Page 72 of A Land So Wide
“How lucky,” she said, echoing her earlier sentiment.
He nodded. “I imagine you’ve got quite a headache, though. How’s the rest of you feel?”
Greer pushed herself up, testing her limbs, while surveying the camp and the stranger who’d remained so well hidden behind the flames.
He wore buckskin trousers and an impressive pair of furred boots. They lashed up his calves, coming nearly to his knees. His coat was enormous, the wool worn shiny in spots. Though it was cold enough for Greer’s breath to puff in a frosty haze, the stranger wore no hat, and his hair was shorn close to his scalp, far shorter than the men of Mistaken wore theirs. It was fuzzy, like a peach, and a brown so dark it was nearly black.
“I think I’m all right,” Greer decided, scooping up her cloak. She was surprised to spot her knife on the log, hidden by the drying garment.
“That was beside you,” the stranger said, gesturing again with the tilt of his chin. “It’s a wonder you didn’t land on it. That would have been a nasty stab.”
“With lots of blood.” She smiled, slipping the knife back into her pocket.
“That’s a terrible place to keep it,” he observed. “You should have it sheathed against you. Easy to remove, hard to lose. On your calf, maybe.”
Greer nodded as if it were possible to produce such an item magically, simply because the stranger said she ought to. She grabbed her mittens and eyed her pack.
He hoisted it to her. “I’m no thief.”
The bag thudded against her chest, and she scrambled to catch it. “I didn’t think you were,” she said, but she retreated quickly to the far side of the fire, giving him a large berth while allowing her to keep a close watch on his movements.
He shrugged as if her obvious safeguard didn’t bother him in the slightest, and it was the nonchalant expression on his face that made Greer decide to be bold.
“Are you a trapper?”
“I suppose you could say that,” he said, responding in a way that made it seem like he’d answered her question even if he’d not.
She nodded toward his boots. “They’re very fine,” she observed. “Caribou?”
“Grizzly. Same as your blanket.”
Her eyebrows rose with genuine surprise. “You hunt grizzly?”
His lips rose.
“I’ve never seen one in person, only their tracks,” she admitted, regarding him in a new light. “But I’ve heard stories of how big they can get, how ferocious and fast.”
He leaned in as if about to impart a grave confidence. “The secret to hunting something so ferocious and fast,” he began, “is to always be a little more ferocious.”
Greer’s smile felt small and weak. “How long was I asleep?”
“You were unconscious,” he began, drawing out the word to mark the distinction, “for a few hours. Two or three.”
“Still twilight, then,” she said, glancing to the sky.
“This time of year, there’s more night than day…Does it really matter what part of it we’re in?”
Greer supposed it wouldn’t to someone who was not from Mistaken. She wondered what it would be like, not to feel the ticking by of every hour, not to be held captive to the comings and goings of the sun.
“The night is terribly pretty, though,” the stranger allowed, his gaze lifting to the stars, a half-smile tugging at his mouth.
For one terrible second, his eyes flashed a faint red, reflecting the firelight like the shine of an animal.
Greer startled, but when the stranger shifted, the illusion was gone. She massaged the back of her head, wondering if something had been damaged after all. Bursts of light were supposed to signal a concussion, weren’t they? Greer wanted to ask the stranger, but hesitated, unwilling to show any sign of weakness.
“Are you hungry?” she asked instead, fumbling with the flap on the rucksack. “I’ve a bit of bread and jerky. We could share.”
It was a generous offer, especially since she knew how little there truly was, but the man shook his head.
