Chapter Forty-Three
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I woke refreshed and searched for the sun through the trees behind me. Guessed it was maybe seven in the mornin’ at most. A well stoked fire flicked, and a skinned, wild piglet sizzled over it.
Morgan slouched near, idly slicin’ lengths off a green limb and tossin’ them on the fire to provoke even more smoke to flavor the meat. He gave me a wink when I think he realized I was awake. The ogre’s face was drawn, the heavy lines under his eyes orange from the fire. By the progress of the pig, it had been spitted since we stopped to rest, so Morgan hadn’t gotten any sleep.
Them ogres are stinkin’ tough.
Selene and Rutland lay curled in blankets a few feet away.
Morgan lifted a camp-kettle. “Brewed ya some willow bark tea. Drink up.”
Ach. Hate that stuff. But it eases some discomforts. I rose to get my cup from my kit and groaned at the aches. Selene shifted, peered around, and hurried to rise.
“You going to live, lad?”
“I don’t think so.”
Selene chuckled. That woke Rutland. The two of them walked into the woods to do their mornin’ business while I poured the tea through my shirttail I held over my cup, fillin’ it. A bucket of the stuff couldn’t hurt. I sipped at the steamin’ tea.
“Don’t scald the white off yar teeth,” Morgan warned.
I nodded. “Where’d that come from?” I motioned with my cup to the spitted pig. “Just walk into camp?”
Morgan pointed at his snout.
Ogres are handy to have about. Especially ogres with six-foot-long bows.
The four of us hunkered around the fire slicin’ hunks from the pig, and eatin’ as quickly as we could. Within fifteen minutes we had drowned the fire, leavin’ the remnants of the carcass for the local critters to finish, and were mounted.
“How far?” Morgan asked.
“Two hours,” Rutland answered.
And the agony progresses.
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