Raised By Wolves Volume four- Wolves by W. A. Hoffman Page A

not argue. Once below, he took up the lantern near the stairs, and we stooped— as the Queen’s hold was much shallower than the frigate’s had been—and went to a small space next to the cabin bulkhead. It was bounded bycrates and barrels muchas myprisonhad been, and even had chains and a loop drilled into a beam; but it contained Gaston’s medicine chest and our bags.
Gaston regarded the space with a dismay to mirror my own. He took several ragged breaths and pressed his hands to his temples as he often did when suffering a bout:to massage the dark thoughts away. Then he dove into motion. He snatched up the chains and ejected them from the hold. I heard them clatter onthe deck above. Thenhe beganpushingthe barrels and crates into different arrangements. I sank to the floor and watched as he fashioned a low, covered alcove of sturdy things, and lashed them into place so they would not collapse. It was a den, and I crawled into it without question. Gaston shoved our things in behind me. I noted our weapons were missing. We only had the knives he had possessed during my rescue. Then he went back out amongst the provisions and returned with dried fruit, boucan, water, and the lantern.
I touched his beard when he knelt before me. “How long?” I asked. How long had I been captive? How long had he
beenmad?
    beenmad?
“Nearlythree weeks,”he said witha ragged sigh. Then the tears came, and we were in one another’s
    arms. I held himas if my soul would be sucked frommy body if he did not anchor me. He clutched and clung as I did, until the wave ofsobbingand mutualreassurance passed.
    I finally slid down to lie with my head in his lap. I was exhausted beyond measure, but I was afraid to sleep, lest this be nothingbut a dream.
    He pulled the food and water closer, and offered me little pieces and sips. Once my belly finished clenching with surprise at the first pellet of sustenance, I found the strength to chew and swallow until I felt full for the first time in… three weeks. I found it difficult to believe so much time had passed. I must have beenunconscious more thanI knew.
    He was gazing at me pensively. He was still not himself; but truly, I could not say who we were at this moment. I had not seen him so lost since his visits to me when he ran wild beyond Negril. Had that really been two years ago? Two and a half years, I supposed.
    He touched my empty earlobes sadly, and I sighed. He extricated himself from beneath me, and turned about to lean down and kiss my left ear sweetly. He stayed there, and sniffed. I thought I must not be pleasant, and thenI remembered Thorp’s wine-steeped breath billowing over the same skin. I cringed with shame. Gaston pulled back and gazed down at me again. This time I could see the Child battlingwithhis Horse behind his eyes. I started to speak, knowing not what I would say, but his fingers
were quicklyonmylips.
     
were quicklyonmylips.
    He leaned down to kiss me lightly again, and then left me to rummage through our bags and his medicine chest. He cast about for a moment, and considered the contents of the water bottle, before motioning for me to stay as he slipped out of our den. His actions were reminiscent of his Child, but I did not see that earnest innocence inhis eyes.
    My concerns about his sanity could not hold mine in check. The small space seemed vastly empty and cold without him, and I had to fight the fear-driven compulsion not to push to myknees and crawlout after him.
    He soon returned, this time with a pail of water. I allowed myself to melt to the floor again. He wet a rag, and slowly and carefully began to bathe me, starting with my face. Each swipe of the cloth was both loving caress and absolution. As he finished eachpatchofskin, he placed a gentle kiss uponit. When he came to the weals on my back and chest, he bathed them, kissed them, and thentreated themwithunguents.
    When he worked on my wrists, I touched his: they were nearly as torn and bruised as mine. I