Kared's Children - Chapter 12

Damon watched Reek, but not too obviously. The Graywillow, too, seemed disinterested in the pot or its contents. He picked at the ground, muttering to himself. Damon looked at Aleda, who was sharpening her dagger. He put his hands behind his head and dozed.

Something touched his thigh; he ignored it. It touched him again and he opened his eyes. It was the tip of Aleda’s shoe. She was touching his leg gently. He looked at her face and her eyes darted toward Reek. Damon looked at the Graywillow.

Reek was closer to the pot. He still was picking at the ground, but also was casting sidelong glances at the oily mixture.

"Mmm," Damon thought he heard Reek echo.

The Graywillow grumbled loudly about something and scratched an ear. He looked toward them.

Aleda wasn’t watching, and Damon yawned and lowered his eyelids sleepily. He kept them as slits.

The tip of Reek’s snout bent toward the pot. The Graywillow glanced at them. Aleda ran a finger against the edge of her blade.

Damon yawned again.

Reek bent further toward the pot. His tongue extended; it dipped daintily. He straightened, his lips smacking. He dipped again. Then he picked the pot up greedily with both hands and drank the mixture, his sounds a cacophony. He crooned loudly.

Damon glanced at Aleda; she winked at him. It was an intimate movement, one he liked.

Reek licked the pot clean.

Damon decided he’d never want to eat from it again.

The Graywillow dropped the pot loudly on the ground.

Aleda reached for it, took it.

Reek said something.

Aleda smiled, whispered something back.

The Graywillow spoke again.

In the gathering darkness, Aleda gathered dirt into the pot and began to scrub its insides innocently.

. . .

Damon was surrounded by the dead. He was crawling on top of them. Their bodies had been charred horribly, they’d been cooked, and every time he made a move to crawl, their skin would slip wetly under his hands and from their bones. Some began to open their eyes. Some began to whisper his name. Bedelia was one. Southland was another.

Aleda was there. "Damon," she whispered. Above her head the stars were a powder across the sky. "Damon."

He awoke. The prairie around them glowed gold in the starlight. The memory of those blackened bodies was before him.

"You were dreaming," Aleda whispered. "That’s all."

He sat up. "Did I wake you?"

She shrugged.

Reek snored nearby.

Damon looked at him. "What did you do to him?"

"He’ll sleep until we wake him."

"That’s nice magic," he said.

"Not magic," she whispered. "Medicine."

"You mean like field dressings?"

She nodded.

"It looked like cooking to me."

She nodded again.

"So medicine is like cooking?"

"And like dressings," she whispered. "Magic, too," she mouthed.

"Hm." He wasn’t sure if she meant that magic was like cooking or if medicine was like magic. "I’ll be glad when you can talk so you can tell me what you’re talking about."

She giggled, a faint squeak.

"Though it did make sense. I guess." He glanced at her self-consciously. "I never thought I’d say I’d be glad when you could talk."