I walked to the edge of the water and then in, clothes and all, until I was waist deep. I relaxed and fell back, gliding under the dark cool water and floating back to the surface. I marveled at the size of the mountains as they seemed to dissolve into the blue haze of the sky. Would this ever seem real?
Eventually, I made my way back. I was surprised to find a shelter had already been set up for me. Thank goodness. I hadn’t considered wet clothes and cool air as I floated in the water. Chevelle nodded toward the hut as he prepared a fire. When I entered I found my blankets were on a raised bed of birch branches and a small flame lit the room. My pack lay on the bed, along with a pile of material. I examined the material and was relieved to discover it was a stack of dry clothes.
As I pulled on the gray pants I wondered if Chevelle had made the first set, not Junnie as I had assumed. Or maybe she had packed extra for me. Why hadn’t I considered he’d still be following me? The shirt was fitted to my shape but of a heavier fabric and a pair of boots was at the bottom of the stack; it must be colder in the mountains. I remembered stepping out of the cold wet gown on the bank of the creek and dressing in the new clothes, finding the scroll, the map. Chevelle's words came back to me... I’m sorry, Freya… I let you down at the creek… I was distracted… should have been paying closer attention… should have prevented this… too late now.
The smell of cooked meat cut through my thoughts. I ran a hand through my wet hair and walked out to the fire. The scene wasn’t any less impressive this time. I sat on a large rock facing the lake and Chevelle brought me a plate of food and sat beside me. He’d apparently been gathering while I bathed. We had a feast. Steed tore a piece of meat from the spit and sat to my other side as we ate quietly looking out across the lake… to the mountains.
The mountains at dawn were so much more intimidating and I was hesitant to leave our camp. Everything had begun to seem real and reality was much harder to deal with. I tried to distract myself as we rode east around the lake. I concentrated on naming the species of plants and trees we passed to keep my eyes off the mountains but there were so many I had never seen before that it started to remind me of the differences rather than distract me from them. So I bantered with Steed regarding horses and imps and everything I could come up with to keep him talking. Chevelle rode quietly behind us, casually scanning our surroundings. I wondered if he was enjoying the scenery or playing lookout.
We rode a few days to and in the base of the mountains. We had stopped to camp when, over dinner, Steed announced he would be leaving us the next morning, heading east. His easy humor had become a comfort to me during the long days, our quiet evenings a pattern I knew I would miss. The disappointment must have shown on my face.
He reached a hand up and brushed my hair behind an ear. “Don’t worry, Sunshine, I will see you again.”
I smiled a little and he winked at me. Chevelle stiffened at my side as he often did when Steed touched me so casually and I couldn’t help but think of being alone with him after tonight. My stomach tightened and suddenly in comparison the mountains didn’t seem like such a big deal.
The next morning Steed said goodbye privately to Chevelle and then both came to where I stood with the horses, stroking one’s neck. “You’ll remember me, Butterfly?”
“Always,” I smiled in return.
“Yes, well, at least as long as he’s yours.” He patted the horse.
“Mine?”
He smiled and swung onto his horse, nodding to us as he spun and galloped east.
My horse knelt and Chevelle offered his hand to help me get seated. My grin widened as he mounted his horse and he looked back at me questioningly.
“I’ll name him Steed,” I announced proudly. Chevelle rolled his eyes as I patted the horse’s neck.
Chapter Eight
Mountains
We rode quietly through the morning hours. Chevelle seemed content not to talk but I was twisted up in anguish trying to decide whether I was brave enough to ask him questions and then which to ask. How much would he put up with before he called it all off and hauled me back to the village for sentencing? Our path began to get more defined, pushing us through trees and between rocks, trailing upward so minutely I didn’t even realize until I glanced back and saw we were now looking down on the base of the mountains. I appraised the narrow path ahead, snaking high through the vast rocky mountain, and turning back didn’t seem so bad after all. I clenched my fists and pushed out the question I’d been most concerned about asking but I was so tied up it twisted into an accusation. “Watcher.”
My face flushed red with embarrassment and fear as the word came out harsh. He spun to see me and I could not place the expression on his face.
I panicked, and then I tried to recover. “You’re my watcher.” It still sounded angry. “Why?”
He hesitated. “Frey…” His voice was gentle and he seemed to be searching for a way to answer. He must have decided I had no right to anger. His face turned hard and his tone formal, “The council was concerned after you tried to choke Evelyn of Rothegarr.”