Page 38 of Henrikk’s Secret

There were chickens native to the island—amongst other small creatures—and Henrikk kept a handful in a coop that he’d built a few months ago. At least, they somewhat resembled chickens. They were small and fat, with brown plumage and long, brightly coloured tail feathers. Their intelligence was nothing to boast about, and they would peck at anything within pecking distance, including Henrikk’s shoes.

Asher was unable to hide his surprise when he saw the coop.

“I built it myself,” Henrikk said with a note of pride.

“I can see that.”

Henrikk bit back a retort and looked sullenly at the coop. He supposed the door had presented challenges, given he had used rope for hinges, and the walls were not as straight as he would have liked. “Bit shoddy, I suppose.”

“Just a bit.”

Henrikk smiled, the hint of banter reminding him of a time when they were soldiers, without rank or titles to conform to. The conversation had been easy back then.

He glanced at Asher hopefully, but the vampire was frowning at the coop. “They should have more space.”

“There are predators on the island,” Henrikk pointed out. They had spotted wild cats that loped about, shy around the vampires, but sneaky like foxes when it came to the chickens. Besides, the chickens were deceptively fast, and Henrikk refrained from admitting how difficult they had been to catch.

“A fence,” Asher said shortly.

Henrikk nodded, and the next day, he began to build a fence. The work continued the day after, and the day after that.

By the fifth day, Asher took pity on him and silently helped. They completed the fence the same day, high enough that the wild cats could not climb in.

“We need to clear those trees,” Asher directed, pointing at two palm trees just outside the fence perimeter. “Or else those blasted cats will get in.”

Henrikk liked the use of the term ‘we’. It lit a spark in his soul, and he protected that tiny flame as he set about cutting the trees down.

It was another task that Asher helped him complete, and he chalked that up to a small victory.

One afternoon, Henrikk spotted Asher leaning against the fence watching the chickens clucking away and pecking their new territory bare.

Henrikk approached hesitantly. Then, with a burst of confidence, he addressed Asher’s back, “The quality of life of the chickens is much improved.”

What the fuck am I saying?

Asher threw him a quizzical look over his shoulder, but then had the grace to murmur his agreement.

Henrikk moved to lean on the fence beside Asher, careful to keep several feet of distance between them. “What now?”

Asher stroked his broad chin. “S’ppose we could cook one of them.”

Henrikk couldn’t tell if he was serious.

That night, they ate roast chicken.

It was incredibly good, the smell alone making their mouths water.

“So much for improving the quality of life of the chickens,” Henrikk observed as night fell around the campfire.

They’d eaten in relative silence, so he was surprised when Asher spoke. “True. But it’s improved the quality of our life somewhat.”

Henrikk glanced at Asher. He wasn’t smiling, but the light-hearted comment was the second time he’d spoken to Henrikk that day.

Another small victory.

The fire crackled merrily, and they sat on separate tree stumps, staring into the flames. Henrikk was careful not to say anything else. The fact that Asher was sitting near him was a precious thing, and he dreaded the moment when the general would inevitably stand and leave.

Asher let out a long sigh. “So,” he began, and then the word just hung in the air between them for a long time. Asher threw a piece of bamboo into the fire. “Tell me about this dragon of yours.”