He gave a droll hum that may have been a laugh. “I envy your comfort with the grotesque. But I suppose you’ve earned it.”
She nearly stumbled. A compliment? Or a cloaked barb? Every inch of him polished, even covered in sweat and spiderwebs, it was impossible to tell. He appeared lost in thought – or focused on where he stepped.
She trod carefully, as well. “You can’t avoid it, living out here. The forest is a grave and a cradle. In death, it nurtures everything. Including those things humans find…distasteful.”She made a face, nodding toward the singing bird behind them. “Hate chasing the filthy buggers off when I’m field dressing a kill, though. Worse than flies, they are.”
“Incredible, that something so sweet could be so…”
“Distasteful?”
He looked at her.
She shrugged. “Some could stand to learn that the earth wasn’t formed with their personal taste in mind.”
“Agreed.”
Surprised, and impressed, she felt the ghost of a smile.
“But you can’t deny the allure of beauty.”
Yes, that was more like it.
“Never,” she allowed, stepping over a slithering, blue-tailed lizard. “Which is precisely why, in the Lichtenwald, you must never trust anything beautiful. Like as not, there’s something foul beneath.”
“And fair beneath the foul, I presume?”
“We can test that, if you like,” she ribbed. “I can find a frog for you to kiss. Perhaps he’ll turn into a prince.”
The corners of his lips lifted ruefully. “I don’t go in much for princes.”
Inwardly, she winced. She certainly hadn’t meant to remind either of them of their fractured bargain.
“Nor I,” she amended. The stream bed narrowed on their approach, the way blocked by an overgrown juniper. “Too much like dragons, when it comes down to it.” She pulled aside the branch for him to pass. “Only one thing to do with a dragon.”
As he passed her, his owl’s eyes regarded her perceptively. “Few would go so far.”
“No. But then, I tend to think people get what’s fair and what’s foul mixed up.” Struck with inspiration, she bent and stuck a gloved finger into the earth beneath the tree, lifting the small clump for him to see. He examined it dutifully. “Take dirt. The soil teems with rotting flesh, refuse, insects, some so minuscule we can’t even see. But it gives us flowers and fruit. Grows the trees that shelter us and stores the water that feeds the skies. Or the night. We despise its creatures for how frightful they seem, but while a bat looks frightening, it hurts nothing, and pollinates the night-blooming flowers a honeybee can’t.”She bit her tongue, remembering the shape it had taken under Sabina’s spell. The shape it might soon take again. She brushed the dirt on her trousers. “Anyway, dragons aren’t real.”
“And are impervious,” he added grimly.
“Just so.” Thorns pinched her behind her eyes; something hovered over the back of her neck. The skin of her throat tingled unpleasantly. Distracted, she rubbed it. How long had it been since the last attack of pain? What was changing, costly, slow, beyond her notice?
“Frogs, however, shall run in fear of my pen,” Sy said, watching her. “Or hop, as the case may be.”
Her hand fell. “I thought your magic only worked on humans.”
“Ah, but it’s quite sharp, remember?”
A laugh burst from her. “Then I shall leave any suspicious frogs to you.” Her laugh died. Once more, she stepped dangerously close to bringing up the bleak reality of their partnership, to spoiling this delicate web of stolen, gauzy peace. “But sometimes a frog is just a frog.”
He stepped forward. “Any other wisdom to impart?”
She went beside him, matching his pace. “Never drink still water, say, from a pond, even if –especiallyif it looks clean, until you’ve boiled it. You’ll risk either getting the shits or being possessed by the water’s spirits. Sometimes they resemble frogs, but more often you won’t see them.”
“Butdon’tkiss them?”
“If you’re close enough to try, may as well risk it.”
“Noted.”
