The Weaver's Source

Chapter 49

I stood by the side of the road, shivering with my hands clutched to my cloak, keeping it as tightly wrapped around me as possible. Beyond the leafless hedge and sitting on the craggy horizon was a mill. Even though I was standing so far from it I could tell it was abandoned. The mill seemed to be lopsided, as if it was falling in on itself, a tree had grown through the remains of the barn next to it and the sails were unmoving with one of them rotting. I was intrigued to see it closer but Grigore had banished me from going any further than the hedge before me. Within the remains of that mill was the Black Dog, bodiless, most likely angry and trapped.

Grigore's wards had worked. He had stayed up until dawn, as promised, and returned to me with the news that the Black Dog had not appeared. The wards had kept it imprisoned. As soon as I had stirred, Grigore had marched off to the mill to check on the wards, to see how strained they were. I had voiced my opinion that he needed sleep but he just ignored me. So, feeling a little worried about how tired and haggard he looked, I followed him out into the cold thin rain in the hopes of making myself feel a little less useless, even if it didn't.

He had been gone for a while now. I rocked back and forth on my feet impatiently, my magic twittering nervously in my chest. The sound of the mud squishing beneath my boots echoed faintly in my ears while I peered curiously at the mill, trying to see his return. Eventually I saw a figure make their way back to me.

Joy filled me when I saw Grigore head his way through the wet field and I couldn't help but wave a little in relief. He did worry me a little though. He moved heavily, his head bowed a little and his soaked hair was beginning to stick to his face. He pushed his way through the hedge, ignoring the rigid branches that became caught in his clothes, and then stood before me. Despite his body holding itself stubbornly tall, his eyes were darker than normal and his skin paler. I took a step forward, letting my hands press against his chest in hopes it would give him some support. He looked so tired.

"How was it?" I asked.

"They're strained but they'll hold maybe for a couple more nights." He said heavily, not attempting to push me away.

"Only two more nights?" I murmured faintly. I had hoped it would hold much longer, especially if Leopold is still so far away still.

"Only two." He confirmed tightly, his voice thick with frustration.

"That's not enough."

"I know." He said a little harshly but his eyes softened by the worried expression on my face. "I'll work something out."

"After you've slept I hope."

"No, there's not much time to work with. The days are only getting shorter." He said.

I frowned with annoyance and clutched my hands into fists against his chest. "There is time, Grigore, so sleep. You've not rested in a day."

"Then allow me to drink and I will have my strength back." He asked stiffly.

He gripped my shoulders and forced me to take a step back then unhooked a small leather flask from his belt and took only a small swig. His eyes lightened a little and the smell of faint magic drifted up my nose then, very slowly, he began to look a little less tired. His eyes became a bit brighter and his body stiffer with strength rather than raw willpower to keep standing.

"What did you drink?"

"Hot water and herbs. It turns a small portion of magic into energy for me."

"So you don't need sleep?" I asked cautiously.

"I will eventually. To run only on this drink for days is impossible. I'd die if I did." Grigore said and hooked the flask back on his belt and began to march back into town. Seeing him walk so firmly and with his back straight did comfort me a little.