“Some of the sites have more than one cabin, and they plan to build more as need demands, but for now, he sleeps in a tent.Beth with him.” He shrugged. “Well, she did go with him. I’m not sure what they plan to do once their youngling is born.”
Take it with them? That could be both fun and a challenge, especially if they were sleeping in a tent.
While he paced around, I watched him, shifting the bread and meat to various locations along my legs to continue their thaw. Finally, they felt soft enough to serve.
“Hungry?” I lifted the bread and package of meat that looked as if it had been smoked or cooked on a grill. Leftovers from the prior trail ride? Maybe.
Becken grunted and sat in the chair beside the bed.
We ate in silence at first, the awkwardness gradually fading as basic needs took over social discomfort. The food was simple but satisfying. The bread tasted faintly of nuts, and the meat had been smoked with unfamiliar, though tasty, spices. The sharp cheese reminded me of good aged cheddar.
“Is this typical trail ride food?” I asked, breaking the silence.
“The bread’s from Sel and Holly’s bakery. The meat is brimberg, prepared in the traditional orc way.” He took another piece, along with two more slices of bread. “The cheese came from the general store and was wrapped well and placed inside the refrigerator, also inside the shed.”
“Anything else inside that refrigerator?” All in all, we were quite lucky. We had decent shelter and food, including water in the gallon jug he’d collected when he went for the first aid kit.
“Pickles.” He grimaced. “I think that’s what they’re called. I don’t like them. They’re much too tart.”
“Hey, pickles are a natural wonder. They taste amazing.”
He lifted his brows. “There’s more water in the shed, bread in the freezer, too. Sel stocks all the campsites regularly, bringing fresh food each morning of the trail ride but putting some in the freezer in case they need more.”
“Smart.” I reached for more cheese. “Everything tastes fantastic.”
“I’ll collect those pickles when I go for more water,” he said gruffly.
“No need to make extra effort for me. Bread, cheese, and meat is more than satisfying.” I finished the last bite of my sandwich and brushed crumbs off the front of my coat.
We talked for the next hour about the trail ride operations, the conversation flowing easily. Becken described the different routes Ruugar used, the challenges of accommodating tourists who wanted adventure without actual discomfort. I found myself laughing at some of his drier observations about human nature.
“How many campsites are there for multi-day tours?” I asked.
“Six, I think, though the number used depends on the length of the tour. Some are used just one night, others up to a week. They usually stay in one location for a night or two before moving on, riding sorhoxes, of course.”
“Not Dester.”
His ears twitched. “He’ll need more work.”
“It was an accident.” It was easier to forgive the beast now that I was safe and secure inside this snug cabin than when I was lying on the trail, wondering what in the world had happened. “I’m sure Dester would behave himself on a regular old trail ride.”
“We’ll make sure he does,” he growled, though from what I’d seen so far, he wasn’t implying a heavy touch in Dester’s training. All the orcs appeared to treat the sorhoxes like babies, using a gentle touch with whatever they did.
“Ruugar leads trail rides for tourists who want an authentic experience,” Becken said.
The slight emphasis on authentic made me smile. “Let me guess. They want authentic but with comfortable beds and good food?”
“Exactly.” A hint of amusement touched his eyes. “We give them enough wilderness to feel adventurous without the actual discomfort of what truly lies out here in the mountains.”
“Tourism in a nutshell.” I nibbled on another slice of cheese. “It delivers the experience for the story they want to tell when they get home.”
Outside, the storm intensified. Wind shrieked around the cabin corners, driving snow against the windows with increasing force. The temperature in the cabin dropped, ice crystals forming in the corners of the windows.
Becken packed up the rest of our food, braving the storm to put them in the refrigerator to keep them cold without freezing again.
He brought the jar of pickles back, and I was sorely tempted to open it and dig in. But then I’d have pickle breath, so I made myself resist.
He paced again, moving from one side of the cabin to the other. When our eyes occasionally met, he looked away.
