“Ho. Whoa there, fella.” Damien’s belly formed a tight knot as he loosened the rope and stepped back to the mule’s right side, where he wouldn’t bear the weight. Maybe he’d picked up a pebble in the snow that packed his hoof.
Gulliver allowed him to pick up the hoof easily enough. Not a surprise, since the mule had been well trained, and lifting this hoof shouldn’t pain him. He had a feeling if he tried to pick up theotherfront leg, Gulliver would struggle to shift his weight onto this one.
Chipping all the snow out of the crevices of the soleproved the hardest part, and he only succeeded when Charlotte brought him a stick.
“There, boy. Let’s see where it hurts.” He pulled off his glove for this last part, for he needed better control of his fingers. The icy air stung his skin, but this sensation was better than being numb.
The moment Damien’s thumb pressed on the more tenderVin the center of the hoof, Gulliver nearly jerked the leg from his hand. “Hey there.” Still holding the foot with one hand, he stroked the mule’s shoulder with the other to calm him.
He needn’t have bothered, for Charlotte was at the animal’s head stroking and soothing in such a sweet voice that it nearly made Damien jealous.
He turned his focus back to the hoof. Using a much lighter pressure, he probed the tender flesh. There was no putrid odor or unusual coloring, and with the way the limping came on suddenly, it must be a stone bruise. He’d not scraped a stone out amid the packed snow, but Gulliver might have stepped on a sharp point hidden under the white fluff.
Easing the foot down, Damien straightened and turned to stroke the mule. What now? The injury clearly pained him. Maybe with a few minutes’ rest while standing in the snow, the ache would lessen enough that they could continue. Charlotte would need to walk, but Damien had a feeling she wouldn’t mind in order to help her four-legged friend.
She was watching him, brows raised. Another woman would’ve asked fifteen questions by now, but he loved the way Charlotte didn’t need to fill the air with noise. She could say as much with her expression as another female could speak in a hundred words.
He ran his hand down the mule’s neck again. “It seems like he stepped on a rock wrong and maybe bruised the hoof. Let’s let him stand for a few minutes and see if he feels better after that.”
Once more, her expression spoke the question.Do you really think that will help?
He shrugged. “It’s the first thing to try. We’ll see how he is from there.”
The time seemed to take forever to pass, even after Charlotte pulled food from the pack and they sat on rocks to eat. There seemed nothing to speak of, nothing save the worry that hovered inside and around them both.
At last, when the sun had crossed an hour of the sky, he stood. Charlotte jerked straight at his sudden action, and even Gulliver’s head rose, ears pricked toward him.
“Let’s see how he’s doing.” Damien gentled his stride as he reached the mule’s head. Taking up the rope, he nudged Gulliver forward.
The animal’s reluctance was clear, and Damien had to pull harder before Gulliver finally attempted a step. The injured leg first, since that would allow him to put his weight on the hoof that didn’t hurt.
The worry in Damien’s gut pulled tighter as the mule hesitated once more before attempting a second step.
His head jerked nearly to the ground the moment he put weight on the right front hoof, as though trying to use his nose as a replacement limb. The act looked so painful, Damien allowed him to stop after that effort.
He stepped closer to his faithful friend and stroked the thick winter coat on his neck. “I’m sorry, fella. Let’s take another look at it.”
This time, he didn’t have to scoop out packed ice or dirt, just brush off a light dusting of white. When his thumb brushed the spot where Gulliver had been tender before, the mule jerked back once more. If anything, the hour’s rest seemed to have made the pain worse. There was still no visible damage on that spot, but the bruise must be deep.
Damien lowered the hoof gently, then straightened and turned to Charlotte. The pain on her face showed he didn’t have to explain this latest update.
“Is there something more that can be done?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Rest and ice are all I know to heal it. The ice part isn’t hard to accomplish.” He glanced around at the surroundings. “We should look for a place to camp.”
A grove of trees about thirty strides away would provide some protection and be near enough for Gulliver to reach. He could nearly feel Charlotte’s sigh as they started in that direction.
Gulliver struggled with his first few steps, but seemed resigned to force himself on, even with such a violent limp. Perhaps he sensed rest would come soon.
After helping Damien scrape the bear hide all afternoon, Charlotte’s arms were as weary as her mind. He’d been even more amiable than usual, keeping up conversation throughout the long hours. To distract her from worrying over the delay, no doubt. And for that, she was thankful.
At first, he’d spoken of his months with the trapping party, relaying stories that would have made her smile if she hadn’t been so troubled. As he asked about her experience withscraping and preparing hides, she managed a few tales of her own, mostly involving her efforts to learn the craft. But a few included Brielle or Andre, the former as she learned to hunt, and the latter when he was too young to be of much help—yet just old enough to get in the way. There was the one time she’d found him with her freshly sharpened meat knife scraping a caribou hide—a particularly lovely one at that. Andre had pierced the skin in so many places that it was good for little except braiding into rope.
When Damien told a few stories that included his sister, she couldn’t miss their significance. He mentioned Michelle’s name with something almost like reverence. She could hear the grief in his voice, but she wondered if it was a relief for him to speak of her. Did he have anyone else with whom he could talk about her? Any friends who knew him well enough to be allowed into that painful place? Back in his village, there must be many. But how long since he’d been there?
Now, as they sat by the leaping flames of the campfire, darkness fully shrouding their circle of light, there was much she wanted to say. Much more to ask.
The evening meal had been eaten, plates cleaned, and plenty of firewood stacked nearby to keep the flames high throughout the night. Once more, they sat side by side, though there was no cliff wall to lean against this time to shield them from the wind. The night seemed warmer than the others, though, as warm as the camaraderie between them.
