Chapter Thirty-three

CONTENT ADVISORY / TRIGGER WARNING

THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS DEPICTIONS/STRONG IMPLICATIONS OF THE FOLLOWING THAT SOME READERS MAY FIND OFFENSIVE OR DISTURBING:

~ PROFANITY

Libelle stood outside at the base of the steps of Uppsala, her stallion calmly eating the bucket of oats provided by Olief. His tail flicked back and forth while she stood by his side, tightening the girth to his saddle. He lifted his head and nipped at her hands in protest to the tightening around his middle. She playfully swatted at his nose and then offered him a bite of her apple, but instead of a bite, he kindly took more than half of the sweet fruit between his teeth.

She chuckled, brushed some snow from the saddle seat and adjusted the saddlebags over his back. She had one more journey before she was home, and she had to somehow get the man-beast down the mountainside and through two cities without causing an uproar. Olief and Jolgeir provided her with three days' worth of bread, a bundle of salted meat, two blankets, and some animal pelts that had been tanned with great craftsmanship.

She pulled her wolf's pelt tighter around her shoulders and up closer to her neck. The silver and white coat had been collected from multiple wolves, annoying pests to any farmer's livestock. Their pelts were warm, but worth little. She had a hunter to thank for providing the priests with such a pelt, one large enough to fit snugly around her shoulders and neck, and long enough to cover her arms and past her buttocks. A hard metal clasp held the pelts together by her collarbone and another by her heart. Lots of time must have gone into this hide to make it fit so perfectly. She smiled and snuggled herself into the warm fur again.

Davyn opened the heavy wooden doors to Uppsala and Eskil stepped out behind him. A pair of worn-out boots were slipped over his feet and his pants had holes in them. He clung to the similar arrangement of wolf hide around him, shivering in the cold; the mountain air was less than forgiving. She chuckled at the sight of Eskil being fitted with appropriate black pelts and knew Davyn was likely to have been behind the choice. White for the hero, black for the enemy. He held the fur tightly to his body, exposing only the tip of his nose and his gold eyes. His black hair waved about in the wind and it looked like his horns were building up frost already.

Davyn handed him a small brown sack with a whispered exchange of words. Eskil glared at him but did not respond. He stepped down the steep and slippery stairs and stopped by Libelle and her stallion, who did not seem too keen on the new person. Her stallion stomped and pawed at his empty bucket.

"Climb on, I won't let him make off with you," Libelle said, holding her horse's reins in her hands.

She planned to lead the two down the time-consuming slopes that would take them from Uppsala and down to the small hunting village of Braedon where she would purchase him a horse of his own. The safest route would be to head north around the mountain and through Lowestoft, the fastest route, however, would be to head west into Grimsby. Grimsby had been rebuilt in the last ten years since Eskil had burned it to the ground, but it had not been rebuilt by kind-hearted folk. It was not the best route, and with her companion's attitude, she figured it would be best to take the longer route home. She did not feel like fighting her way home, not through a crowd of bandits and a lord paid off by thieves.

Eskil stared at her then back at her horse. She motioned for him to climb into the saddle. "Climb on. I'll lead you down the mountain. It'll be faster."

He shook his head and stomped past her through the slick snow. "I am not a child, elf."

"No, you're not. You're thousands of years older than me, but you're not used to walking on two legs like you are now. Don't need you slipping down a slope on me. It'd be too much work to go chasing after your sorry ass."

Eskil did not stop. Instead, he continued along the slippery path down the mountainside. They should reach the bottom by mid-afternoon, if he would listen. However, he did not seem interested in listening to her at all right now. He was stomping through the snow at a reckless speed and not paying any attention to where his feet were landing. He was bound to fall.

Libelle turned and nodded towards Davyn who simply nodded back and returned to the warmth of the main hall. She pulled on her stallion's reins and jogged after Eskil, fairly confident with trudging up and down these unforgiving hills. She was familiar with the twists and turns of the mountain, she knew where the paths led, and she knew where the wind blew the hardest.

She slowed and kept pace with him at his side, still leading her horse. "You should watch where you're going," she said, a hint of teasing in her voice.

"I am. I am walking down these blasted paths to the bottom of this bloody mountain," he snapped, adjusting the wolf fur around his neck as his nose and cheeks turned more red the longer he was exposed to the cold wind.

"Yes, we are walking to the foot of the mountain. But I am saying, you should watch where your feet are going."

He stopped and glared at her, his lip curling over his teeth. "My feet are on the ground, they are not going anywhere. They go where I put them." He turned away again and proceeded to stomp down the path at a distance from her.

Libelle couldn't help but smile as she watched him. "I wouldn't put your feet there." She heard him grumble a curse under his breath at her. "Or there." Another curse.

Eskil spun on his heel and whipped round to face her. "Slayer, stop with your blasted commentary. I know what I am doing. I am walking. It is not that hard!"

She tapped her lip with her finger when he turned around again. "I wouldn't step there either."