[littlemanpoet]

Rowenna strode through the growing puddles to the smoke house. The rain came down steadily and she was soaked through. The smoke house would be dry and warm. And overpowering with the smell of smoked meat. She wondered if Nydfara liked that smell. Surely he did, as it was meat and men liked their meat. She shook her head. What matter? Silly thoughts. She did not matter to Nydfara, nor he to her. It angered her that these thoughts came upon her unawares, as if something deep inside betrayed her.

She opened the door to the smoke house and went inside. She liked it in here. It was warm and dry. She wished she could stay here much longer than need required. She took a cut of wood from the dry-store and placed it carefully in the oven.

That little Ruari was not really the same as she had been at that age. She had been happy and carefree and full of dance and play. She had been so until the brigands had come and destroyed her life. She had learned to be tough and skilled in surviving, learned how to make others want what she wanted; or at least, what she said she wanted.

Ruari was different. She could see it in her eyes. That little girl's thought was already the way she had had to learn to be. "You're a silly fool," she whispered. The knot in her stomach refused to go away, and only seemed to tighten the more she thought about her past, the little girl, and that troublesome Nydfara.

How would she have handled him among the brigands? She would have listened to him until she had learned what he most desired, what he craved, and then would use that knowledge to bait him into giving her what she wanted, or doing what she wanted, or, in Nydfara's case, telling her what she wanted to know.

So she had better go find the cur and find out what drove him. She grabbed a side of deermeat and walked back into the rain.