“Yes, good progress, they’re all familiar now. Ophelia is likely going to have them hauling each other up the trees next.”
“Not a bad idea, actually. Never know if one will fall down a bergschrund.”
Tristan grunted. That would depend on the season they visited the mountain. A bergschrund shifted and changed as a glacier slowly moved, widening and narrowing that gap between the ice and the rock it carved. In the winter, the snow might accumulate there, and an unsuspecting mountaineer might fall farther than he wanted. In summer, the melting of ice mightcause the gaping bergschrund to grow, making forward progress impossible.
Rope work and strength would keep them all safe.
He thought of Eleanor. She was right behind him on their line, theoretically because she was the weakest of their party in strength. He could pull her along to safety if she needed. He hadn’t been the one to make the assessment—that had been his father and Ophelia choosing the order. But he didn’t mind. He might be the weakest in the knot-tying skills. Eleanor had introduced some that were surprisingly difficult to remember. The splicing? Very handy, if he could keep it in his head.
Going past the wooded area, Bad News decided to harass him again. “You’re too good to be hauling bags, is that it?” Justine yelled, her hands on her hips.
“Must you—” He cut himself off. There was no reason to argue with her. He could pull twice the weight she could, they both knew it.
“Yes, I must. What’s good for the goose is good for the gander and all that,” she said.
“It’s a better use of my time to run,” he said. “I can already haul as much you all can put together.”
“Wonderful. You’ll carry the tent poles, then.” Ophelia let the sandbag drop from the pulley.
“Fine,” he said, setting his jaw.
Eleanor picked her way over to where he stood on the path. “I need to run as well. I haven’t quite gotten as fast as the rest of you.”
Normally spending an extra minute with Eleanor would be welcome, but he wanted torun. Doing his best to control his disappointment, he gestured to the well-trod dirt path. “You know the way.”
She looked up at him, her expression questioning, but he didn’t want to explain his dark mood. Between the idea of beingthe spareand Justine’s constant picking, he wasn’t sure how to explain his mood without sounding like a child. And he knew that, which was why he was going to go run, rather than whine.
“You don’t have to run with me,” she said. “I know I’m slow.”
“I’ll keep within earshot,” he grumbled. “Go on.”
She nodded and started her slow jog. It was agonizing to go at that snail’s pace. He let her go ahead ten paces, and then began his own. He ran past her, his long strides no match for her much shorter gait. Still, he ran ahead, then circled back for her, keeping to his promise to keep her within earshot.
At the pond, where they often stopped, he ran an extra lap around it, waiting for her. He was feeling better, actually. A run was precisely what was needed. She arrived out of breath, as if she had perhaps sprinted the last bit. She looked relieved to see him waiting for her.
Tristan let her catch her breath, doing his best not to make her feel self-conscious. He looked out over the pond, letting the smell of the rich earth surrounding the pond fill his nose. This was a place he could find peace.
Behind him, her breathing regulated. She was already faster at coming down from her run than she had been five days ago. He was impressed with how quickly she’d taken to this.
She was gulping in air, hands on her hips. “I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to this.”
He smiled. “You will. And you’ll be grateful for it when we go up to higher elevations. It may seem silly to run when you aren’t being chased, but it helps.”
Eleanor gave him a generous smile at his attempt at humor. “I feel silly.”
“Did you know that in the springtime, hundreds of years ago, women would run footraces against each other for prizes?” Tristan had much of his history knowledge thanks to his mother,who took a keen interest in what women were up to in the centuries past.
This time Eleanor’s smile was genuine. “I did not. I’ve been told my entire life that women are far too delicate for activities such as these.”
“Even the nobleman’s daughters would participate. It was an honor to win.” Tristan smiled. He wasn’t sure if that was entirely true, but Ophelia had latched onto the idea. Sometimes Tristan wondered if Ophelia wasn’t driven by these old stories—wanting to prove herself worthy of their lineage.
“I wonder if they bothered wearing a corset when they ran,” Eleanor said, coming to stand next to him overlooking the pond.
Tristan smiled. “They probably knew better.”
Eleanor crouched down and dipped her hands in the cold water, splashing some on the back of her neck. “Thank you for helping me. I’m not sure I said that.”
“I’m always available for gallantry.”
