would soon make it worse.
Brie pulled herself to her feet and tried hopping on her good leg, but it immediately buckled beneath her. So, dragging her broken leg behind, she began to crawl across the ground. It took half the morning to reach the small crea-than tree she had made her goal. She rested for a time in the shade of the tree, then set about making herself a rough crutch out of a branch she had found nearby. When she finished, she ate the last of her meat strips and drank water from her skin bag. Then she set out. By late afternoon she collapsed, sleeping where she lay.
She woke shivering in the dark. At least the smell of goat was gone, but she was burning with fever. The wound on her leg was swollen, festering with pus. She gazed up at the stars, thinking about Collun, wondering if he had finished tilling the north field.
"Plant in rows, straight and long. Temper them with care and song," they had sung by the fire at the end of the day. Collun's voice always went off-key on the next-to-last word, and he would be the first to laugh. Once that same off note had coincided with the cry of a nightjar and had been in perfect harmony. They had both laughed until tears ran down their cheeks.
Brie dozed.
Â
She woke to a raucous barking noise. Fara let out a long sibilant hiss.
"Dyfod, Jip!" commanded a distant voice.
There was another torrent of barking. Fara stood beside Brie, her back arched high, her tail swollen with outrage.
"Easy, Fara," Brie whispered. She was too weak to sit up.
"Dyfod!" called the voice, impatient and still far away.
Brie tried to cry out, but her lips were cracked and dry and she could barely move them.
The voice continued to speak, but it seemed to be moving away. Tears of frustration pricked Brie's eyes. She struggled against her weakness.
But the dog kept coming toward Brie. It got as close as Fara would allow and, planting its legs stubbornly, continued to bark, loudly and persistently. Fara's eyes were slits and she looked ready to hurl herself onto the large brown-and-white dog. "No, Fara," Brie whispered.
Then Brie heard footsteps moving toward her. Abruptly they stopped, and Brie could see the outline of a person standing over her. It appeared to be a woman, though a tall one.
Brie felt a dry, cold hand on her forehead. "Poeth," said the voice tersely. Strong fingers gently probed her leg. Brie groaned. Suddenly she was being hoisted onto a strong back.
EIGHT
The Havotty
The next thing Brie was aware of was lying on straw. A firm hand held up her head, and warm liquid was ladled into her mouth. She managed to swallow a little, then fell back.
She was so cold, shivering until her jaw ached from chattering. Then she was hot, burning up, and trying to rip all the coverings off her body. Throughout, the woman was near, often speaking to her in a matter-of-fact way that, though Brie could not understand the words, was oddly reassuring. The woman's face was a blur, but her voice was sturdy, like a well-built home.
Fara stayed at Brie's shoulder, occasionally hissing at one or another of two dogs when they came too close.
Brie was in and out of consciousness. Once, she was aware of the woman resetting her leg.
That was the only time Brie screamed.
***
Brie woke to the smell of cooking. It was just past dawn. A black cooking pot hung from a chain over a hearth fire. The woman was dozing in a chair beside the hearth, an open book facedown in her lap. The brown-and-white dog slept at her feet, the other, ebony with gray markings, slept on the flagstones of the hearth. Fara, too, lay asleep at Brie's hip.
Brie studied the woman's face. It was a strong face, roughened by weather and framed by short thick hair the gray of a campfire burned to ashes. The woman wore long brown trousers and a bulky knit jersey. Her body looked strong, too, lean and muscular.
They were in a stone hut, unfurnished save for the rough wooden chair on which the woman sat and the two primitive beds
Brie pulled herself to her feet and tried hopping on her good leg, but it immediately buckled beneath her. So, dragging her broken leg behind, she began to crawl across the ground. It took half the morning to reach the small crea-than tree she had made her goal. She rested for a time in the shade of the tree, then set about making herself a rough crutch out of a branch she had found nearby. When she finished, she ate the last of her meat strips and drank water from her skin bag. Then she set out. By late afternoon she collapsed, sleeping where she lay.
She woke shivering in the dark. At least the smell of goat was gone, but she was burning with fever. The wound on her leg was swollen, festering with pus. She gazed up at the stars, thinking about Collun, wondering if he had finished tilling the north field.
"Plant in rows, straight and long. Temper them with care and song," they had sung by the fire at the end of the day. Collun's voice always went off-key on the next-to-last word, and he would be the first to laugh. Once that same off note had coincided with the cry of a nightjar and had been in perfect harmony. They had both laughed until tears ran down their cheeks.
Brie dozed.
Â
She woke to a raucous barking noise. Fara let out a long sibilant hiss.
"Dyfod, Jip!" commanded a distant voice.
There was another torrent of barking. Fara stood beside Brie, her back arched high, her tail swollen with outrage.
"Easy, Fara," Brie whispered. She was too weak to sit up.
"Dyfod!" called the voice, impatient and still far away.
Brie tried to cry out, but her lips were cracked and dry and she could barely move them.
The voice continued to speak, but it seemed to be moving away. Tears of frustration pricked Brie's eyes. She struggled against her weakness.
But the dog kept coming toward Brie. It got as close as Fara would allow and, planting its legs stubbornly, continued to bark, loudly and persistently. Fara's eyes were slits and she looked ready to hurl herself onto the large brown-and-white dog. "No, Fara," Brie whispered.
Then Brie heard footsteps moving toward her. Abruptly they stopped, and Brie could see the outline of a person standing over her. It appeared to be a woman, though a tall one.
Brie felt a dry, cold hand on her forehead. "Poeth," said the voice tersely. Strong fingers gently probed her leg. Brie groaned. Suddenly she was being hoisted onto a strong back.
EIGHT
The Havotty
The next thing Brie was aware of was lying on straw. A firm hand held up her head, and warm liquid was ladled into her mouth. She managed to swallow a little, then fell back.
She was so cold, shivering until her jaw ached from chattering. Then she was hot, burning up, and trying to rip all the coverings off her body. Throughout, the woman was near, often speaking to her in a matter-of-fact way that, though Brie could not understand the words, was oddly reassuring. The woman's face was a blur, but her voice was sturdy, like a well-built home.
Fara stayed at Brie's shoulder, occasionally hissing at one or another of two dogs when they came too close.
Brie was in and out of consciousness. Once, she was aware of the woman resetting her leg.
That was the only time Brie screamed.
***
Brie woke to the smell of cooking. It was just past dawn. A black cooking pot hung from a chain over a hearth fire. The woman was dozing in a chair beside the hearth, an open book facedown in her lap. The brown-and-white dog slept at her feet, the other, ebony with gray markings, slept on the flagstones of the hearth. Fara, too, lay asleep at Brie's hip.
Brie studied the woman's face. It was a strong face, roughened by weather and framed by short thick hair the gray of a campfire burned to ashes. The woman wore long brown trousers and a bulky knit jersey. Her body looked strong, too, lean and muscular.
They were in a stone hut, unfurnished save for the rough wooden chair on which the woman sat and the two primitive beds
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