“You’re looking better this morn,” Loudin said, as he stood, and began unlacing his britches.
The old hunter pulled out his manhood, and started pissing out the campfire. Mikahl took the action as a sign that he needed to get moving. He had no desire to watch the hunter relieve himself, so he put his back to the man, wolfed down his breakfast, and rolled up his blankets. A few minutes later, they were underway. Both had their left legs hung next to their saddles, out and over the roll of lizard’s hide.
It was a beautiful day. Birds fluttered about from tree to tree, and insects buzzed around, intent on their business. The occasional squirrel or rabbit darted away from the sounds of their passage. The forest’s shade was pierced here and there with uniformly angled shafts of sunlight. Flecks of dust and pollen glided through them sparkling golden in the air. Just before they stopped for an afternoon meal, a brown and yellow striped limb lion growled down at them from above. Loudin yelled at it sharply, and it went bounding away from tree branch to tree branch, like some gigantic squirrel. A slow shower of green leaves floated down to the forest floor behind it. Mikahl was amazed. The cat had been about twice the size of any of the mousers he’d seen roaming the castle back home, but its growl had been as deep and intimidating as that of one of the wild lions that roamed the Westland Plains. Loudin cursed the fact that he hadn’t had his bow ready. Apparently, the tree cats tasted extremely good, for the hunter talked about the missed opportunity throughout their whole stop.
They ate the last of Mikahl’s bread and some more of his cheese. Loudin shared some salted dried beef he had stashed, made a joke about how much cheese Mikahl had eaten, and how it had already plugged his bowels completely. Determined to have fresh meat for supper, Loudin strung his bow and indicated that Mikahl should do the same. After that, they mounted up and got back under way.
Mikahl got a glimpse of what they had eaten for breakfast when Loudin’s arrow narrowly missed a fox-like creature that had bright red fur splotched with gray. Mikahl had to laugh as it bounded away through the forest to Loudin’s curses.
“What’s so funny, boy?” the old man asked.
“It’s a wonder that you could hit wood in all this forest, as bad as you aim.”
“So, you was the jester back in that castle you came from,” Loudin snorted at his own wit. “No wonder they sent you away. You’re far from funny.”
Being called a fool, sent a rush of prideful anger through Mikahl, and he blurted his words without thinking.
“I’m the squire to the King himself,” he boasted. “And I could best you with the bow any time you –” He let his voice trail off as he realized what his stupid slip of the tongue had just cost him.
“Aye! The Kings own squire!” Loudin laughed. “And I suppose that bundle you’re so protective of is old Ironspike herself.”
Mikahl’s heart stopped in his chest. How could he know? Had he gone through Windfoot’s pack while he was asleep? Had he –?
“Maybe on a practice field, loosing at targets, you could best me boy,” Loudin continued. “But when what you’re trying to kill is looking to make you its next meal, then by the Gods, lad, it would be dining on the King’s own squire.”
It took a moment for Mikahl to understand that Loudin had been mocking him. He wanted to defend himself, but he thought better of it. The comment about him carrying Ironspike, he realized now, had only been spoken in jest. Loudin knew nothing about his burden. It was a welcome relief, but Mikahl wished that he hadn’t come off like some spoiled castle born brat in the verbal exchange.
“It is true that I am out of place,” Mikahl said, after a time.
He felt the strong urge to try and gain back any respect he might’ve lost with his childish boasting. “I just want –”
“You’ve got the balls of a man and the brains of a boy!” Loudin laughed. “It’s a common enough ailment for young men. Be we castle raised, or ship born, we all go through it, lad.”
They rode on in silence for a long while. Once, Loudin stopped his horse, and raised his hand, with a hiss of warning. They sat there, as still as stone, and Mikahl tried desperately to hear what it was that had the hunter cupping his hands to his ear.
The pace quickened after that. Mikahl wanted to ask why, but the look of intense concern that formed on the hunter’s face since they stopped, kept him from it. He dared not make an unnecessary sound. It was growing dark around them when Mikahl finally mustered the courage to speak.
“Are we going to stop soon?” he asked, as quietly as he could manage.