Jack Simple

Chapter 5

The herb crouched in a ring of conifers, the blossoms gleaming white in the shadow of the wood. Jack drew aside the fronds of a fern to give Eidna a better view. She knelt in the dirt and bent over to appraise the Woodruff more closely.

"Such a beautiful plant," Eidna proclaimed. "I have only ever seen it dried."

"There should be more than enough here to make a hearty springwine. I may even have to attend the festival this year so that I can try your wine myself," Jack promised. He hoped his words would grant her a portion of cheer. Her mood seemed as though it had darkened a great deal since that morning.

"You don't need to do that," Eidna snapped, becoming inexplicably angry. Jack said nothing. He was hurt by her rejection, more hurt than he cared to admit to himself. He felt that over the previous two days they had built up a fledgling mutual fondness, but with six words Eidna had succinctly dashed his hope. She had her Woodruff now, and her need of his company had now expired. Her words had made that plain.

More fool me, Jack said to Jack, full of reproach for himself.

"You will want to cut it close to the ground, most of the flavor will come from the leaves and not the blossoms," Jack explained, his tone curt.

Lightfoot whined. The dog could sense the tension. Eidna looked at Jack. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean it that way. I am just...nervous. It makes my stomach flutter thinking about all the people who will be there already. The truth is that I would like it if you were there. You have a way of...calming me. I can't explain it."

Jack cursed himself for feeling touched. The way she could bury him with dejection and then raise him back up in the space of a few moments was miraculous. It was like sorcery. He knelt by her side, and they harvested the Woodruff together. It did not take long to fill the burlap sacks that Eidna had brought to carry the herb. Jack cinched the tops of the bags closed with some leather string that he happened to have in a pocket of his buffcoat, and Eidna lashed one bag to each side of a branch that she would be able to bear over her shoulders on the long hike back to the village.

The afternoon was only half gone, which meant they would be able to cover a few miles before evening fell...or so he thought. As they left the wood and began to climb the trail back over the ridgeline that had brought them there Lightfoot began to whine. A few moments later Jack heard what the dog had heard: a thunder peal.

Storm clouds gathered angrily about the southern horizon, alive with the flash and flicker of lightning. Jack eyed the storm warily, testing the wind with his finger. It was heading straight for them. He glanced at Eidna. "This is going to a bad storm."

Eidna appraised the clouds. "We had better find shelter, then."

"I know a place, but we have to be quick about it. How long can you keep your wind at a run?"

"Longer than you, Woodsman. My lungs are bellows," Eidna boasted. "Lead the way."

Jack set off at a jog, the Dragonhead perched over his shoulder. Even with the weight of the herb sacks Eidna kept pace with him. Jack could swear that he even saw a smile hooking the corners of her mouth. The wind rose, carrying its burden of rain. Their destination appeared around the corner of the trail, a rounded rock about the height of a two-story house. The rain began to fall, cascading downward in sheets. Eidna was laughing even as her tunic was soaking through. Jack led her around the north side of the rock and under an overhang that was mostly sheltered from the wind and rain.

The ground under the rock was sandy and sloped and would drain well. Dirty, pitted snow crouched in one corner of the alcove, having been blown inside at some point during the long winter. The stone fairy still kept his watch on the wall of the rock. They eased their burdens to the ground, shaking the water away from their limbs. Eidna was still giggling as she twisted her hair in a braid and squeezed the wet from it. The buffcoat had kept Jack dry save for his head, but the woman had not fared so well. Her tunic was sodden, her bangs plastered against her forehead.