Waiting was tough. We divided up the work, marking the days by cutting wood, hunting, cooking, and turning our shelter into a decent nest. In trunks in the sleeping room, we found some fabrics we put to good use making proper rag pallets. I laid them before the fire, grateful for such small touches of home.
Tegan got stronger visibly. This work she handled better than walking all day. As for me, I missed patrolling. It was too cold for that to serve any purpose, though. Anything that might hurt us would get lost in the snow or freeze.
As the days rolled on, game got scarce and we ate canned goods some days. Spam turned out to be a hunk of slimy meat. That gave me pause, but once we sliced it, the stuff smelled and tasted fine. I concluded the goo must be to keep it fresh.
Fade fell deeper into himself, more like he’d been in the enclave before I got to know him. He had stopped reading the book to us, and I didn’t have the heart to ask for the ending when he clearly had lost interest. I picked it up sometimes and touched the pages gently, marveling at its age.
To pass the time, I borrowed Tegan’s letter book—the one her mom had used—and started teaching Stalker to read. He had a good head for learning. In just a few days, he memorized the alphabet, then the words followed swiftly. Sometimes I fell asleep listening to him murmur, “A is for Apple…”
Often I felt Fade’s eyes on me as I sat with Stalker, but I didn’t look up. If he didn’t have the courage to say what was on his mind, I couldn’t help with whatever was bothering him. The other two took to chopping wood during Stalker’s lessons.
Eventually, I had to admit, “I think that’s all I can teach you.”
Fade could probably do more but he wasn’t likely to offer to spend extra time with Stalker. He closed the book, stowed it, and stood. “Maybe I can return the favor.”
“How?”
“Come on.”
He led the way into the sleeping room, which was totally empty now. We’d burned or tossed out everything the former residents had left behind. That left us a good-sized space, though cold, compared with the front room.
“What are we doing?” I was no longer afraid of him. Whatever he had been in the ruins, he had sworn to start over clean, and so far, he was keeping his word. That was good enough for me. If anyone understood not wanting to be judged for past actions, I did. I’d always be haunted by the way I’d let them kill the blind brat, wrapped in fearful silence as the guards took him away.
“I thought I’d show you some moves. You’re good, but predictable.”
I brightened. It had been ages since I did any training, and sitting around would make me soft. “Don’t use your blades. I’m not fast enough.”
“I won’t,” he said. “Just hands and feet.”
We practiced for a while, but I just couldn’t get it. I was rusty and slow, and it made me angry. Some Huntress. He came around behind me to show me how to position my arms for the strike. My hands arced downward. Holding my daggers at the right angle, I’d slice a nice strip of someone’s chest.
“What’re you doing?” Fade asked from the doorway.
I turned. “Training. Want to go a round?”
He shook his head and slipped away.
That soon became our custom, and my fighting improved as I faced off against Stalker. Training made me feel better about our chances. I’d spent my life training to protect people; I couldn’t just stop.
After one particularly tough bout, I sat panting, elbows on my knees. As I glanced up, I caught Stalker smiling at me. It was such a break from his usual expression, I tilted my head with a questioning look.
“You’re good,” he said. “Truly good, dove. I like fighting you.”
The way he said fighting, it seemed to hold another layer. I raised a brow. “Dove?”
“It’s a bird.”
I pulled my knees up to my chest as he sat down beside me. “And why did you call me that?”
Stalker leaned back, resting on his arms. The room was cold, so his breath puffed out, curling before him. “I’d see them in the city, nesting in the broken buildings. They were small and fragile looking with their gray wings, but they could fly up where none of the other animals could hurt them.”
“Not even a Wolf,” I said softly.
I got the comparison. Though I looked weak, I had unexpected defenses. I couldn’t mind being likened to a creature that soared so beautifully on the wind. I decided I wouldn’t object to the nickname.
* * *