Page 97 of Tiger's Trek
It turned out that she needed stitches in the back of her head, but she was no stranger to pain. The young mother even volunteered to try and style her badly shorn hair and gave her scarves to wear. After a few days of rest, she began helping with the chores and wishing Danik would return. Finally, after the removal of her stitches, she heard a neigh and the sound of thunder and lightning outside.
She got up to find the red knight and Danik, his hair still a bit too long, cut at his shoulders, but with a large, satisfied smile on his face.
“Is it done?” she asked expectantly.
“More importantly, how are you feeling?” he asked, reaching for her hand.
“I’m well. I’ve been taken very good care of,” she said loudly. “This family has done us a great service. We would do well to return the favor.”
“And we shall,” Danik said.
The father replied, “You’ve helped us more than enough in the time you’ve been here. You owe us nothing.”
“We’re just happy to see you well again, my lady,” the physician said.
“And back with your man,” added the mother.
“Yes,” Veru replied, surprised to feel the sting of a blush color her cheeks. “Well, thank you all.”
As they headed down the road, she asked, “Where’s the wool?”
“Back at the house,” Danik replied. “We used the spinning hatchel on it.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Nothing else worked,” the red knight replied. “That hatchel of yours did the trick. We’ve a lovely bolt of the blackest, magic fabric Yuga’s dark little heart could desire.”
“But we also have another bolt, a second one,” Danik said. “And the house wanted us to hide it. The minute we finished it, another secret closet opened. When I placed it inside, a key fell out of the lock.” He reached into his pocket and showed it to her. “I think we’re meant to take it with us when we leave.”
Chapter24
THE TIGER MAY LEAP BUT THE TAMER COLLECTS THE MONEY
“You want... you want something to eat?” Stacia asked.
“If it wouldn’t be too much trouble,” replied Father Frost.
Folding her arms, Stacia considered him for a moment. He didn’t look particularly hungry. She was sure that big bear of his could eat. Probably her lifeless body that grew bluer by the moment if his master allowed it. She sighed, knowing it was some kind of test, but no longer caring. She just wanted it over and done with so he would leave, and she could figure out how to reconnect her split soul to her freezing body and try to repair the broken staff before the White Shaman returned to reclaim it.
“Fine. There’s a biscuit in the left pocket of my coat. You’ll have to find it yourself, as I don’t seem to be able to get myself back down there. If that’s not to your liking, head over to the fire down that way and wake up the sleeping man. He’ll prepare you and your bear some porridge. Just don’t hurt the little girl. Now, if you don’t mind, I need to figure out how to remedy my current mistake so I’ll be able to continue working on my last one. Appreciate your visit. I’m sure you have many things to tend to, as do I. Have a nice day.”
Father Frost didn’t move. He just stood there considering her. He reached up and stroked his perfectly smooth white beard and mustache as if he had all the time in the world. His very blue eyes twinkled as he studied her. Stacia found it disconcerting. She’d dismissed him, and he had the gall to ignore it. But what could she do about it? Nothing, exactly.
“You’ve a bit of sour grapes about you, my dear, wouldn’t you say?”
“Sour grapes? Am I to assume you’re referring to my mood? That’s right. Men always believe when a woman is irritated, annoyed, or upset, it’s related to mood, or the weather, or the cycles of the moon, or some other such nonsense. Of course, when a man is angry, he has every right to stomp and fuss and go to war. In most cases, he’s celebrated for such things. But women aren’t allowed to have such emotions. It’s unbecoming. Is that it?”
Father Frost removed his hat and set it down on the nearby sledge. “I think you misunderstand my meaning. I am not referring to your mood or temper. Do you know the story of ‘The Fox and the Grapes’?”
Stacia shook her head.
“Then, if you’ll permit me.” He waited a beat, and when she didn’t protest, he began. “One day a clever fox with fur as red as your delightful hair went out hunting for his breakfast. He passed a grapevine simply bursting with the ripest purple grapes he’d ever seen and thought, ‘Why, I believe those would make a perfect meal.’ Circling below the vine, he leaped, his jaws snapping at just the right time, but the vine was wrapped around a tree, and the bunch of grapes was simply too high.
“Undeterred, he took a running start and leaped upon the trunk. He came closer this time, but still, he missed the mark. A clever fox, he tried again, using every trick he could think of, until his body was exhausted and his paw was injured. When he sat down in disgust to lick his wounds, he decided to find breakfast elsewhere, telling himself, ‘I must have been mistaken thinking those grapes were desirable. Certainly, they must be the most sour, awful-tasting grapes in the land.’ From that day, the fox vowed never to visit that vine or tree again, no matter how hungry he or his kits might be.”
“I see. So am I to assume by your tale that I am the too-clever-for-his-own-good fox, a creature cursed due to its own stubbornness, or the too-high-and-lofty-therefore-they-must-be-sour grapes?” Stacia asked.
“You are neither,” Father Frost replied. “You are simply a clever young woman sitting down at the base of a tree, licking her wounds. You have not yet decided to give up and declare the grapes unworthy of your attention. Nor are you the tempting fruit dangling just out of reach.”
