Page 95 of Savage Warrior

I start.

Cristina waves to me from the path. “Sorry. Did you want to be on your own?”

Tomasz and Jacob gallop down behind her, whooping when they spot Yuryl.

“No. I would enjoy the company, in fact. Yuryl is busy collecting treasures.”

“Our boys like doing that, too. And splashing in the rock pools.” She shushes the rowdy chatter. “Remember what your father told you, Tomasz. The seals don’t like a lot of noise, and we don’t want to scare them, do we?”

The din subsides somewhat, and Cristina sits next to me.

“This is a lovely spot,” she says. “Cold, though.”

I hug my quilted jacket close. “I do not mind the cold.”

“Me neither. Most of the time. How is Yuryl settling?”

“He is excited about the pool. Would it be allowed for him to use it sometimes?”

“Of course. Does he swim?”

“No, not really. Our papa would have taught him, as he taught me and my sister. But he died. I would have to supervise him.”

“I’m going there later, with these two. Yuryl can come with us if he wants, and I will keep an eye on him.”

“I wouldn’t wish to put you to any trouble.”

She laughs. “I can cope. You should come, too.”

“Yes, perhaps I will. Just to watch, though. Your doctor says I mustn’t get my dressings wet.”

“Ah, right. And how are you feeling now? Still sore?”

“A bit,” I admit. Well, a lot really, but Megan provides me with pain relief, and I’m managing. “It will be a while before I am fully recovered but I have to thank you for your kindness in letting us stay here. I do not know what I would have done…”

“Nonsense. You’re welcome.” She shields her eyes to watch the boys on the shoreline.

Tomasz and Jacob have wandered out to talk to Yuryl who is showing them his seashells.

“They look to be making friends,” Cristina murmurs.

“Yuryl is a lot younger than them,” I reply. “I expect you told them to be nice to him.”

“Maybe I encouraged them a little,” she admits, just as all three boys start off running along the water’s edge.

Yuryl’s six-year-old shorter legs can’t keep up, but the older boys stop and wait for him. When he catches up, they each take one of his hands and slow their pace. Yuryl trots along between them, grinning from ear to ear.

The next hour or so passes in pleasant chitchat, while the boys clamber over rocks and splash in pools. Yuryl finds a crab which he insists on showing me before he plops it back in the water.

“I have never seen him so happy,” I say, and that realisation saddens me. What sort of a life has he had so far? I must do better for him.

“I am glad,” Cristina agrees. “We must talk about school sometime. Perhaps he would like to go to the same school as Tomasz and Jacob.”

I gape at her. “There is a school here?”

“Not here. On the mainland. They go by helicopter each day.”

“That would be wonderful, but Yuryl speaks hardly any English. How would he manage?”

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