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And yet Enzo could answer his sister with nothing less than honesty. So he replied with reluctance, “Yes.”
A reluctance which she, of course, noted. With a smile alongside her raised brows, but noted nonetheless.
Enzo cleared his throat. “He was injured.” Partly true; chirurgy was a form of controlled wounding. He didn’t want to sayillness, for that implied contagion, which, while not at all possible in Fiore’s particular case, would require a great deal more explanation than Enzo wished to give her at present and would give her a great deal more worry than the situation warranted. “His wounds required tending, and as his friend I could do no less than keep him company in his convalescence.”
Giovanna’s smile lost its mischief. Her brows had knit in concern at the mention of injury, though her overall expression remained fond. In gentler tones than she had yet used, she enquired, “Him, you say?”
Even in his circumlocution Enzo had revealed far more than he’d intended. And again, he could do no less than respond with, “Yes.”
He consoled himself with the reminder that she’d known of his romantic preferences long before now. He only hoped she’d forgotten how they played into his departure from university.
Giovanna gave a thoughtful nod. “And wounded, as well. How unfortunate. On the mend, I hope?”
From another quarter these words would’ve been mere politeness. Enzo knew Giovanna well enough to tell her courtesies from her sincere sympathies. And her comments now, to his heart’s great relief, were the latter. Even if Fiore remained an anonymous stranger to her, it eased Enzo’s burdens to know she shared in his sufferings.
“On the mend,” Enzo echoed in affirmation.
Giovanna’s smile widened, dimpling her cheek. “Else you never would’ve agreed to return to the countryside, however briefly.”
Fabio’s ears flicked backward. Enzo forced his hands to unclench their grip on the reins. He likewise forced himself to confirm his sister’s suspicions with an honest nod.
Mercifully, she accepted this with a knowing glance and a gracious reply of, “We’ll speak more on this after the hunt.”
Enzo expressed his overwhelming gratitude with a brisk nod. He took the opportunity she’d granted him to urge Fabio into a trot which carried him onward and away. Vittorio kept pace with him like a shadow.
As he left his sister and the rest of the hunting party behind, the forest seemed to consume him. He hardly minded being so devoured. Enzo liked hunting well enough. The chance to prove his strength and cunning against the wild brutality of nature. And, on this particular venture, the opportunity to please the gods as well.
But it was the aesthetics of the hunt which drew his admiration as much as the act itself, if not moreso. The sylvan surroundings put all of Fiore’s capricci to shame. Verdant growth erupted from every corner, with trees bearing trunks broader than three men standing abreast and slathered with moss. Ferns and fallen leaves carpeted the ground amidst the ancient gnarled roots, turning the forest floor into a mosaic of brilliant-hued fractals. Boulders gilded with lichen jutted out from paths carved by wandering creatures following trails laid by their ancestors centuries ago. Brooks and streams crossed and joined together in splendid waterfalls leading ever on down towards the distant mighty river. All combined to create a lush tranquility which Enzo felt he could taste as the forest’s breath filled his own lungs. Whatever claims the city had upon serenity, the forest far exceeded. The only thing it lacked was a particular faun with horns of dark curls frolicking between the shadows and shafts of sunlight breaking through the canopy. If he could but have Fiore here beside him, Enzo couldn’t imagine himself more content.
Vittorio drew Enzo out of his mind’s wanderings with a sudden halt. The hound, who’d trotted alongside the horse and rider all the while, now froze in place, nose upturned. Then he dropt low, snuffling through the underbrush with renewed purpose. Enzo brought Fabio to a halt as well and waited for Vittorio to either find what he sought or lose interest. Fabio flicked his ears.
Then Vittorio bolted upright.
And bounded off into the forest.
A mere nudge of Enzo’s knees sufficed to send Fabio galloping after him.
Whatever scent Vittorio had caught drew him deep into the wood. Fabio leapt nimbly over rocks and streams and fallen trees whilst Enzo ducked beneath branches. Even so, Vittorio proved nimbler still.
All too soon Enzo lost sight of him altogether.
Another few hoof-beats passed. Vittorio failed to reappear. Enzo cursed beneath his breath and called out for his hound aloud.
No answering bark resounded through the wood. Nor did a familiar black shadow bound out of the underbrush to greet him.
Enzo drew Fabio up to a halt. Without the hound in sight, every horse-stride likely took them further away from him rather than catching him up. He called again. His voice echoed away into the eternal silence of the forest.
No sign of Vittorio emerged.
Enzo tried to ignore his growing unease. There was no call to worry. The master of hounds knew well how to retrieve a lost cur; go to where they were last witnessed and leave an old shirt so they have a familiar place and familiar scent to return to. And this course of action would only prove necessary if Vittorio failed to return on his own by morning.
Still, Enzo didn’t like having his faithful hound out of sight.
And Vittorio, loyal as he was, ought to have responded to his master’s call by now.
Unless, as the fearful voice in the back of Enzo’s mind insisted, something had happened to him.
As if in answer to Enzo’s fears, a noise arose at last from the depths of the wood. Vittorio was not a baying sort of hound. But Enzo had heard him whimper now and again, usually when he wasn’t permitted to accompany Enzo somewhere. He heard the whimper again now, raised amidst yelps, barks, and growls.
