He ought to be hunting. He would catch an earful from Hannah regardless, but he had more chance of avoiding the worst if he came back with a deer or a brace of pheasants. Groaning wearily, he rose to his feet and took up his hunting bow. It wasn't the greatest weapon, by any means, but it was one of the few things that Devin truly owned and he loved it with a fierce pride. Checking his pack to make sure all was still in order, he set off at a light pace deeper into the woods.
He'd gone into the woods to the north of the village. It was only a day's walk at most from here to the road to Savarel, but there were some nice game trails to be had. Besides, if he'd headed to the south, he'd have had to pass half a dozen people who would have remarked on it to Hannah. Devin was arguably lazy, but he was no fool.
He cut a slight figure. At a little less than five and a half feet, and slender along with it, he could and had, been mistaken for a young girl on more than one occasion. His fair features did little to help this and Devin longed for the day when his beard would finally begin to sprout in earnest. He was dressed simply, in green homespun and a sturdy travelling cloak, hardly the ideal clothing for trying to find a deer. At least they were a few days on him and wouldn't carry the scent of soap.
Devin had always been at ease in the woods. They felt more like home to him than Widdengate itself. The village had taken him in when he'd needed it to, and Khorin and Hannah had cared for him as if he were truly their own, but he'd always be the outsider. Even five years later, he still felt the eyes on him and the hushed words. In the woods, he was free.
Amongst these trees, he had been the greatest hunter. He had fought off ravaging Bjornmen. He had battled dragons and barrow revenants. He was not a child though, not any longer. That child had died shortly after his mother.
It was small wonder then that Devin's woodscraft was mostly self-taught. Who had there really been to teach him? Khorin knew his way around the woods in terms of what mushrooms not to eat, and the difference between an oak and a beech, but little more. Devin had learned through trial and error. How to move quietly through the woods, by seeking out soft earth, moss or hard tree roots to step on. How to place his foot down flat instead of rolling it when there were no other alternatives. How to make sure he was upwind of his quarry. Most importantly, he'd learned how not to be quiet when there was no other choice. The woods were full of sounds. Animals that moved through the brush were not entirely silent themselves. The trick was to make the right kinds of noises.
He smiled to himself as he reached a small game trail meandering into the woods. Setting down his pack, Devin reached into a pouch and then strung his bow in one smooth motion, bracing one end against the soft forest floor. He ran his hands through his dark hair, sweeping it back from his forehead, and nocked an arrow to the string. He set off slowly along the game trail, his eyes alert now and showing none of the glaze they had during his last half an hour or so of daydreaming.
He walked in an odd half-crouched stalk that would have looked ridiculous to anyone watching, his eyes and head tracking slowly back and forth but not settling on anything. The woods were oddly quiet today. Normally, he'd have spotted a game bird or two by now, but so far he'd seen nothing. He skipped lightly over a shallow stream, his feet finding large stones that extended above the rushing water easily. The bank was steep and he had to hold his arrow along the length of his bow, using his free hand to grasp at bushes to assist him.
It was as he made it to the top that he spotted the stag. It was a truly beautiful creature, fully sixteen points on its antlers, and easily as tall as he was. It stood proud and tall at the edge of a small clearing. He was so captured by the scene that he almost didn't think of his bow. Swearing silently and praying the breeze didn't carry his scent, he nocked an arrow and pulled back to just past his eye. He carefully sighted along the shaft and took a deep breath, holding it. Before he could release, the deer tensed and sprang out of the clearing to the north.
Devin cursed quietly and made his way slowly across the clearing in the hopes that the creature had not gone too far. An old and winding trail led northwards. From the look of the leaves, it hadn't been used by man or beast in some time. The stag's tracks were plain to see in the disturbed leaves and soft earth beneath them. The animal itself, however, was gone.
More from idle curiosity than anything else, he followed the path. He knew he had little chance of finding anything, given the pristine state of it. For whatever reason, animals seemed to be avoiding it. He largely ignored the trail itself, concentrating his attention on the trees in the hopes of seeing a pheasant at roost. The path meandered for a time and then opened out into a small clearing. Devin looked around in confusion, not really sure what he was looking at. It felt familiar somehow, yet he could have sworn he'd never set foot in it before. The ground was covered in a thick blanket of leaves, blown free by the autumn winds. He walked towards the centre of the clearing, turning to scan the trees as he did so, and caught his heel on the edge of something. He fell hard and landed on his backside in the brown leaves. Devin muttered a curse and pulled himself up, relieved that no one was around to see. “Can't even walk across a clearing without falling over!” he chided himself. He picked up his fallen bow, thankful he hadn't had the string pulled back.
He chuckled at his own foolishness and kicked at the leaf-covered log he'd tripped over. He spun in a slow circle noting the humps buried by the fallen leaves. They formed a circle of sorts. He shivered, despite the warm day and wondered at himself. What was this place? Why did he have this reaction to it? He took a cautious step towards the centre of the clearing and a scream cut through the silence of the forest.
