Page 13 of A Winter Awakening
Ori and Wareth led the way to the cabin.
When they reached it, Orteo assisted Gael off his horse and helped him inside.
“Gael, why don’t you take a seat?” Ori said.
Orteo took Gael to one of the armchairs by the fire, not looking at Ori.
“Thank you.” Gael beamed up at Orteo.
“You’re welcome,” Orteo said.
“It might be best if Gael stays on this floor so he won’t have to walk up the stairs.” Sinoe surveyed the space.
“We could bring a mattress from one of the beds downstairs,” Ori said. “Of course, we’ll need to move this furniture out of the way.”
“Are you sure it’s all right if we move furniture?” Gael asked.
“It’ll be fine.” Ori grunted as he lifted a dining table and moved it out of the way.
Wareth took it from him. “Here. Give that to me.”
Orteo drifted towards the doorway, watching Ori.
“I should go,” Orteo said. “Looks like you’ve all got everything in hand.” And the room felt rather crowded with everyone moving around.
“Really?” Gael sat up. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay a while?”
“You don’t need me here. You’ve got so many caring for you.”
“But I need you,” Gael said, a slight note of panic in his words. “You will come back, right?”
Orteo glanced around the room. He couldn’t help but notice Ori watching him with that blank expression.
“I’ll be back tomorrow. I’ll check on you then,” Orteo said.
Gael didn’t relax exactly, but he accepted it with a nod.
Orteo left. Orteo had failed Ori and Liney. But right now Gael needed him. And he could at least help him.
ChapterEight
“Oh no! Oh no! Oh no!” Gael cried.
Acrid smoke rose from the pot of lentil stew, stinging Gael’s eyes and nose. He stirred his dinner, and it revealed black chunks at the bottom.
The pot hung over the fire, suspended from a metal hook. Gael grabbed the thick glove, pulled the pot off the hook, and set it down on the tiled floor near the fireplace. He accidentally put pressure on his bandaged ankle, and he let out a surprised hiss.
He’d done that several times now.
His attention fixed back on the stew. It had seemed so easy when Edwin explained it:When you grow hungry, put the stew on the hook and heat it.
But no. Somehow, Gael couldn’t manage that. He couldn’t manage a simple, basic, easy task.
“I’m such a blasted nitwit!” he yelled.
Perhaps if Gael just stirred it around lots. Maybe the burned bits would mix in with the non-burned bits and it would taste fine. He stirred. Then he got a bowl and ladled the stew into it. He tried to ignore the burned smell and the black bits.
Grimacing, he took a mouthful. His nose scrunched, and he had an urge to spit the food out. It tasted bitter and burned. Still, his hunger caused him to continue eating. He shovelled the foul-tasting stew into his mouth, getting it down as fast as possible. He set the empty bowl on the floor.
