“Thy kyndness astounds me.”
She groaned and pointed a stalk of asparagus at him in as threatening a manner as she could.
“I have a new bargain to propose — I will let you continue to be impressive so long as you will let me be begrudgingly civil.You will cease to be impressive when I start being kind.”
He smiled at that, a grin so large that from anyone else it might have been charming.With all his pointed teeth clamped together like a bear trap, no one would have called it anything other than terrifying.
“Thy begrudging cyvylytie ryvalest mine ymprefsyvenefs.”
“Better.”
He unfolded his hands and reached out with a single claw, skewering a sausage.He sniffed it first and then ate it off the tip of his claw.He chewed, his pink tongue running over his lips.
“Y have forgotten the taste of cooked mete.”
She would not ask about it now, but if he had forgotten it, it must have been a long time since he had enjoyed such.She had the impression that this act of sitting across from each other, sharing food presented enough of a shocking novelty to him that to ask probing questions might ruin the ground they managed to cover.
“I am assuming that means you did not taste ashes.”
“Thy afsumptionne ys correct, unlefs ashes taste lyke cooked mete.Yf Y cook, thanne aye, ashes for thy dynner.”
“Then you hunt, and I will cook,”she smiled.
“Woldest thou?”He breathed hard through his nostrils.“Thy begrudging cyvylytie extends fer.”
“I am no altruist.”She bit the head off another asparagus stalk.“I anticipate heavy lifting in the coming year.I am feeding you up so that you do not feel like making a meal out of me when I ask too much of you.”
His mouth lifted in a momentary smile, but their conversation died there.She suspected their awkwardness, rather than lack of things to say, had been the killer.For her part, she possessed a thousand and one questions all begging to be asked.The campfire stories of the Fir’Darl varied on so many points that she had no idea what to believe.The Fir’Darl twined himself in their histories of the Great Persecution, the Varnasian kings, the Rivan Prince, and their prophecies until he had become so integral a deity that he overshadowed the stories themselves.The questions overwhelmed her, but she behaved herself, eating with him in silence as if dining with one of her gods happened daily.She supposed now it might.
They addressed the buttery after their meal.The Fir’Darl used it as a food storage facility for the carcasses of animals he had not divested of meat.The bodies hung along hooks only someone of his stature would be able to reach without aid.He did not keep much, enough to get him through a week on starvation rations.When she asked him why the buttery had been locked, he explained it was to keep wild animals from entering.He adjusted the magic on the door to enable her access whenever she wished.
“Y keep no locked doors yn the whole of the grounds,”he explained as they finished their explorations of his storage and ascended the stairs again.
“Except my room,”she added, following behind him.
She watched his back, fur-covered like the rest of him, his chest and abdominal scars from the front wrapping around his side and spreading out across one side of his back like many tendrils of lightning up to his shoulder blade and down below the line of his trousers.Along his spine, darker luxurious fur, the color of his hair, traveled from beneath his hair to under the band of his bottoms.All her studies ended there.
“Nay, thy room locketh not.Thou mayest wysh to lock yt and thou canst do such, but ‘tis not locked.‘Tis barred to me, that thou mayest have complete pryvacie.”
“Your room is not locked?”
“Nay, my rooms remayneth accefsible, but Y woldest request that yf thou wyshest to explore, thou woldest ask.”
That was courtesy, but that he did not keep his own doors barred surprised her.
“Do you not care for your privacy?”
He reached the top of the stairs and allowed her to pass before closing the door.
“Thou mayest thynk of yt as one of two ways — Y pofsefs no pryvacie or else mooste tyme Y pofsefs more pryvacie than any creature needeth.”
She had spent only a few days here alone, or at least she had believed she was alone, prior to meeting the Fir’Darl.In that time, though she found peace and delight in the unexpected luxuries and sense of safety, the fortress always retained a haunted atmosphere.She could now account for the sensation of something otherworldly dogging her steps, but with him beside her, she still maintained the impression of something else listening.The Fir’Darl, though frightening to look at and terrifying in concept, did not give the fortress its eeriness.A year with him here sounded like an intolerable price, but she began to appreciate his company.She found his conversation genial and his manner easy.A year alone on the other hand, such as she imagined he had spent many, would drive her to madness.
Their shared breakfast platter had been removed by the time she moved beyond him into the kitchen.She ran her hand over the spot.
“Determyne thy need for thy jars and whan known, Y shall have them for thee yf pofsyble.”He moved around his side of the table, keeping distance between them and heading towards the doorway.“Y take my leave, Rivani.”
“No, wait,”she blurted and then flushed because she had not meant to keep him for anything specific.She enjoyed the light conversation even if all she wanted to do was ask penetrating questions.
