By the time our food had been eaten, the sky was dark and tiny pinpricks of light shone from above. I lay back and stared at the stars for a long time, while Jack amused himself by running his hands over the fire, allowing his skin to blister before it healed a second later.
‘Doesn’t that hurt?’ I asked after a few minutes.
‘A little’ he shrugged, prodding the wood with the end of a long stick. ‘What does it feel like when you touch fire?’
I considered this for a moment. No one had ever asked me this question before.
‘I suppose it feels … silky. Like air.’ I pursed my lips. ‘Actually … I don’t know what it feels like.’
Jack continued to prod the fire in silence.
‘What does it feel like when you heal?’ I asked.
Jack dropped the stick and stared into the flames. ‘It’s warm,’ he said. ‘Of course, first I feel the pain from the injury, but when I start to heal it goes away and I can feel warmth spreading from that spot. It is very calming. It’s a little bit like touching your skin.’
‘My skin?’
‘Since you are so warm,’ Jack explained. ‘Your skin runs at a much higher temperature than mine. It’s the same kind of warmth I get when I heal.’
‘Oh.’ A strange thought entered my mind; was Jack burning his hands to simulate the feeling of warmth when he held my hand? I pushed the thought aside and tried to hide the redness in my cheeks.
‘I’m exhausted,’ said Jack, finally breaking the silence. ‘I think we should turn in.’
I nodded and called Hawthorne to my side, where he snuggled beside me. I rested my head on his large form and was comforted by his sheer vastness. On the other side of the fire, Jack prepared for sleep. I had gallantly refused the blanket we had brought with us and allowed Jack to use it. After all, I did not require it. Having a blanket was more of a comfort, than a way to keep warm.
‘Goodnight,’ he said as he lay close to the fire.
‘Night,’ I replied, running my fingers across Hawthorne’s back, the feel of his soft fur beneath my fingers soothed me.
Jack began snoring only half an hour after we had said goodnight. I lay awake for hours, my brain ticking over furiously as I tried to ignore the thoughts that entered my mind, thoughts of my sister.
Chapter Three
Athol Hills
I woke before Jack. I woke even before the sun had completely risen. One of Hawthorne’s enormous wings had fallen across my body and the weight had caused me to stir. Once I was awake, falling back to sleep was hopeless. The noises of the forest were loud at this early hour. Crickets chirped, birds sang and Jack snored at a ridiculous volume. It was no use; I was wide-awake.
The fire from the previous night was now a smouldering pile of blackened wood. I kicked the charcoal with my shoes and scattered it across the ground. The sound seemed to wake Jack, for he stirred and sat up, his eyes red and puffy.
‘Good morning,’ I said with a small smile.
‘Morning,’ Jack mumbled, disentangling himself from the blanket and standing up. He walked into the nearby trees where I heard him peeing.
‘Can’t you go further into the trees?’ I asked when he returned.
Jack shrugged and I rolled my eyes.
‘What’s for breakfast?’ he asked, sitting on the grass next to me, which was slightly damp with morning dew.
‘Leftover pheasant,’ I said, handing it to him.
Hawthorne rolled around in the grass behind us, stretching his large body.
‘After we have eaten we will pack up our camp and walk for a few miles.’ I told Jack.
‘Do you think you would get there quicker without me?’ Jack asked.
I frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
He shrugged. ‘I feel as though I’m holding you back. If I wasn’t here you could fly to Concord City within a day or two.’
I considered this for a moment and tried to imagine myself travelling over one hundred miles without Jack. ‘You’re not sick of me, are you?’
Jack allowed himself a smile. ‘Immensely,’ he said. He nudged me playfully.
‘I’d rather you were with me,’ I said.
Jack accepted this and remained silent while we repacked our belongings.
~
We stopped for lunch in a town called Athol Hills. As usual, Hawthorne hid somewhere out of sight of the village and we took the path into town. At first, the town appeared to be quite pretty. It was built on a hillside, with many houses built right into the grassy slopes. It was this first impression that made me think that Athol Hills must have been a peaceful place to live, however when we ventured through the town I noticed a large amount of destruction on every street. Doors hung off their hinges, lawns smouldered and many freestanding buildings looked as though a struggle had taken place inside. As we walked, Jack and I watched the townspeople busy themselves as they tried to rebuild their destroyed homes. One man was up on his roof, repairing an enormous hole that seemed to have been blasted through the ceiling. His wife watched from the front lawn apprehensively.
‘What happened here?’ I said under my breath to Jack.
The wife of the man on the roof turned and spotted us passing.
‘Excuse me!’ she called, waving at Jack. ‘Can you help?’