"I'm stopping now," he said. "If you go on without me, and if I find you collapsed by the roadside--"
"Yes, yes. You'll leave me to die of thirst and let the buzzards and corpse dragons pick my bones."
"There's no such thing as corpse dragons."
"Or shadow stalkers. Don't worry. I'll stay and protect you. I'll let you rest, too. If you need that, you have only to say so, Kitsune."
He stalked off. She smiled and set about finding a place to camp. She knew he wasn't truly angry or even annoyed. It was a long walk, with little amusement to be had beyond needling each other, and the barbs had lost their poisonous tips after Edgewood.
As the sun began to drop, she found another amusement--practicing her dagger throws. They'd stopped at a spot that might be an oasis after one of the rare rainfalls in the Wastes. For now, it was only a patch of sandy soil big enough for two houses. No grasses or flowers. Just moss-covered rocks and a few stunted, gnarled trees. One of those trees was already dead, having been almost entirely debranched for firewood. So she felt no guilt using it as a target.
She practiced with Orbec's blade to get used to it. There was far more variety in warrior daggers than swords. Some were almost as small as kitchen knives. Few warriors used those. Most preferred a blade nearly two hand spans long, similar to the short swords warriors had once paired with their long blades. Moria's and Ashyn's daggers were somewhere between the two, a model more suited to small hands--with a longer handle for throwing. Orbec's dagger blade was slightly longer than hers, but not much, and the handle was perfectly weighted. It was, in short, a superior throwing weapon, suited to both the short distance technique--with rotation--and the more difficult non-rotational long-distance technique. Moria practiced both.
When Gavril returned, she saw him watching a rodent scamper past. They'd seen many of them--brown ratlike creatures with powerful back legs that sent them hopping over the lava plains.
"If you were better with those"--he pointed at her blades--"you'd get us some dinner."
The challenge could not go unanswered, and she set off with Daigo toward an outcropping of rock that appeared to be a likely home for the rodents. It seemed Gavril did not expect her to actually return with a meal. Or so she presumed from his expression when she came back with two of the rodents, tails tied, slung over her arm.
"I'm hoping you know how to dress these," she said as she dropped them in front of him.
"Hardly," he said. "I didn't grow up in this spirit-forsaken place. And you'd best not think you're going to make me do it because it'
s man's work. If you didn't wish to bloody your hands, you ought not have killed them."
She scooped the rodents up. "I simply thought that if you knew how to dress them, then you should, or we'll be eating hacked meat for dinner. I'll figure it out while you gather wood and start the fire."
"Fetch wood? I--"
"You're a grand warrior, from a line of grand warriors. Fetching wood is, I'm sure, beneath you."
"Give me the beasts."
"Too late." She started strolling off. "Make sure the fire is ready when I am, Kitsune."
He said nothing for a moment, then called after her, "Take them back to that rock to clean them. I don't want to sleep beside a pile of offal."
Skinning rodents was rather like removing a too-tight garment--slit the beast from from nape to arse and then peel. She had no idea how to cut it up, though, so she left the beasts whole. They could put them on a stick, roast, and eat.
Daigo watched the process with a complete lack of interest. When she showed him the final result, he sniffed, unimpressed.
"Yes, I know, I ought to have gotten a third for you. A little help in that matter would have been appreciated."
Another sniff, as if to say he was not a mere hunting cat.
As they neared camp, she could see Gavril ahead, with his back to her as he bent over a fire pit. They had materials to light it from the lanterns, and he'd managed with less in the forest, but he was obviously struggling now. The moss wasn't dry enough to act as tinder. She could have told him that but . . . well, again, there was little enough entertainment to be had in the Wastes. So she hunkered down with Daigo behind a boulder and watched the show.
It was not a silent performance. There was plenty of cursing involved. Finally, as she was about to advise him to use his blades to trim strips from the dried wood, he stopped cussing. He crouched there, staring at the pile. Then he glanced over his shoulder. She ducked behind the boulder.
When she looked again, he was hunched over the fire pit, talking to it. That's what he seemed to be doing--whispering a string of words so softly that she struggled to make sense of them. Then she realized why. They were not spoken in the common tongue.
The words came faster and stronger. Then his hands lowered over the pit. He crouched there, shoulders quivering slightly, as if with exertion. Finally, he lifted his hands. And there was fire.
Moria pushed to her feet and padded toward him. Daigo followed, equally silent. By the time they arrived, the blaze was devouring the dried wood.
"You started the fire," she said.
He jumped. "That was my task, wasn't it?"