I glanced over my shoulder. Twenty steps to where we’d started.
“You did that on purpose,” I chided him, not daring to turn around.
“Did what?”
“The ember bread. You were distracting me.”
“I was having a conversation,” he said, entirely without guilt, “with my mate, whom I enjoy talking to.”
Okay, twenty steps. I could see the stone post on the far side, the rope wound around it in thick coils. The individual planks between here and there. I counted them.
“Keep talking,” I said.
Guruk’s voice lowered, and I could hear the amusement in it, “About the bread?”
“About anything.”
“The view from here is quite lovely,” he said, his hand still steady at my back. “The river runs all the way down from the highland ridge. In the summer it runs fast, and you can hear it from the path. In autumn, it slows. By winter, it freezes in sections, and the ice catches the light in the mornings.” Two steps. “I have always thought I would like to see it in winter with someone.”
Another step. “You’ve come here before?”
“Once. A long time ago. It was a,” he paused a heartbeat, “quieter time in my life. I came to see the falls, and I crossed this bridge both ways alone.” He squeezed my shoulder. “I don’t recommend that. It is significantly better with company.”
The stone post was ten steps away.
“Why was it quieter?” I asked, taking the last steps without counting them, and then my foot was on solid ground, and the post was under my hand, and the gorge was behind me, and I was on the other side.
I stood there for exactly two seconds.
Then I turned around and flung my arms around Guruk’s neck, which required him to duck considerably, and laughed in a way that was not quite dignified. It didn’t need to be, because we were on the other side of the bridge on solid ground, and the gorge was behind us, and we were fine. Also, my legs were shaking, and I may have needed the support.
“Okay,” I said, into his chest. “Okay.”
His arms came around me, easy and unhurried, as if this was exactly where he wanted to be. “You did well.”
“I was fine the whole time.”
“Of course.” He hugged me close.
“I was totally calm.” I rubbed my face into the tickling hairs of his chest. He had gone shirtless today, which was his habit at home, a quirk of his I very much appreciated.
“Completely,” he agreed.
I pulled back enough to look up at him. His expression was composed, warm, and free of the smugness it had every right to contain.
“Thank you,” I said. “For not making it a thing.”
He shrugged. “There was nothing to make a thing.”
He meant it. That was the part that got me every time. He just meant it.
Berry,who had relocated to a nearby bush with the tact of someone giving us space, let out a sudden, sharp sound.
I turned.
At the near side of the gorge—the side we’d come from, still visible through the gap in the trees—something moved.
It was there for all of three seconds. Long enough to see it clearly: a squat, compact body, long limbs folded close, a hooked nose and eyes that were enormous and black, reflecting themorning light like two dark coins. It stood at the edge of the trees on the far bank, perfectly still, looking directly at us.