Devin jumped violently and muttered a curse that would have turned Hannah's face white. He turned towards the sound, the strange reaction he'd had to the clearing forgotten. It was definitely a woman's scream and Devin set off towards it at a dead run. He knew the woods like the back of his hand up to about three or four miles radius from Widdengate, this odd clearing aside. He'd travelled about two miles into the forest today and so knew roughly where he was. There was little ahead of him but woods, aside from a pretty clearing with a stream in it. A good place to catch trout if the weather was right, but no use for anything else.
He slowed as he heard voices and, without really thinking about it, began to move as quietly as possible.
“I told you, no!” a woman's voice snapped. Devin peered from behind a tree to see Erinn and Artor from the village. They lay beside the stream on a checked picnic blanket, the remains of a meal scattered about them. Well, Artor lay. Lounged would be closer to it. Erinn sat bolt upright, her arms clasped around her knees over her pale yellow dress, with a look of embarrassed outrage on her face.
“You know what you are, Erinn?” Artor said. “You're a damned tease, is what you are. You lead a man on, flirting an' kissing, and then when it's time to do more, you blush and run like some nervous maid.”
“I am a nervous maid, you fool!” she spat at him.
“Of course you are,” Artor said, his voice heavy with sarcasm. He was a big man, about three years older than Devin. Working with his father in the watermill had given him a strong physique and his blonde hair, blue eyes and chiselled features tended to attract girls like moths to a candle flame. Devin privately despised him.
“What do you think I am? Some kind of slattern?” Erinn's voice rose with her temper and she climbed up from the blanket, dusting off her dress. “Some bitch in heat you can just pounce upon?”
“Well, what did you think we were going to be doing? Why do you think I asked you out here?” Artor said, disbelievingly. “Come on, you know you want to.”
“I most certainly do not!” Erinn flushed and her lips pressed together in a thin pale line as she folded her arms over her breasts.
“You may as well. I'll tell all the other lads you did, anyway,” he smiled a sickly-sweet smile.
Her temper snapped at that and the sound of the slap filled the clearing. Her face went
from angry to smug to scared in the space of two breaths, as Artor's face rocked back from the blow, and he turned back to her with anger in his eyes.
“Maybe I should just take what I want anyway?” he said, in a low, dangerous voice.
“You wouldn't dare!” Shock swept over Erinn's face and she backed away slowly.
Devin had been preparing to move back through the trees, as this was clearly a private moment, but Artor's words stopped him cold. He hadn't been particularly close to Erinn for a few years now, but he wasn't about to let this happen. He reached for his quiver again and set his arrow in place by feel, his eyes never once leaving the scene.
Artor lunged for her and she backed away again, just out of his reach. She turned to run and he grabbed her long, red hair in one fist, twisting it around his hand for a better grip. “Now, let's just see if you're as sweet as you look,” he said softly into her ear.
“My father will kill you, if you do,” she hissed through clenched teeth, her eyes watering as he pulled her hair.
“Why would he do that? When I was working in the mill all afternoon?” He pulled hard and forced her down onto the blanket.
Devin stepped out from between the trees, his bow taut and aimed squarely at Artor's rump. “I think she said no, Artor,” he said, with a calm he definitely did not feel. The boy's head shot round in a way that would have been funny if it had been in any other circumstances, and his eyes narrowed in recognition.
“What are you doing here, boy?” he said with contempt. “Peeking at your betters, you little pervert?”
“Let her go,” Devin said, trying to control the trembling in his knees.
“Or what? You'll poke me with your little squirrel killer?” Artor released Erinn and she slumped down, as he got to his feet to face Devin. They stood only thirty or forty feet apart and, all at once, Devin was keenly aware of just how big the miller's son was. He had six inches and easily two stone of muscle on him. If it came to a fistfight, Devin would not only lose, he'd be lucky to be alive.
Devin nodded towards the trees. “Good. Now, I think you'd better go.”
“If anyone is going, it'll be you.” Artor laughed, incredulously. “Honestly, sneaking around the woods, so you can catch a glimpse at a couple. You little pervert, you ought to be ashamed of yourself.”
“We didn't, Devin,” cried Erinn, her face a mixture of outrage and shame. “I mean, I wouldn't!”
“Shut up, girl!” Artor snapped, before turning back to face Devin. “I'll tell you what, boy. You leave right now and get back to hunting for hedgehogs, or squirrels, or whatever it is you do with that little toy of yours and I won't mention this to anyone.”
“I don't think so, Artor,” Devin said, hoping no one could hear the tremor in his voice. “I think you better put your little weed away. Nobody is interested in playing with it today.”
“Why, you little...” Artor began, and came at him with fists high. The shock that came over his face was priceless, as the arrow buried itself in the earth, not six inches from his foot. He froze, looking aghast, as Devin smoothly nocked a second arrow. “You shot at me!” he cried, incredulous.
“No, Artor. I shot at the ground.” Devin replied slowly, as if explaining things to small child. The shock on Artor's face had robbed him of any menace, and Devin was finding it hard to keep a straight face. “If I'd shot at you, I'd have hit you.”
He nodded towards the trees again. “Go!” he snapped, trying to put some menace into his voice.
