Page 73 of A Land So Wide
“I set a few snares while you were out.” He cocked his head toward the shadows. “I’ll see if we had any luck.” As he stood, his gaze fell heavily on Greer. “It would be incredibly foolish of you to try running off in the dark while I’m gone. There are all sorts of things in these woods that would be upon you in a heartbeat.”
“But not you?” she guessed, sounding braver than she felt.
Another half-smile. Another strange trick of eye-shine that Greer longed to believe was in fact a trick. “Not me,” he agreed, then slipped into the trees.
25
The stranger returnedwith a pair of snowshoe hares, holding the rabbits by their haunches, necks snapped, paws dangling.
He hadn’t been long, maybe only ten or fifteen minutes.
In his absence, Greer had gone through her pack, searching for evidence that he’d taken something from her meager possessions. Nothing had been touched, and she found he’d refilled her canteen with fresh spring water. The solicitous gesture irked her for reasons she could not name. She’d wanted to think badly of him, certain his presence was a danger. It was irritating to be proved wrong.
She’d briefly considered leaving, but the woods were pitch-black, and the crackle of the fire was comforting. She’d figure how to extricate herself in the morning, when her belly was filled and the light had returned. Still, she kept the knife close at hand.
To show she could be helpful as well, Greer set to work melting handfuls of snow in her little stew pot, then threw in a scattering of stinging-nettle sprigs. The tea was steeping as he returned.
The stranger hoisted his catch high, letting her inspect the bounty.
“It looks like the Benevolence was on your side,” she admired.
He furrowed his brow, as if not understanding her.
“The Benevolence…” she began, but stopped. He did notrecognize the term. “They…” Greer felt too tired to explain. “You brought back a very good catch.”
“Suppose you’ll want them roasted?” he asked, nodding toward the fire.
She laughed. Belatedly, he joined in, and Greer had the strangest sensation that it had not been a joke.
“I’ve made tea, but I’m afraid I only have the one cup. Do you have one in your pack?”
Greer had noticed his lack of supplies as she worked around the camp. There’d been no bag, no pack. It seemed completely improbable that a man who hunted grizzlies would wander into such impenetrable wilds without some sort of kit.
He’d need weapons at the very least—bows and arrows, knives, a rifle with powder and bullets—but she’d wandered a wide circle around the camp—gathering nettles, she’d reasoned as her conscience listed guiltily—and hadn’t seen anything.
Oddly, the missing kit reassured her. She wasn’t the only one quick to distrust.
She stared at him now with innocent eyes, waiting to see how he’d respond.
But the stranger shook his head. “Never been much for tea. You go on and drink up.”
She blinked. “Don’t you want something to warm you, after your long hunt?”
He laughed. “It wasn’t that long.”
“But you must be cold. Take the cup first. We can share.”
The stranger only took the rabbits behind the log for cleaning. Greer saw a quick flash of silver as he removed a knife from some hidden sheath.
He made quick work of the hares, stripping the fur in long, clean swaths before flaying out the body and removing the organs. He skewered the limbs on a branch and set them roasting over the flames.
“No fancy herbs or salts,” he said, more observation than apology.
“It smells wonderful all the same,” Greer said, shifting beneath the thick heft of her cloak and hoping the stranger couldn’t hear the rumble of her stomach.
They settled back into their spots at the fire circle, Greer sipping the bitter tea while the stranger roasted the rabbits, turning the sticks every so often. Though he seemed content to sit in silence, the inside of Greer jangled, anxiety thrumming and building in her, until the question she longed to ask came bursting out.
“Are you really not going to tell me your name?”
