Page 52 of The Wulver's Bond
He let the admission hang in the air between them. Moss absorbed both the statement and how gravely Arran meant it.
The wolfman smoothed the fur down along his arms. ‘This is why I suggest we leave, as soon as the rain dies down, to visit the Witch of the Highlands. He may be able to break the spell that binds you to me.’
The Walker witch. Moss knew of him. Apparently he’d had some success sorting out the Loch Ness Monster, but the kid was young and breaking curses was hardly an easy thing. Moss waved his arms, flapping the sleeves down to reveal the tattoos. ‘Why bother, wolfie? He’s a helluva long way away and these chains aren’t going anywhere.’
‘We must have hope,’ Arran said firmly.
Moss’s frown deepened. ‘If it makes you feel better, I guess.’
If it would help Arran get over his ownership complex, Moss considered, then maybe it was worth going along with. At worst, he’d get to do some sight-seeing in genuinely enjoyable company, rather than being kicked along the road against his will.
In the meanwhile, it gave Moss time to consider Arran’s knot.Bound for eternity.That was heavy as fuck.
And the way Arran said it, Moss felt he meant it differently to the way his cursed chains tied them together. Because didn’t these magic tattoosalsobind him to the Wulver for eternity? So long as Arran remained alive, anyway.
What would that be like?
He hadn’t fully contemplated it until now. Moss had lived from day to day, like he always used to, with no thought for the future—because under Elsie, what possible future could he hope to have?
But with Arran…
Moss imagined the years stretching before him. Years of living in this cave with the wolfman. Of their daily forages and chores weaving into the background texture of his life. Maybe moving permanently into a shared bed. Spending every night in Arran’s warm embrace.
The fuzzy, squirrelly feeling this stirred in Moss was utterly foreign. And enthralling.
Moss watched Arran clear up pots they’d knocked from the workbench. The air in the cave remained thick between them. Moss was still pissed, but the heat of his anger had died away. Now he was niggled by the sense of profound sadness apparent in the wolfman’s drooping ears and limp tail. He didn’t want to forgive Arran so quickly, but for the love of all that was green, Moss longed to reach out to him.
Arran picked up the basket Moss had broken. He carefully unbent some of its edges and inspected the holes. Moss watched him select a bundle of grass fronds and sit to mend it.
‘Why bother?’ Moss asked, peering over his shoulder. ‘You won’t get it back to how it was.’
‘That is not the aim,’ Arran said quietly, lacing a thin strip through an opening. ‘The aim is to work with the flaws. They are part of the object now.’
Moss flopped into a cross-legged position in front of him. ‘Show me how?’
Arran’s ears perked in surprise and he raised an eyebrow. ‘Surely you can simply ask your plants to weave one for you.’
‘I want to use my hands.’
I want to share this with you.
Arran passed him a new bundle of dry fronds and showed Moss how to weave a simple mat. While they worked, Arran talked about the journey to see the witch. About the food theyshould pack, which route they should take, where his boat was hidden far to the south.
Moss nodded along, lost in helter-skelter imaginings of his future. One with Arran in it. One without.
He knew which one he preferred.
* * *
The storm finally withdrew. Moss was glad to get out into the open air again. It had been a tense couple of days since the roundabout confrontation with Arran. Moss had the distinct feeling that Arran was treading lightly around him.
Each time Moss tried to brush against the Wulver, he pulled away. When they ate, Moss shuffled closer, and Arran seemed to shrink in on himself. So Moss kept to his own bed and cut his jibes to a minimum.
Still, the pensive gloom continued to hang over the wolfman’s head.
When the rain cleared, Moss tried to joke about it again.
‘Still thinking about your knot, old dog?’ He aimed a playful shove into Arran’s side, but it wasn’t returned.
