‘You are leaving, then?’ I asked stupidly.
‘Right after we eat,’ he said quietly.
We should go with him.
It was the most direct thought the wolf had shared with me in days. It startled me, and I looked towards him, as did the Fool. ‘But what of Hap?’ I asked him.
Nighteyes only looked at me in reply, as if I should already know his answer. I did not. ‘I have to stay here,’ I said to both of them. Neither one looked convinced. It made me feel sedate and staid to refuse them both, and I did not care for either sensation. ‘I have responsibilities here,’ I said, almost angrily. ‘I cannot simply go off and allow the boy to come back to an empty home.’
‘No, you cannot,’ the Fool agreed quickly, yet even his agreement stung, as if he said it only to mollify me. I found myself suddenly in a surly mood. Breakfast was grim and when we rose from the table, I suddenly hated the sticky bowls and porridge pot. The reminders of my daily, mundane chores suddenly seemed intolerable.
‘I’ll saddle your horse,’ I told the Fool sullenly. ‘No sense in getting your fine clothes dirty.’
He said nothing as I rose abruptly from the table and went out of the door.
Malta seemed to sense the excitement of the journey to come, for she was restive, though not difficult. I found myself taking my time with her, so that when she was ready, her coat gleamed as did her tack. I almost soothed myself, but as I led her out, I saw the Fool standing by the porch, one hand on Nighteyes’ back. Discontent washed through me again, and childishly I blamed him for it. If he had not come to see me, I would never have recalled how much I missed him. I would have continued to pine for the past, but I would not have begun to long for a future.
I felt soured and old as he came to embrace. Knowing there was nothing admirable about my attitude did nothing to improve it. I stood stiffly in his farewell clasp, barely returning it. I thought he would tolerate it, but when his mouth was by my ear, he muttered mawkishly, ‘Farewell, Beloved.’
Despite my irritation, I had to smile. I gave him a hug and released him. ‘Go safely, Fool,’ I said gruffly.
‘And you,’ he replied gravely as he swung up into the saddle. I stared up at him. The aristocratic young man on a horse bore no resemblance to the Fool I had known as a lad. Only when his gaze met mine did I see my old friend there. For a time we stood looking at one another, not speaking. Then, with a touch of the rein and a shift of his weight, he wheeled his horse. With a toss of her head, Malta asked for a free head. He gave it to her, and she sprang forwards eagerly into a canter. Her silky tail floated on the wind of her passage like a pennant. I watched him go, and even when he was out of sight, I watched the dust hanging in the lane.
When I finally went back into the cabin, I found he had cleaned all the dishes and the pot and put them away. In the centre of my table, where his pack had concealed it, a Farseer Buck was graven deep, his antlers lowered to charge. I ran my fingers over the carved figure and my heart sank in me. ‘What do you want of me?’ I asked of the stillness.
Days followed that one, and time passed for me, but not easily. Each day seemed possessed of a dull sameness, and the evenings stretched endless before me. There was work to fill the time, and I did it, but I also marked that work only seemed to beget more work. A meal cooked meant only dishes to clean, and a seed planted only meant weeding and watering in the days to follow. Satisfaction in my simple life seemed to elude me.
I missed the Fool, and realized that all those years I had missed him as well. It was like an old injury wakened to new complaint. The wolf was no help in enduring it. A deep thoughtfulness had come upon him, and evenings often found us trapped in our individual ponderings. Once, as I sat mending a shirt by candlelight, Nighteyes came to me and rested his head on my knee with a sigh. I reached down to fondle his ears and then scratch behind them. ‘Are you all right?’ I asked him.
It would not be good for you to be alone. I’m glad the Scentless One returned to us. I’m glad that you know where to find him.
Then, with a groan, he lifted his chin from my knee and went to curl on the cool earth by the front porch.
The final heat of summer closed down on us like a smothering blanket. I sweltered as I hauled water for the garden twice a day. The chickens stopped laying. All seemed too hot and too dull to survive it. Then, in the midst of my discontent, Hap returned. I had not expected to see him again until the month of full harvest was over, but one evening, Nighteyes lifted his head abruptly. He arose stiffly and went to the door, to stare down the lane. After a moment I set aside the knife I was sharpening and went to stand beside him. ‘What is it?’ I asked him.
The boy returns.
So soon? But as I framed the thought, I knew it was not soon at all. The months he had spent with Starling had devoured the spring. He’d shared high summer with me, but been gone all the month of early harvest and part of full harvest. Only a moon and a half had passed, and yet it still seemed horribly long. I caught a glimpse of a figure at the far end of the lane. Both Nighteyes and I hastened to meet him. When he saw us coming, he broke into a weary trot to meet us halfway. When I caught him in my arms in a hug, I knew at once that he had grown taller and lost weight. And when I let him go and held him at arm’s length to look at him, I saw both shame and defeat in his eyes. ‘Welcome home,’ I told him, but he only gave a rueful shrug.
‘I’ve come home with my tail between my legs,’ he confessed, and then dropped down to hug Nighteyes. ‘He’s gone all to bone!’ Hap exclaimed in dismay.
‘He was sick for a while, but he’s on the mend now,’ I told him. I tried to make my voice hearty and ignore the jolt of worry I felt. ‘The same could be said of you,’ I added. ‘There’s meat on the platter and bread on the board. Come eat, and then you can tell us how you fared out in the wide world.’