Warprize

seeing. My fingers continued to run the comb through my hair, but my mind was elsewhere. The sounds stopped. He drew my hair off to the side, and kissed my neck.
    I jerked as lightning coursed through my body. Tingles ran from my neck right to the soles of my feet. I turned my head quickly, but all I saw was a brief glimpse of the tent flap falling into place behind him. I sat for a minute, waiting for the tingling sensation to pass. My hand kept combing my hair, but it took a long time for the sensation of his lips to leave my skin.
    By the time Keir emerged, Marcus was loading the table with too much food, and Gils had crept quietly into the tent to change my bandage.
    For something that felt like an enormous hole in my arm, the wound was small. It looked good, with no signs of angered flesh or swelling. Gils changed the bandage with meticulous and agonizing slowness. I complimented him on his work, and then meekly accepted a dose of fever’s foe. He’d brought some of the liniment, and he applied it carefully to my neck, all the while casting glances at the privy entrance as if Keir was going to leap out at any moment, battle-raged, and swords in hand. Finally, Gils sat back on his heels, looking satisfied. “I’s checked Atira, Warprize, and she’s well. And Simus let me look at his leg.”
    “How is it?” I asked.
    We were both startled when Simus replied. “It’s well, little healer.” Simus entered the tent, grinning at me. “If it can take me running to the healing tent and crawling on the ground, then I think I can walk on it well enough.”
    “Simus…” I chided.
    His teeth gleamed in a smile. “It’s not like I’m going to join in the dancing today.” His face turned serious. “How’s the arm?”
    “I’m fine.” I smiled at him. “Gils is seeing to me.”
    Gils stood, gathering his supplies. “I’s see you at the dance, Warprize. I’s chores to do before then.”
    Simus sat on the bed, next to me. “Marcus! I need kavage!”
    I looked at them both. “I thought the dance was canceled.”
    Gils stood. “Oh no, Warprize, the Warlord announced it late last night.” A slight noise from the privy and he was out and gone.
    Marcus brought kavage for both of us, and grimaced at Simus. “I suppose you’ve not eaten yet?”
    Simus laughed.
    Marcus scowled. “I’ve bare enough for these two, much less fill your belly.”
    Keir emerged, dried and dressed. “Simus, join us.”
    Simus smiled broadly.
    Marcus huffed and left. Keir, Simus, and I pulled up stumps and dug into the food. For many minutes, there was only the sound of chewing and dishes being passed. The bowl of gurt was offered to me a number of times, but I politely declined. Simus leaned back first. “Never could figure out how Marcus manages such good food in camp.”
    “Years of practice,” Marcus said as he returned with more kavage and served us all. “There’s not much time before the dance starts.”
    Keir nodded. “Any word from Warren or Xymund?”
    Simus shook his head. “No.”
    Keir scowled, but said nothing as we rose to leave. He merely wrapped his cloak around me, and made as if to sweep me up in his arms. “I can walk.” I fought him off as I also tangled with the smothering cloth as best I could, trying to pull it up so that I wouldn’t trip.
    Simus stifled a laugh. I looked up to see that his eyes were dancing with mirth. “You look like a child playing with her thea’s cloak.” I laughed, curious as to the meaning of the word, but Simus held out his arm for me. “Warprize.”
    Keir growled, and swept me up into his arms, stomping out of the tent. I looked behind to see Simus rolling his eyes and following behind with Marcus.
    The sky was clear when we emerged and headed for the gathering area. The entire camp seemed to be headed in that direction, everyone armed. It didn’t look as if they were going to a dance. I wrapped my arms around Keir’s neck. “Will everyone be at the dance?”
    “No.” Keir slowed his walk to allow Simus to catch up with us. “The watches will rotate.” His voice lowered. “I believe you would call that a ‘compromise’.”
    The flat area in front of the wooden platform had been cleared and the area was ringed with a circle of unlit torches. We made our way onto the platform, and sat close to the front. There was no formality. We took our seats even as bodies milled in the space in front of the platform. Simus remained standing, looking off into the crowd.