Page 44 of Tusk Love

She gripped his arm. “But—”

He shook her off. “Take care of her for me,” he said to the musician, who nodded and ushered Guinevere into the darkness underneath the bonnet.

Guinevere wasn’t sure how many children there actually were. They moved around so much that each one seemed to be everywhere at the same time. There were fifteen adults of various races, though, including the musician. They sat comfortably amidst piles of furs, wooden chests, building materials, and a staggering array of clubs and axes.

“She’s shivering, the poor dear,” tutted the most elderly of the lot, a stooped human woman with white hair and gnarled knuckles. “Rodregg, fetch us some blankets, won’t you?”

“Yes, Nan.” The musician ambled over to one of the chests and heaved the lid open.

“He’s a good lad,” the elderly woman confided to Guinevere. “One of my favorites. I wish he’d apply himself to the clan business more—we’re fur traders, you see—but unfortunately he wants to focus on his music.”

“He couldn’t skin a rabbit if it hopped into his lap and held still!” cackled a brunette goblin who bore enough of a resemblance to Rodregg that Guinevere guessed she was his sister.

“If you are quite done assassinating my character, Zugri…” Rodregg dumped several heavy wool blankets into Guinevere’s lap.

“It’s short for Zugrinilka,” the brunette goblin explained as she helped Guinevere bundle up. “It means ‘the presentiment of doom that overtakes the enemy before battle is joined.’ I hope my little hellions weren’t bothering you too much earlier.”

There were cries of “We weren’t!” and “We’regoodkids!” from theinnumerable children. One of them asked Guinevere if Pudding would be all right in the rain. She nodded, her teeth chattering too much for her to speak. Her new companions took pity on her and introduced themselves one by one to fill up the silence. Her head spun from all the names, but she forced herself to concentrate, to remember. It was the least she could do.

The old woman everyone called Nan had formed Clan Bonecrusher decades ago. They were nomads who plied their trade all over Wildemount, collecting every lost soul in need of a home along the way. Species didn’t matter; they were afamily.A particularly well-armed one, more than capable of holding their own against the bandits that plagued the wilderness.

When the blankets had finally warmed Guinevere, she hurried to introduce herself and to thank the clan’s matriarch, as etiquette dictated, but Nan waved her off.

“Think nothing of it,” she said. “We know how it goes. Travelers help one another here on the Amber Road, or we’reallup the creek without a paddle.”

“And where are you off to this time?” Guinevere inquired.

“The Menagerie Coast,” said Zugri. Her yellow eyes glinted with mischief. “Where the winters are milder for Nan’s old bones.”

A chorus of cackling laughter echoed through the wagon. Nan playfully shook a fist at Zugri.

“You’re for the Coast as well, yes?” Rodregg peered at Guinevere speculatively. “Forgive my presumption, but a fine lady such as yourself doesn’t seem all that destined for AlfieldorTrostenwald.”

Guinevere fidgeted. She hardly felt like a lady in her drenched clothes, half-buried in rustic blankets and her hair a sodden, tangled mess, but her parents would have been delighted to know that her affluent upbringing had shone through.It’s in how you carry yourself,her father loved to say.Your mother and I are as common as muck, we come from generations of it, but with you, my girl, we’ll finally break that cycle.

Out loud, Guinevere confirmed that her party was also headed tothe Menagerie Coast. Rodregg grinned. “You and your young man are eloping, are you?”

Her first instinct was to protest. But, on second thought, she and Oskar could hardly go around telling everyone who asked that they were transporting a trunk filled with valuable enchanted items. If omitting that fact, though, it was difficult to explain why two people were traveling together all by themselves such a long way, one of them clearly from the upper class, as Rodregg had pointed out. Without knowing it, the musician had handed Guinevere a plausible cover story.

“Yes, we’re eloping,” she confirmed, and Rodregg clapped a hand over his heart as the other Bonecrushers hooted in delight.

Rain continued to pour well into the late afternoon. While her companions napped or played games with the children or chatted among themselves or threatened to break Rodregg’s lute over his head if he didn’t stop singing, Guinevere took to checking on Oskar. She stayed at the back of the wagon, fretfully peeking out the bonnet and into the silver-gray blur that the world had become. Oskar was practically a darkened silhouette; he walked between the two horses, their reins in his hands as he scouted the ground ahead, guiding Pudding and Vindicator away from rocks and deep potholes. The hood of his cloak was drawn over his head, but he had to be drenched to the bone…yet he continued slogging through the mud and the wet behind the wagon, never faltering. Guinevere’s heart ached.

She could have wept in relief when the deluge finally ceased. Nan made the call to set up camp, as the sun didn’t look likely to return. The two wagons trundled to a stop at the side of the road, and Guinevere leapt down. Her arms filled with blankets, her boots kicking up sprays of brown slush, she ran to Oskar, who had taken off his cloak and was tethering the horses.

“I’m fine,” he insisted in that gruff, tired rumble of his as she attempted to swaddle him in the blankets. “Did they treat you all right?”

“Yes.” She arranged a third blanket over his shoulders. He gave up and let her, a faint softness tugging at the corner of his mouth. “They’veinvited us to camp with them tonight,” she added hesitantly. “I think it’s a good idea?”

Oskar nodded. “Safety in numbers.”

“Let me introduce you to Clan Bonecrusher, then.” She wrapped both her arms around one of his, tugging him in the direction of the wagons. “By the way, I told them that you and I are eloping.”

He nearly walked into a tree.

Tents were pitched on thedamp ground in a large clearing just off the Amber Road. The Bonecrushers had logs in their wagons, and soon enough, a fire blazed merrily, warding off the post-rainstorm chill. The cozy scent of burning applewood mingled with the cool musk of wet earth.

The clan traveled well stocked. In an enormous iron cauldron blackened from years of use, Zugri mixed up a hearty pottage of cracked wheat, pickled turnips, and mutton that had been cured in salt and honey. Seated by the fire, Oskar and Guinevere threw all shame to the wind and asked for thirds.

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