“We won’t loose her,” Vren replied. “If necessary, we’ll back track and I will cry like a babe again. For now, we need to see to us.”
The vore sneezed and pulled away, pointing her nose towards the woods off to the west.
“Lead on,” he said, and followed.
His shoulders were tight with exhaustion, but he fought it back. They needed shelter, secure from prying eyes. The icy rain was just a drizzle now, the leaves under his feet sodden and wet, ice forming on the branches. Vren walked soft, leaving little trace, as he had been trained.
Dust led him to a deer path, then trotted along it, her head moving from side to side. Vren knew she was scenting for threats, human or otherwise. He trusted her judgment; her senses were far more dependable than his.
As he’d been taught, he kept his mind clear, not thinking of what had happened or would happen, focusing on the “now,” eyes open and aware. Each step came after another and another.
Dust stopped and Vren raised his hood to see a small mud and waddle hut, deep in the woods. He stood, listening. “Abandoned?”
As Vren ducked his head and entered, Dust shook water out of her fur, then followed.
It was clear that the hut had not been used in some time. There was a dirt floor with a fire pit in the center and a smoke hole above. It was small—Vren couldn’t straighten up. But it seemed sturdy, with no sign of leaking. Everything else that might have indicated human inhabitants was gone, stripped bare.
Vren frowned. As safe as it seemed, the hut was not a good idea. “Risky,” he said. “I was thinking a cave, or maybe a nice hollow tree, if—”
Dust grumbled and leaned against his hip.
Vren considered. He wasn’t the only one tired and hungry. One night seemed safe enough, if he set wards and took precautions. He nodded, then put down his pack to take off his cloak. “We’ll risk it.” He shifted to hang his cloak over the door.
Dust slipped back outside before he secured the fabric.
He knelt by the empty fire pit, facing the circle, took a breath, and centered himself.
“The death of earth is the birth of water, the death of water, the birth of air, the death of air is the birth of fire, the death of fire, the birth of earth. Elements, aid me in the circle of birth and death and birth again until the skies darken and the stars no longer shine.”
It was harder here than in the Wastes; the elements here were not used to being roused. The earth responded slowly, in ever wider circles around him, expanding out around the hut and through the forest. Vren closed his eyes, feeling the air and water around the hut grow heavy with mist and fog.
“Ward us,” Vren asked, chanting the ancient words. “Warn us. Whisper of those that tread within.”
The earth rumbled reassurance and sent him echoes of Dust’s movements. She was hunting. There was a small stream close by; its waters sought to comfort him. The elements offered strength to one who walked with them, and he drew it in, grateful that they shared their power. After another breath, Vren opened his eyes.
In the center of the fire pit danced a small flame, without tinder, kindling, or smoke.
“We thank the elements,” Vren whispered. He stretched, feeling his tension ease. Taking off his baby sling and wrapping the doll in it, he set it to one side. Still on his knees, he unfolded his bedroll. The air around hm warmed and the thatched roof rustled as the heat rose.
A soft whine from outside told him that Dust had returned and he eased out to find her with two fresh rabbit carcasses in her mouth. She dropped them at his feet, her tongue lolling.
“Yes, you can have my gizzards,” Vren said. “But I am cooking my meat.”
Dust led him to the stream, where he got to work gutting the rabbits, flicking the innards at Dust, who caught them neatly. The trees held back most of the rain and ice, but it was cold. Vren made short work of it, then washed his hands and knife and filled his water skin.
Back at the hut, he held the cloak aside just enough for them both to slip past, trying to keep any escaping light to a minimum. A wave of heat swept over his face.
Dust settled by the fire and blinked at him sleepily. Vren set her share of the rabbit in front of her and sat on his bedroll. He cut his meat from the bone and spitted the strips.
Yawning, he dug a small bowl from his pack and piled the bones, and what meat still clung to them, into it. He added water and set the bowl by the fire to stew. He’d have something warm for the morning.
Dust had finished her meal and was starting her grooming routine.
Vren’s shoulders eased further, as warmth surrounded him. He snatched at the sizzling meat strips as soon as they’d cooked, sucking the juices from his fingers. A few sips of water and he’d be ready for sleep.
Dust yawned. Her coarse black fur was drying and she rolled onto her side, belly toward the fire. With the wards in place, neither of them needed to keep watch, but Vren wasn’t sure he could relax enough to sleep. He stretched out on the blankets, stared into the dancing flame, and tried to organize his thoughts. Sleep claimed him between one breath and the next.
Hours later, an odd crackling pulled his eyes open and Vren sat up, blinking at the flame, which now pulsed with a faint blue light at its core. Dust lifted her head as well, then rose, shook herself, and came to sit beside him.
