Fire and Liberty

Chapter Two

Ratonhnhaké:ton set up camp before dawn while you watched silently from your resting place. It was a decent spot where most of the snow was kept at bay by the thick, lush branches of a fir tree. The earth would provide a decent enough bed, if not moist and rich with balsamic scents, layered by the soft curls of moss.

But a 'decent spot' was the least of your troubles. It was getting the fire started that caused you the most concern: collecting wood, finding dry material, getting the spark, then breathing life into it. You'd always enjoyed that part, the small little ember needing a gentle breath to flicker a bit brighter, to watch it lap hungrily on the dry bones of trees.

Ratonhnhaké:ton, from what you could tell, was well practiced at it. He got the fire going with ease and fed it with just the right amount of dried mosses and wood. He didn't smother it like many would have or breathed too hard onto it until the flame died out. He was calm and gentle, caring even, and you could see it in everything that he did. He cared. Too much, you considered.

You shifted your spine against the crude trunk of the tree. "Your name..." You softened your tone this time, rolled your vision down to briefly peer at the throbbing wound. "How did you pronounce it again?" You placed a hand against lesion, nursing it in vain. You would give anything to have another swallow of the herbs but they clouded your judgement. You didn't know this man. You didn't trust him. You had to remain awake until you returned to Boston. Then, when you were around your allies, you could finally lower your guard.

He tossed a few more pieces of wood onto the fire when he thought the flame was strong enough for it. He slowly stood, eyes never leaving the smoldering heat as he paced about the small area. "How was it that you were wounded?"

"A bear," you lied, quick and easy. "Your name?"

He looked over the broadness of shoulder and you knew he had seen through your lie. "That was no bear. I will ask again. How was it that you were wounded?"

You understood now how clever he was. He was smarter than most. He was able to see past your gender, able to analyze your wound, able to recognize a hunter when he saw one. Most would have seen a hapless young woman disoriented in the woods, needing constant care and attention lest she faint from her overwhelming emotions.

You spoke calmly, not a hint of worry, "Why help me if you do not trust me?"

His attention swept out across the wooded landscape, scattered trees and boulders, nothing of true remark. But he was a sentinel all the same. He knew these woods held beasts and far worse. "Why lie about it?"

You raised a brow, your heart pounding in your ears. Why was he so curious about your wound? Did he know? Was he aware of your crimes? Was this stranger aware of what you did back there in the deep woods? No, he couldn't have known. You were quiet about it. Your kill was clean and silent. No one knew it was you.

Your voice remained even from years of practice, "Lie about what?"

His steps were paced as he walked around the small camp towards you. "It was a blade," he stated plainly, his eyes settling on your hand as it grasped the spot on your abdomen. He brushed some of the low hanging branches away as he kneeled down beneath the shelter of the fir tree. "Is it still painful?"

"Not even a little," you lied without even processing it.

His hand struck forward, pressing your own hand against the raw and soft flesh and drawing a sharp hiss from you. "It is hurting you."

Your jaw locked tight as your teeth bit against each other. "It does now!" The pain splintered, bloomed across your upper body, stung your eyes into watering.