[Belin]

Hillmen

Wolf’s eyes fixed on the two figures within the hut, each absorbed in a world apart, one of spirits and one of pain, and he watched carefully as the old priest, with a weary sigh, bent over the injured boy and immersed himself in another kind of concentration. Wolf could think of nobody who could shift so adroitly from one arduous task to another, except perhaps the mother who stood next to him, watching anxoiusly with her single eye, and, impatient as he was to hear what Cleft had learned from his ceremony, he had to admire his care of the boy. He nodded gravely at her story, and, ignoring her question, answered quietly, “I hope Cleft can help him.”

She brushed this comment aside as useless. “What happened?”

He looked at her carefully. “The newcomers are presumptious. They kill carelessly. Who they kill, and what the consequences are, mean nothing to them. If they live here long… I wonder what’s happened to the place they came from…”

Kestrel frowned, confused and anxious. “Who have they killed, Wolf? A child? A wanderer? A priest?”

Wolf snorted at the mention of a priest, a short, grim sound that nobody would have ventured to call a laugh. “Not a priest, no. Not yet, but who knows? ”

She was beginning to become exasperated. “If you’re going to talk in riddles, I don’t see why you even—ooh.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Calem?”

“Quiet!” The word burst out of him before he could weigh it, and Wolf could see that he had frightened her, perhaps as badly as she had frightened him. How could a one-eyed woman be so perceptive? This was dangerous. He gave her the admonishing glare he usually reserved for erring hunters and miscreant youth, but she held her ground. They stared at each other for a moment, frozen.

“You will know,” muttered Wolf finally, “everyone will know, but not yet. I can’t announce it yet. I need to know what it means. I don’t want a panic.” Avoiding her eyes, he added lamely, “Whatever it does mean, I need the right time, I mean, even if... if it is a panic… I think I can stop a panic, as long as I’ve got the right time... whatever Cleft might... I need time!”

He had already said far more than he meant to, and Kestrel’s silence had begun to unnerve him, whether it was bewilderment, anger, concern, or something else. Half angry himself, he stared into the hut, where the healer was still bent over the boy. “Isn’t he finished yet?” snarled Wolf ungraciously, turning on his heel and stalking to the back of the hut, where he prowled around impatiently, out of the reach of Kestrel’s eye. He could not remember ever being so much on edge. The awareness that his behavior toward her was uncharacteristic, unprecedented, and unsettling only increased his frustration, but he was in no state to go back and ameliorate it. For a priest and a woman to know more of his business than he did was intolerable.

[ 1:33 AM December 02, 2003: Message edited by: Belin ]