*
On the way out of the forest, Alza had suddenly stopped walking, prompting Barsch to ask why. Without speaking, she had pointed to the undergrowth, where the sticks she had discarded still lay. Barsch had wanted to continue on without them, but she had not moved until every last piece of kindling had been collected. Finally, several minutes after leaving the grove, they arrived at the outcrop.
The moment they arrived, Kingston had run forward and started asking questions. Quickly, Barsch assured the old man that they were both fine, and that they had run into some… minor trouble. After what Kingston must have gone through the last time Barsch endangered himself, Barsch decided to obfuscate the truth somewhat.
“So, while Alza was gathering firewood, she slipped and fell into a crevice, and then you came along and rescued her?” said Kingston, after Barsch had finished weaving his tale.
“Yes, that’s what happened,” Barsch replied, mentally begging Alza not to give him away. But, for once, her taciturn nature came in handy, and she merely stared back when Kingston glanced in her direction.
Kingston looked from Alza to Barsch a few times, before announcing, “Alright, I can see that happening, especially with all this blasted rain. I’m glad neither of you were hurt.”
At this point, Alza walked over and handed Kingston the collected wood, who took it with an unhappy look on his face. “Completely soaked, just as I feared,” he stated, after looking through the small pile. “Sorry Barsch, looks like it’ll be a cold supper tonight.”
“Are you sure?” Barsch asked, childish hope momentarily overwhelming his adult pessimism.
“Yeah, I could try and put it to the match, but with wood like this…”
“May I try?” asked Alza, suddenly appearing beside Kingston.
The hermit gave a small jump, but covered his embarrassment by saying, “Go ahead, if you want, although I doubt anything will come of it.”
He then reached into one of his coat pockets and drew forth a partially crumpled matchbook, which he then handed to Alza. She took the matchbook and knelt beside the pile of kindling, a strange look in her eyes.
What happened next was too fast for Barsch’s eyes to follow. He caught a glimpse of a white spark, a flash of red, and then it was over. What had previously been a very damp patch of wood, had now become a small, amber-hued fire.
“By Ether’s ghost,” whispered Kingston, as he looked at the fire with awe. “How did you…”
“I try not to think about it,” said Barsch, recalling Alza’s impossible escape in the grove.
Kingston nodded, but there was still something in his eyes when he looked at Alza, something… dangerous.
“Well, I suppose we should make supper then,” he announced, a few tense minutes later.
Awakening Page 33