The Weaver's Source

Part Four: Chapter 42

The crooked house was swiftly left behind and Grigore's tense mood that had plagued him since the storm dispersed after a day. He reverted back to how he was before, wary but attentive, and, after a few days, even appeared to be content. He snapped less, his grey eyes lost their unfriendly storm to them, he spoke more openly with me and he slowed his pace to match mine without a word whenever I struggled to keep up. I was relieved and glad I had soothed some of his hostility towards me, that he understood more about my magic and it's behaviour, even if I couldn't stop it. At the very least, my magic left us alone for the most part. While I didn't feel the sexual need nearly as intensely, only flashes of warm butterflies kissing my skin when I caught a faint hungry glimmer in his gaze or when his scent was particularly strong, I discovered my magic had become more sensitive to him since he had fed from me. It was dull but I could definitely feel his emotions, especially when there was a sharp stab of irritation or a lull of contentment, allowing me to know when he needed space or was happy to answer whatever question that popped into my head.

So, using my magic as a way of knowing how he was instead of trying to pry out stubborn words from him, I had continued to follow Grigore further north. We had long left the storm plains and ventured into a more forested and inhabited area with sloping hills and sharp cliffs appearing out of nowhere. I hated this land. It was difficult to climb and burned my legs with pain when I scrabbled up long steep slopes, but Grigore seemed to not notice. He'd stride on ahead so far I'd lose sight of him, forcing me to rely on my nose to find him sitting on a rock or leaning against a tree; his mood varying from amused to impatient. I hauled myself onwards though, praying it would soon get easier and, so far, those prayers hadn't been answered.

He had found work twice, both small and easily dealt with, so we got paid a small amount, took the chance to stock up on food and bathe then quickly went on our way. Onwards we went through this rough terrain, Grigore continuing to think deeply and remain quiet. I gave him his space and quietly wondered to myself about him, thinking about what he hunted, how his precious flask had been destroyed and when it would be safe to bring up the topic of Sources, and continued to practice my archery on trees whenever I could, just as Arthur had instructed. I seemed to be getting better, although my aim would get worse whenever Grigore watched with brooding silence, feeling self-conscious and worried he'd get mad. He never did, he just observed me, his gaze either flicking over my form or still from thought. Even so, I was hitting the trees I wanted regularly. I knew I needed to move onto hunting as a form of practice on moving targets. I was slightly dreading it, especially when I remembered the frustration the sack gave me. I needed to broach it with Grigore first though. I still hadn't, even as the sun sunk on the third day after my decision.

It was dark but the blazing fire kept the most of it away and warmed the chill to the autumn night. I sat beside it, eating the meat Grigore had given me quietly and willing my legs to stop throbbing from overexertion. Grigore sat on the other side, silent and thoughtful, leaning against the heavy trunk of a hazel with his arms folded firmly over his broad chest. We'd been quiet, as usual, just sitting in each other's company.

The fire crackled loudly before me and the smell of smoke filled my nose, but gradually my attention began to shift from my meal. I could feel Grigore's eyes on me, watching intently. I squirmed a little and tried not to look at him but failed and glanced at him nervously. Those deep eyes were fixed on my face and did not move away, not even when my own locked with his. It was making my heart beat just that bit louder. Memories of our strange but passionate moment kept flicking in my mind. I kept recalling how possessive his hands felt, how his mouth burned over my skin, how it felt to be held so firmly by him. I kept getting the strange feeling I wanted it again.

I glanced up at his face through the fire. He looked so thoughtful and interested as he gazed at me. His eyes held something warm, something that made me hot in the face.