Ashes by Abigail Hilton

Author:Abigail Hilton [Hilton, Abigail]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy, Fiction, device
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 21. Fishing

The weather grew colder and stormier. The rain turned to sleet and sometimes hail. The stream froze. They were all extremely glad of the coats Dakar had brought. Apart from those, their clothes were ill-suited to the weather. They had no winter hats or gloves. Silveo had no boots, and Gerard and Dakar had summer boots. Gerard attempted to make some of the things they needed out of the pelts of Felbane’s kills, but he had neither the supplies nor the knowledge to correctly prepare the leather, nor did he have any experience making these things. He wondered belatedly whether he should have tried to get nearer a town before the worst weather hit. Then they could have attempted to trade or beg or even steal what they needed.

Still, they had a large supply of firewood and enough food for a yellow month, perhaps more. They stayed warm enough, provided they didn’t have to leave the cabin. Silveo was still working on his hand signs. He seemed to get less frustrated, now that he could stop and talk in between. “You know enough languages,” said Gerard. “You ought to be able to make your own.” Silveo was no longer just spelling words. He was inventing simple shortcuts. He added new ones every day, and he expected Gerard and Dakar to keep up. Dakar seemed to have a sponge-like memory, but Gerard got periodic lectures on his mistakes. He didn’t mind. Silveo was daily more himself, including his impatience with anything he considered slow or unintelligent.

Dakar had brought in enough pebbles and bits of shell to form the pieces for the game she liked to play. She taught it to Silveo, who became an instant addict. He wanted to know where she’d learned it. “I thought I knew every sort of game in Wefrivain—at least all the ones you can gamble on—but I don’t know this one.”

Dakar smiled shyly. “Do you like it?”

“I love it! It’s got strategy.” He looked at her narrowly. “You made it, didn’t you?”

Dakar nodded.

Silveo patted her shoulder. “Bored and lonely. I understand.” He frowned. “But there’s one thing I don’t understand. Who played it with you? Who were those big quiet assistants you had down in the dungeons? I never understood that. I never saw them anywhere else.”

Dakar said nothing.

After a moment, Silveo asked, “Who was your father, anyway?”

“I don’t know,” whispered Dakar, but she didn’t meet his eyes.

Silveo let it go.

Colder and icier. They slept as close to the fire as they dared in all the clothes they owned. Gerard was genuinely grateful for Silveo’s company. He asked Dakar whether she was cold, but she said she was alright, and Gerard didn’t press. Dakar didn’t seem to have many inhibitions or a clear grasp of convention. If she needed to crawl in with them, he was pretty sure she’d do it.

Silveo had finally stopped kicking off blankets halfway through the night. “Foxlings must have a warmer core temperature than grishnards,” commented Gerard.

Silveo nodded. “It’s something grishnards like about us—always warm to the touch.

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