Toryn slept fitfully, waking whenever Redwing stacked more wood on the fire. The small space warmed rather nicely. The fire reflected off the close walls and the smoke wafted up and out through the open sides. Toryn gradually began to feel almost warm again, though he was forced to rotate like a fowl on a spit in order to heat first one side and then the other. Once, he was jolted awake by the memory of immobility, of being surrounded by overwhelming blue-whiteness, of his air supply diminishing... He sat up and gasped great lungfuls of air while Redwing watched him through half-lidded eyes and pretended to sleep. Damn the Falaran.
Toryn got up and staggered to the entrance to relieve himself; his bare feet crunched on the sandy grit. The night was clear and cold and the stars blazed across the sky in endless profusion. Toryn looked briefly for the silver of the waxing crescent moon, but it must have been behind his field of vision. He shivered at the sight of the snow, more than ready to welcome spring, having seen enough snow to last him a lifetime. The cold whiteness was largely gone from the grassy plains of Redol, thank Adona. Toryn was not a cold-weather person. He much preferred the bright, hot days of summer.
Toryn sighed and returned to the fire, then tossed a few sparse branches onto the flickering flames. He had a feeling it would be a while before he would again see the fields of his homeland, since Redwing seemed intent upon dragging him into Akarska. Not that Toryn could fault him for that, he admitted to himself. If Toryn returned to Redol with the tale of the slaying of Toryn’s companions, a band of bloodthirsty Redolians would indeed hie after the Falaran like wolves on a hot scent. Toryn glanced at his boots, tempted to bolt, but he also knew if he set one foot into the snow outside, Redwing would most likely train a sharp arrow on him before he took three steps. He had no doubt the Falaran was watching him. He tested his theory.
"If you’re going to pretend to sleep, you need to draw in a breath and hold it a moment before letting it out," he suggested.
Redwing huffed and huddled deeper into his cloak. "Thinking of running?" he asked.
"Yes, but I don’t see my sword," Toryn replied. "I suppose you are sleeping on it?"
Redwing’s features went still in the firelight. Toryn did not know him well enough to discern what that meant.
"Try to get some sleep," Redwing said after a moment. "I want to get an early start so we can be free of this snow as soon as possible."
Toryn had no cause to argue that, so he shrugged and complied.
Later, the smell of roasting meat awakened him. Toryn sat up, famished. Redwing had tossed the last of the sausages into the pan and covered them with a bit of water. He offered Toryn a pouch filled with dried fruits—raisins, apple slices, cranberries, and prunes. Toryn ate a handful and wished for the smoked fish that was back with his belongings in the camp he and his unfortunate companions had shared. Tuna, halibut, trout and oysters were Redolian staples.
They ate without benefit of conversation and then put on their still-damp clothing. Toryn discovered a few new aches and pains while doing so, a purpling bruise on his forearm and a strained muscle on his left side that made him wince when he raised his arm.
He noticed a massive discoloration on Redwing’s ribs before the Falaran pulled on the shirt he had worn the previous day. Toryn tugged on the wool sweater. It was soggy and cold, but after a moment the insulating power of the fabric began to warm him. Now, if only it didn’t smell like a wet sheep... Toryn grimaced when he tugged on his leather trousers, despising the feel of cold, damp leather. Redwing’s expression was much the same when he donned his own buckskins.
Redwing carefully restowed his pack as he did every morning. Toryn doused the fire. When all was ready, Redwing strapped on his sword, hefted the pack and tied it on before gripping his bow stave.
Toryn’s eyes narrowed. "Where is my sword?" he asked in what he felt was a very rational tone, but the Falaran winced.
"It was lost in the slide," Redwing admitted. "I looked for it, but it was more urgent that I get you to shelter."
Toryn pictured the Falaran happily tugging out Toryn’s sword and flinging it into the huge bank of snow. He clamped his jaws shut against a shout of rage.
"I did look for it," Redwing protested.
With effort, Toryn reined in his temper, acknowledging that the bastard could have left the sword back in the grave with Toryn’s companions. Adona alone knew why Redwing had dragged it along in the first place, knowing it would be constant temptation for Toryn to get his hands on it. He shook his head with a disgusted sigh. Damn. He had used that sword for years. It would not be easily replaced.
"I suggest we get moving," Toryn gritted emphatically. "The sooner we get to where you will feel safe, the sooner I can be rid of you and go home."
Redwing nodded agreement and the two of them left their evening’s sanctuary and tramped off into the snowy forest.