Fall: Scheherazade retold

Five

To Zoraida's considerable relief, the tall, shaggy figure she'd called a bear chuckled as he removed his furry hood.

"I'm no bear, lady. I only wear the hide of one. I only wish I had two, for you're sorely in need of warmer garments." He nodded at her.

Zoraida glanced down. Soot had stained the bodice of her white gown grey, and singed the skirt to black-edged ribbons. She must look a sight. "I fancy a dragonhide cloak," she said grimly.

"No dragons here," he said, stacking wood beside a pit of glowing embers fire. "Too cold for them, I'd wager. Too cold for us, too, if I don't build up the fire. If you're hungry, I have food on the table."

Zoraida wrapped the blanket around herself and rose to investigate. Some dried fish, a pouch of oats and some salt were all the man had to eat, yet still he offered it to her. The laws of hospitality were alive and well in this rude hut. She hid a smile. On the morrow, she would conjure a feast to break his fast which would make any nobleman's mouth water, but now she was too tired to summon up a single extra fish.

"If you get the fire going again, and you have a suitable pot, we could share a fine fish pottage tonight," she hazarded, hoping she could manage to make it without burning anything else tonight. Much like healing, cooking wasn't her forte, either.

"That sounds grand, lady."

"Zoraida," she corrected, watching him place the kindling over the embers just right, so flames licked hungrily at the wood. "My name is Zoraida."

He inclined his head. "Mine's Hans. Well met." He clasped her hand between his huge ones, reminding her that though he wasn't a bear, he was large enough to challenge one for the hide he now wore.

"Well met," she echoed.