Again he shrugged, but this time he turned away and began placing things in his pack. “Most of it. Haven’t done much lately, but I needed something to keep my hands busy while the meat cooked.”
The way he nearly turned his back to her now, he clearly didn’t wish to talk about it further. But she couldn’t help studying the drawing once more. This wasn’t the fumbling of an amateur. He possessed real talent. She had no idea whether a man could make a living selling drawings in the outside world, but her people were so hungry for new art. Most of what they had were sketches and paintings that had been in Laurent since it was settled a century ago. They would trade a great deal for a drawing with this much detail.
She would treasure this always, but how could she carry it home without damaging the paper? He’d torn it from a leather-wrapped book, so the page was thinner than the parchment her people made.
As much as she hated to give up possession of it for even a day or two, she asked, “Would you mind if I tucked it back in your book until we reach the fort? I don’t want the paper bent or damaged. I can buy another book there to keep the drawing safe on my return home.”
He didn’t look up, just extracted the volume from his pack and held it out to her.
As she took the book and slipped her page inside the front flap, she didn’t try to see what other drawings he might’vedone. But she didn’t stop herself from glancing at the pages as the book flipped open and shut.
Blank.
As she handed it back to him, her mind mulled through that discovery. How could a man who drew with this much talent not spend a great deal of time practicing? Perhaps he’d given his other sketches away, as well. He’d said he left a larger trapping group not long ago, so maybe he’d handed out all his work there.
Except the only evidence of a torn-out page was from the image of Gulliver sniffing her hand.
As much as she longed to know his secrets, the things that made the man such a mystery, she likely wouldn’t uncover them by standing here pondering. Since her packs were already bundled tight, she focused on securing the rest of the food in its wrappings, except for the bit they would want to eat on the trail.
Before long, they set off, her riding Gulliver and Damien traipsing on snowshoes beside them. She tried not to let herself think about how far into the morning the day had already progressed. More than the two hours Damien had originally insisted on.
But they were moving now, and the sun had finally broken through the clouds to cast a faint warmth on her cheeks. At last, God seemed to be helping her journey.
As the day progressed, Damien stopped more often to let Gulliver rest than he had the other days. She didn’t begrudge the mule his breaks, but she couldn’t help her impatience.
By midafternoon, the sun had moved to the perfect position to shine directly in her eyes. She could choose to be frustrated by the glare, especially the way the light flashedoff the snow to blind her. But instead, she closed her eyes and enjoyed the warmth of it. She didn’t dare stay in that position long, or she’d grow drowsy enough to fall asleep.
And that certainly wouldn’t encourage Damien to continue the day’s journey.
But then another thought slipped in, one that made her blink her eyes open and peer again at the sun’s position. By this point in the afternoon, that big orb should be lowering to the west. Since they were traveling east, this blinding light should be at her back now.
Not directly in front.
She sorted through her memories from the morning. Had the sun shone from behind when they started out? She couldn’t remember for sure, but it seemed to have been glowing mostly on the side of her face before they stopped at midday.
As she slid a glance at the man trudging beside her—the man who’d claimed so many times that he knew the way to the fort—she tried to recall an instance of him seeming uncertain which route to take.
He’d never seemed unsure. In fact, a few times over the past days, he pointed out a butte shaped in a certain way or an upcoming mountain peak as being familiar, a sign they were making progress.
Perhaps he was good at bluffing. Perhaps he was merely scrambling to find a landmark he recognized to tell them which direction to go.
Yet evensheknew westward was the opposite of the direction they should be traveling.
Did that mean he wasn’t taking her to the fort? An eerie sensation skittered up her neck, and once more, she stolea look at him. She’d decided he was trustworthy, though too reckless for her liking. But did she really know that first detail to be true?
His actions had seemed honorable, his words giving her no reason to think he might be deceiving her.
Until now.
What could she say to find out for sure if he was intentionally misguiding her? She’d never been one to jump to the worst assumptions. Maybe he really was confused about the fort’s direction. She’d rather think him a bumbling fool than a deceiver.
Using as casual a tone as she could manage, she asked, “About how far away from Fort Versailles do you think we are?”
He squinted up at the sun, as though checking its position would give him an answer. If he thought that to be true, he was more a fool than she expected. “Maybe a little over a day.”
Again she tried to keep her tone relaxed. “You’ll likely be seeing many landmarks you recognize, then. What’s coming next?”
He slid her a sideways glance, his expression almost frustrated. But then his look turned a little teasing. As much as it could with the hard breathing his trek required. “Are you getting bored up there?”
