Dream of Me/Believe in Me

considered briefly, added another pinch, and appeared satisfied.
    “What are you using?” she asked.
    He looked startled that she would speak. The other men stiffened, although they were careful to look anywhere but at her. She thought Olaf might do the same but finally he cleared his throat.
    Concentrating his attention on a stick of driftwood he was carving into a simple ladle, he said, “Salt, parsley, sage, and one or two other things for me to know.”
    She smiled, unable to hide her pleasure at simply hearing a voice directed to her. Walking over to the pot, she took a sniff. “Caraway seed and … black pepper.”
    The men grinned. A couple even looked her way when she added, “You're expecting rabbits then?”
    Olaf shrugged, doing his best to appear unimpressed but not entirely succeeding. He took turnips, some pearly white barley, and a head of cabbage from a sack and began adding them to the pot. “Not much sense going for something bigger when we'll only be here the night.”
    Having had that particular question answered, Cymbra decided to try another. “Just where is here?”
    He looked surprised that she didn't know. “It has no name. It's just a spot Wolf likes, with good anchorage and hunting.”
    “Do you live near here?”
    He might have answered but just then one of the men called out. Wolf and the rest of the hunting party were returning.
    Rabbits it was, skinned, gutted, sliced up, and deposited in the pot. Cymbra wondered why they just didn't skewer them for roasting over the fire, but when the dish was ready and she took a taste, she understood. Olaf would have been king of any kitchen.
    By the time the meal was over, the long summer twilight had settled over the land. Cymbra watched the gulls and petrels fly to their rests. A thin sliver of moon shone against the pale sky. The breeze picked up a little but it was still pleasantly cool.
    The men were settling themselves for sleep, talking quietly among themselves. With a little start, she realized that she was more aware of their feelings than she had been before. Despite the close quarters of the boat, they had kept themselves very much apart from her, not acknowledging her existence by so much as a glance. Her conversation with Olaf, brief though it had been, had relaxed the barriers between them just a little. Instinctively, she took refuge behind the sheltering walls of her mind, but not before she felt the men's mingled contentment and anticipation as they thought of home.
    A sense of melancholy rippled through her, a longing for all that she had taken for granted and might well have lost forever.
    Being on the edge of tears all the time was very tiresome.
    Wolf stood. He dusted the sand off himself and held out a large, sinewy hand. “Come.”
    Cymbra's throat closed. She considered refusing, but what would be the point? They both knew he need make only the slightest effort to force her obedience. She took a deep breath, fighting for calm, and stood, but wouldn'tgive him her hand. He looked at her chidingly but didn't insist. Instead, he began walking up the beach. Fighting the urge to comment on his nature, his parentage, and his grasp of the most basic courtesies, Cymbra plodded along behind him. Her bare feet sank into the damp sand. Keeping the cloak closed around her was awkward and keeping up with his long strides was even more difficult.
    Wolf didn't spare her so much as a glance. He kept going until they were a good quarter-mile from the beach. When he finally did stop, it was with so little warning that Cymbra ran straight into his back.
    She might as well have gone into a wall. Her breath left her in a rush and with it went her restraint. She glared at him. “Is there some point to this?”
    He looked tempted to laugh but instead took something from a sack he was carrying, placed it in her hand, and pointed at a clearing beyond the nearby trees. “I thought you might like a bath.”
    A bath? They were in the wilderness with no sign of even the smallest habitation, and he was talking about a bath? The possibility tantalized but she quailed inwardly at the thought of submerging herself in the icy runoff of a glacier. “I don't really—”
    “A hot mineral bath.” His hand on her shoulder, he directed her gaze to the wisps of steam rising between moss-draped rocks. When she moved closer, she saw that the rocks framed a small pool simmering gently with the earth's inner fire.
    A bath. A real, hot, luxurious