“This isn't over.” Artor glared at Devin, then at Erinn and stalked off into the woods. Devin watched until he was out of sight and then relaxed the bow. “Well, shit...” he murmured and leant heavily against a tree. He looked up to see Erinn's eyes upon him, an unreadable expression on her face.
“Are you okay?” he asked, trying to read her face.
“I'm fine,” she snapped. And then, “I'm sorry, Devin. I'm not being short with you. I'm cross with myself.”
“With yourself?” Devin wondered. “I can't see that you did anything wrong. He was the one like a stag in rut.”
“I went to the woods. For a picnic. Alone.” Erinn said, wondering at her own stupidity. “With Artor!” she laughed a helpless little laugh. Devin smiled, unsure just which part of this it was that was so funny.
“Oh, stars above and all the droos -scarred altars. What a fool I am!” she cried, still laughing. The laughter had a touch of hysteria about it that spurred Devin forward. He went to pull her close but she flinched away.
“Devin,” she said, sniffing and rubbing at her eyes, “if you hadn't come along...” She left it hanging.
“You'd probably have slapped his face and sent him off with his tail between his legs,” he finished for her. They smiled at the image, both knowing it wouldn't have played out like that.
“What were you doing out here, anyway?” she asked, with a shaky smile.
“Well, it wasn't because I was hoping I'd catch a glimpse of Artor's bare arse, I can tell you that!” snorted Devin. She laughed with him and, for a moment, it was like they were both children again.
“I suppose we better gather these things up.” He moved about the clearing, gathering up the bowls and empty bottle. Erinn watched wordlessly for a moment, before shaking out the blanket and folding it up.
“Come on,” Devin smiled. “I'll walk you back to the village.”
She pulled the arrow from the soft earth with an odd expression and handed it to him, before walking away towards the village without another word. Devin replaced the arrow in his quiver and followed her.
It was mid-afternoon by the time they made it back to the village and Devin was ravenous. He left Erinn with vague promises to spend more time together and catch up, but they both knew it probably wouldn't happen. He walked quickly through the long grass, as he made his way toward the road and home, replaying the day's events in his head. He vaguely noted a heavily laden wagon coming along the road towards him, heading in the direction of the inn. A middle-aged man held the reins loosely. Devin was immediately struck by the soft black robes the man wore and the bone white rope about his waist.
“Boy!” called the black-robed man in a condescending tone. “Hey, boy!” Devin stopped and looked over at the man expectantly.
“Is there an inn in this village?” he asked, a smile upon his face. It was the type of smile that a childless man uses with a friend's children. Patronising and tolerant.
“Along the path you are following, sir,” he replied, Hannah's manners coming out before he had a chance to realise it. “Another five minutes or so.”
“Blessings of the Lord be on you, my son,” the black-robed man said pompously, and clucked his horse on. Devin stepped to the side of the path to allow the wagon to pass. He watched for a moment, before his stomach spoke to him again and he headed on to the cottage.
“Any luck?” Hannah said, as he came down the steps into the kitchen.
“Luck?” Devin replied, his brow twisting into a tight frown.
“Your bow. I assumed you were hunting,” she replied, with an edge in her voice. “At least, I assume that's why you left before sun up, without saying a word to anyone?”
“I...umm,” he fumbled.
“You what?” She wiped her dough-covered hands on her white apron and frowned at him. “You know Khorin wanted your help today? Honestly, Devin, sometimes I don't know what to do with you.” She sighed, obviously biting back harsher words. “Did you at least manage to bring anything back for the pot?”
“I nearly did,” he replied, moving on quickly as he saw her expression fall. “I had a deer, but it was spooked by Erinn screaming.”
“Erinn? What was Erinn doing there?” Devin stalled for a minute, kicking himself for his own stupidity. He hadn't planned on talking about this with anyone.
“Devin?” She drew out the word, managing to make it both a question and a threat. He gave in and, before he knew it, had recounted the entire tale, right down to shooting the
arrow at Artor's feet.
“That damned fool girl,” Hannah sighed. “She's going to get herself into all manner of trouble if she doesn't start thinking a little more.” She sat back at the table and began working the bread dough she'd been kneading.
“She's hardly the one at fault, Hannah,” Devin said.
“You sound like Khorin,” she said, over her shoulder. “That's exactly the type of innocent nonsense he would come out with.” She laughed again at his nonplussed expression. “Yes, Devin, Artor is the one at fault, but Erinn should know better than that. A girl as pretty as she is needs to be careful, especially with men like Artor.”
“So she's at fault for going on a picnic with him?”
“For going alone, with a man like Artor, miles from anywhere? Yes! And she knows it!” she said, jabbing a flour-covered finger at his chest. “She carries on like that, she'll be travelling to Cobton to find a priest to marry them both before the year's out.”
“Looks like she wouldn't need to go to Cobton, at least not today,” Devin replied. “There's one at the inn.”
“Oh, my stars!” Hannah said, with a gasp. “Maryanne mentioned a pastor was coming when I had lunch with her last week, but you know how she is. Running that inn has put gossip so far into her mind that she spouts it whether it's true or not!” She spun on her heel and dashed out of the room without another word. Devin watched in amusement, as she hurried halfway up the stairs, only to stop and run down again.
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