Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 112089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 374(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 374(@300wpm)
“Are ye jokin’? What with all your spell flinging?” She shook her head at him. “We’re going ta need another talk here soon—”
“No, thank you—”
“You’re better about stoopin’ and scrapin’ and embarassin’ yerself around shifters, but you gotta stop underestimating yerself, too. Humble bragging is just plain annoyin’. Sure, those lot didn’t have a hope against our mages. C’mon. Let’s get back to the village. I’m hungry.”
“I can probably walk,” Sebastian said, once again stooping as he followed her. “I don’t need to ride on your back.”
“Ah, schtop. Ye might as well. It’s faster. Let’s see if I can shake ye off this time.”
“Please, no…”
Another scream cut off quickly. I stopped myself from looking.
Austin looked at Broken Sue. “Wait with the wounded. Make sure they’re all taken care of. Hear their stories if they want to give them.”
He nodded. “Yes, alpha.”
“Shall we?” Austin asked me, leading me away.
“Shouldn’t we stay to make sure the wounded are looked after, being alphas?” I asked quietly.
“The gargoyles don’t need you. They aren’t that badly off. The shifters need some reprieve from authority, and Brochan is hurt. I’ve just given him a reason to sit and rest among the wounded.” As he stepped away a bit to shift, he said, “I wonder if they can find more of that alcoholic fruit drink.”
I frowned. “Why, do you want a celebratory drink?”
“No, I want to watch Niamh roll a basajaun through the fire. That sounded like some sort of spectacle.”
Sadly, they couldn’t find any more for Niamh to consume. She’d become a low-key celebrity, though. Apparently, the basajaunak prided themselves on their ability to handle that special brew, something their relatives to the north weren’t as easily able to tolerate. She’d drunk them all under the table. A few wanted a rematch, including the basajaun with singed hair.
We stayed in the village for a little over a week. We hadn’t needed so long to recover, but it was peaceful and beautiful. We went on hikes and listened to stories by the campfire. I watched Austin fish in the stream and sat with Edgar as he failed to find four-leaf clovers. Mr. Tom washed our clothes and complained about the dirty rocks on which he had to dry them.
“What is the point?” he’d mutter to himself. “You wash them in a fish-poop–infested stream and then attract just as much dirt when you lay them out on these filthy rocks. This is no way to live.”
He wasn’t as enamored by our surroundings as I was.
When it came to our turn to share stories with the basajaunak, Ulric told most of them, weaving tales with a storyteller’s flair that had the younger ones riveted. At Niamh’s request, he mostly offered Ivy House’s antics in funny vignettes, like Edgar finding out Dave had eaten all his flowers. Edgar attempted to tell the story of the time I’d jabbed him in the eye, but he ended up sputtering himself into silence after tripping on all the words. Niamh then told them of our previous battles.
When it came time to leave, I was sad to go. I missed my bed and my privacy with Austin, but our woods just didn’t have the same feel as these. They didn’t feel lived in because the basajaun were at one with their home—protectors of their territory and everything in it.
I told the head basandere that, and thanked her for the welcome. She accepted my thanks but didn’t comment further, not even when I offered to return the favor—and host them—whenever she wanted.
Before we left, the basandere I’d met by the stream sought me out in camp. She waited on the outskirts until invited in, and then asked if she could sit by the fire for a time.
“That means she wants an audience,” Dave whispered with a knowing smirk before making himself scarce.
We had Cyra build it up a bit, and then I invited her to sit down.
“I have enjoyed knowing you,” the basandere began, watching the flames. “I have enjoyed hearing your stories and interacting with your…crew.”
“I’ve loved being here. Thank you for your hospitality.”
“Yes.” She braided a bit of the hair on her leg. It seemed like a nervous reflex, like fidgeting. “Buln’dan—ah, Dave mentioned that…” She let the words trail away and then shrugged a little. “I am young. Too young to set off on my own, my mother and father say. They say I will not be able to feed myself or keep myself out of danger. And while I am plenty old enough, it is true that I don’t know anything about the outside world. But…”
She stared into the fire and took a deep breath. She was building herself up for something, and I held my breath for what I hoped it was.
“It felt as though you drew me that one day, by the stream,” she said. “It felt as though you had called me. And Bul—Dave mentioned that you have a lovely and protected wood outside of your stick-builder home. He mentioned that you were sad that it was not lived in—that it didn’t feel like a home. Not like here, I mean.”