“There is a lapwing south of here,” he said. “Alone, without a flock, roosting in a maple tree.”
“The wood told you that?” asked Pryderi.
Gwydion smiled. “They can feel things, too. Tiny talons, feathers, and they can certainly hear birdsong.”
“Could you not have been using your magic for the entire Hunt?” said Pryderi. “It would have made things easier.”
“For you, perhaps.” Gwydion rubbed at his forehead. “You will not bear the cost.”
“What about your deer?” asked Branwen. Her gaze followed the trail.
“We’ll find the deer next,” said Gwydion. “I’ll go after the bird. Yes,” he said, seeing Branwen’s mouth opening, “I will. Because you’re hurt and Pryderi hates heights. I can move more quietly on my own. Birds startle easily.”
Pryderi blinked. “True,” he admitted.
“You should be resting,” said Gwydion. He passed Branwen a water flask. “Drink. Eat something. Pryderi, you stay with her. I’ll return in an hour, even if I cannot find the bird. Then we can reconsider our plan.”
“I don’t need a minder,” said Branwen. “And who’s going to protect you?”
“I’ll take the cat,” replied Gwydion. “He’s far more terrifying.”
Palug looked rather proud of himself.
Branwen snorted. “Are you always this tyrannical in the mornings?”
“Only when someone’s snoring keeps me up half the night,” said Gwydion, and leaned down to kiss her cheek. It happened so quickly she did not have time to be surprised.
Pryderi cleared his throat.
“Not a word from you,” she said.
“I was not going to say anything,” Pryderi replied. He was fighting back a grin and losing badly. “Except to say I am a little disappointed that I did not get a kiss, as well.”
“Perhaps later,” said Gwydion. He leaned down so that Palug could leap atop his shoulder, then sauntered into the woods. Branwen watched him go, her cheeks burning.
Pryderi laughed.
“Laugh all you like, but you’re the only one who snores,” she said.
“I’ll try to breathe more quietly if we have to spend another night in a tree.” Pryderi’s gaze turned wistfully toward camp.
Branwen took hold of her bow. “You do realize neither of us is waiting here, right?”
Pryderi gave her a little half shrug. “I assumed as much.” He hefted his spear across one shoulder. “Shall we go hunting?”
It was a lovely winter day. The air was crisp and sharp against Branwen’s tongue, and the forest had an austere beauty. Soon, the winter rains would lash the mountains. She followed the deer trail alongside a small stream and through a thick clot of undergrowth. Crouching, Branwen half crawled and half shuffled into the bushes.
That familiar herd of roe deer grazed quietly among the trees. And upon one of the buck’s antlers gleamed something metal.
There it was—Gwydion’s ring.
Branwen’s heart lurched in relief. Deer tended to remain in the same grazing lands, but she had feared this herd would flee or be captured. The last thing she wanted was for some hunter to capture Gwydion’s fealty.
“Do we take the ring?” whispered Pryderi. He had crouched down beside her.
Branwen shook her head. “No,” she whispered. “Remember how the Hunt works? If we take that ring, then we own Gwydion’s fealty. He won’t be able to hunt properly again. We need to bring the deer to Gwydion so he can take his own ring back. The way Cigfa was trying to do with hers.”
Pryderi nodded. “Capture? Or…?”
