meet you.”
“I’m Korik,” he replied, still looking at the bigger cat snuffling the smaller one. “Do you... Have any actual hounds?”
She laughed again. “Getting right to the point, eh? Not anymore. Ever since I took in my little Rocky here, I haven’t kept dogs. But he keeps me on my toes just the same.”
Korik eyed the razorfang cat. It was not little, but he supposed Rocky was a suitable enough name.
“That’s a relief to hear,” he finally said. “I wasn’t sure if I could bring these two in here. They were orphaned, and I thought they were too young to survive on their own.”
“Oh, that’s how I found my Rocky, too—a hungry orphan, all alone in the woods. Theyarejust babies, aren’t they?” The woman, Myrla, cooed down at the kitten as she spoke. Despite her severe appearance, her voice was soft and lilting as she addressed the creatures. “I bet you can’t even hunt yet, can you?”
The kit in his arms started to squirm, too, seeing the attention its sibling was getting from the older cat. Korik placed it down. It scampered over, sniffing the bigger cat curiously, as its sibling batted at it with its big paws. Korik managed a slight smile, watching them play.
“I’d be happy to take them both off your hands,” Myrla said, looking over at him. “Rocky’s in his twilight years, so now’s the perfect time for me to take in a kitten.”
Korik hesitated, looking down at the cats all playing together now. He’d grown attached to the kittens, but this seemed like a perfect place to leave them. If Myrla had raised a kitten to adulthood, maybe she was better suited to taking care of the kits than he was.
But he wanted to travel more. And an animal companion—one better suited to the wilderness than Roz—might be a boon in any future journeys.
