“You can get food in the mess hall anytime, but there’ll be a bell when hot meals are available, three times a day,” the elf was explaining, addressing Varen more than him. “And if you need anything, Quartermaster Ventil is usually downstairs—”
“Understood, thank you,” Varen was saying hurriedly, and turned toward Korik, who was heading into his room. “Korik—”
Heat flooded Korik’s face as he slammed the door closed behind him before Varen could say more. The kit in his arms startled at the sound—Korik nearly forgot he’d been holding him the whole time. He jumped down and sniffed around the room, while Korik leaned against the door, as if Varen might try to push his way in. He wouldn’t—at least Korik hoped he wouldn’t—but he remained pressed up to the door, anyway.
There were muffled voices from the hall; but after a moment, they faded away, and he heard the door of the adjoining room close. Faintly, it almost sounded like a sigh came from the other side of the wall, but Korik was sure he imagined it.
Chapter Thirty-One
Korik
Korikwokeupwarmand disoriented the next morning. After growing so used to sleeping out in the open—beside a dwindling campfire, bundled up in every blanket and cloak they had between them—he found that waking indoors with just two blankets and his kitten had him nearly overheated.
Faint morning sunlight streamed through the small glass-paned window high on the wall, but the view was meager. Without being able to see the sun, Korik had no idea what time it was. Had he woken with the sunrise on instinct? Or had the relief of finally sleeping somewhere safe allowed him to give in to his exhaustion, making him sleep until noon? The little kit was asleep beside him and hadn’t fussed over being hungry yet, so he suspected it was still early. That was fine. He had nothing to do, and if the kit was anything like Roz, they would both very much enjoy napping the day away.
When he sat up, though, the kit sprang to wakefulness and was soon ambling around the room, inspecting everything as Korik dressed. He listened intently at the door, but hearing nothing in the hallway, Korik picked up the kit and hurried outside with his head down. He didn’t stop until he reached a patch of grass, where he set the kit down to relieve himself. He really needed to decide on a name for the kitten—for both of them, as Myrla had asked.
Korik looked up at the sky now that he was safely in the yard. The sun was low on the horizon, though not as low as he was used to seeing when he first awoke. Sunrise had been about two hours ago, meaning he missed the bell for the morning meal. Still, there might be some warm food to be had if he hurried.
When the kit had finished his business, Korik bundled him back into his tunic with just the kit’s fluffy head popping out from the collar, then headed to the mess hall. He got plenty of stares as he walked. Luckily, there were no strange looks, and none of the elves spoke to him—save for a young elf woman in the food line, who told him in a lamenting tone that they were out of honeybread for the morning. He made it just in time to still receive a warm meal: a savory porridge with mushrooms and herbs, a soft sweetroll, two links of sausage, and a mug of coffee with milk that let off a constant haze of steam in the cool air.
It was the best breakfast that he could remember having since he’d left Drol Kuggradh. A month or more on hardtack, dried meats, and cheese wedges made him appreciate the simple, hearty meal as if it were a feast. The coffee had a touch of honey and what tasted like cinnamon, a stark contrast from the bitter liquid that he and Varen had brewed—more out of necessity than enjoyment in the brief time that they still had coffee grounds and a pot.
He gave both sausages to the kitten, who ate them gleefully. By the time he was done with his meal, the hot food was put away; but an assortment of fruits, breads, and cheeses remained available between mealtimes. The bread and cheese, while varied, were too much like the rations they’d been living on. Instead, Korik took a few apples with him when he left.
Satiated with the meal, the kitten was dozing in his tunic again, as Korik headed back for the barracks. He spotted Myrla in the yard with both Rocky and the other kitten; and when she caught sight of him, she waved him over so emphatically that he couldn’t bring himself to refuse.
“Good morning, healer,” she said politely as he approached. Now, she sounded much more like the regal elves Korik had come to expect, and less like the excited enthusiast he had encountered the day before. “I was just thinking of finding you. I’m going to start the kit on his training right away. Would you like to join in on the lessons while you and Commander Petkas are still here?”
Korik had his own ability to communicate with his kit. On the other hand, Myrla had raised Rocky from a cub, and he was very well-behaved now, so her instruction surely wouldn’t hurt. And at least if he was busy with her, he had a better excuse to avoid Varen.
“Yes,” he agreed simply, pulling the dozing kitten from his tunic. She laughed at how the kit blinked sleepily and shook himself, before realizing his brother had rejoined them and leaping toward him in play.
“Decided on names?” she asked, as they watched the two kittens wrestle excitedly.
“I think so,” Korik said after a moment, considering. He had been thinking of names since the prior evening, considering the kit’s memories when Korik had connected their minds. He was too young still to really answer what he and his brother called themselves—the way he had asked Autumn, the mare, what felt like so long ago. Still, he had strong imagery of a hazy morning when thinking of himself, and dappled sun on snow when thinking of his brother. The images seemed to suit their personalities so far, too.
“K’lir, for mine,” he explained, still looking down at the kits. “It is the orcish word for haze or mist. And for his brother... I was thinking something that means sun on the snow, or a winter sun, but... I’m not sure if there is anything in elvish that approximates. And the words in orcish would be a mouthful.”
“Hmm,” Myrla considered, her hands on her hips. “I like that. It does seem fitting.Rala en aique, sun-on-snow... We could shorten it to Rala. Or Ralai.”
Ralai -sunny, Korik thought. It would work. Though, he considered with some amusement, it would leave her with two fearsome apex predators with very unassuming names: Rocky and Sunny.
“K’lir and Ralai,” he repeated. “It suits them.”
Myrla smiled. “I think so too.”
Korik spent the morning in the yard with Myrla, watching as she went through her regular training routine with Rocky. In the afternoon he went with her to the mess hall for the lunch meal—noticing Varen in the mess hall at the same time and pointedly ignoring the weight of the elf’s gaze on him—then retreated to the barracks to sneak in an afternoon nap as he’d hoped.
K’lir had done very well at the initial training, and no longer seemed worried about having been separated from his brother. He curled up right beside Korik on the mattress and promptly fell asleep.
In the evening, a knock came at Korik’s door—dread made his stomach drop, but a different elf’s voice came from the hallway.
“Healer Korik, are you there?”
K’lir leapt up to attention at the sound, then watched uncertainly as Korik rose and answered the door. An elf scout stood in the hall, bowing his head slightly as Korik acknowledged him.
“Commander Petkas asked me to inform you that myself and another ranger will accompany you both back to Drol Kuggradh the day after tomorrow,” the scout said. “We plan to leave around sunrise. If you have any questions, you can direct them to the Commander, myself, or the quartermaster on duty.”
