Page 24 of Changelings
“Awholebasket?”she’d asked.
“To the brim. And an extra two for dinner,”he’d boasted.
And he had. It took the better part of the morning and early afternoon, but he kept his word. He might lose a few toes to cold, but it was worth it.
He followed her from the river back into the forest, Shadow trotting beside him to sneak interested sniffs at the fishy basket.As they walked, he told her all about the fat fish they used to pluck from the rivers—long-nosed gar, armored sturgeon, and catfish bigger than Shadow.
Imogen shuddered. “Ugh, I hate catfish. Their long whisker faces…” She shuddered again.
Balar cleared his throat. “They are barbel, not whiskers. True whiskers are very handsome and regal.”
She snorted, clapping a hand over her nose to hide her laugh. “That’s true. You’re right.”
Pleased, Balar preened, holding his wings aloft. He didn’t miss how her gaze snagged on them, and he wasn’t too proud to fluff them up, showing off the golden barbs.
After a moment, her eyes went wide before she looked away, tugging at her hair. Balar noted it but said nothing, unsure why her smile fell so suddenly from her lips.
At her cottage, Balar dragged a worktable over to the firepit she kept a ways from the house while she got the fire going. Together they wiped down the table and began preparing the fish. It was messy work, but Balar rolled up his sleeves and did as Imogen showed him. He’d never dried fish before—winters in the savannah weren’t so harsh that they couldn’t hunt or fish. Vegetation might go scarce, but there was game to be found for the intrepid hunter.
When there were but two trout left, Imogen filleted, salted, and seasoned them, then stuck them on sticks over the fire to cook. Balar watched on as he licked his hands clean. He’d already gotten to picking the meat from under his claws when Imogen turned to wash up in a deep pot.
She blinked at him and he blinked back.
“Waste not,” he said before licking his paw and winking.
Even in the dimming dusk, he could see how her face flushed, almost matching her goddess mark.Sig-zinim,what a strange and beguiling creature she was.
They were soon clean and the fish soon cooked. Settling down on the soft grass around the firepit, they ate their meal fresh from the flames, sizzling and savory. Balar groaned with satisfaction at the tender flesh and crunchy skin, licking his lips after the first fillet disappeared in two bites.
The meal was gone too quickly, and Balar licked his fingers to get the last of the juices. “A fine meal,urisá. I thank you.”
“You did most of it.”
“We are an effective hunting party,” he said with a wink.
She looked away again, but Balar wasn’t quite ready to give in. “You are most resourceful. And an excellent teacher. I’ve never dried fish before.”
“No?”
“In the savannah, we had no need. Although, we often dried fruits.”
Silence lapsed between them, and Balar tried not to chew on his frustration. He searched for something to say, but each inane topic he thought of he remembered telling her already. He didn’t want to sound like a forgetful buffoon.
To his surprise, it was Imogen who spoke first.
“Do you miss it? The savannah?” she asked, her gaze on the fire.
Balar made a considering noise. That was a difficult question. “I miss the savannahs of my boyhood,” he said. “When the grasses were still tall and the gazelle herds numbered in their millions. But then, I suppose everyone longs for the life they remember as a child.”
“Not everyone.”
“No?” Balar turned to her, his brows rising. Something inside him shouted in alarm—the somberness of her words, the way she gazed forlornly into the fire, it felt…wrong.
“No.”
The night air seemed to cool even as the fire crackled beforethem. In its light, he watched a troubled line appear between her brows, her gaze faraway as the flames danced in her eyes.
Slowly, carefully, Balar leaned forward, closer to her.
