Page 27 of Howling Eve

Lifting his empty hand up between them where she could see it clearly, he brought his clawed fingers together and snapped. The claw of his thumb struck the claws of his middle and index finger, and MaryAnne jumped when a flame sprung to life and remained caught between his finger and thumb. He held it there in front of her like a man offering a flower, but she wasn’t so stupid as to try and touch it. It was fire after all. He grinned and touched it to the candlewick as he released it.

“You can do magic?” she breathed.

His sonorous chuckle filled the tent as he stood and replaced the candle. “Not significant magic. I’m no magic-smith or sorcerer. But there are a few common little magics that all trolls can do. Theoretically it can be developed into simple defensive magic, but it takes considerable time and talent to build up such a skill.”

“That’s a shame. I bet it could be pretty useful for protection—like against those fairy hounds,” she pointed out, trembling anew with the memory of them.

Like something straight out of a nightmare. She had never considered herself afraid of dogs. Cautious around those she didn’t know, sure—she considered that being intelligent and possessing common sense—but never truly afraid of them. Those fairy hounds terrified her.

Raskyuil grunted as he turned and dropped into a low crouch at the far end of the tent near what appeared to be a small travel kit. He started a small fire in a metal bowl and carefully moved a silver teapot over it. She watched curiously as she was accustomed to seeing cast iron kettles and simple ceramic teapots. She had never seen anyone simply set a pretty-looking little teapot over direct flame before. Before long steam and tiny trickles of boiling water bubbled up the spout and he quietly removed it and set it aside.

His thick torso twisted, and he rifled through some of his carefully stacked belongings for a moment before turning back to the teapot with a leather pouch cradled in his palm. His long, thick fingers made quick work of opening it before dipping in and removing a generous pinch of some sort of herb. There was something almost lewd about that movement, as innocent as it was, and MaryAnne felt warmth creep up her neck and cheeks as he did it again and dropped more of the herbal mixture into the mesh cup.

He's making tea. Get ahold of yourself!

Taking the mesh cup in one hand, he fitted it into the teapot and settled back, his dark tail flicking lazily against his legs. He otherwise didn’t move and remained comfortably crouched in place. It made her thigh muscles burn just watching. Although she heard that there was a way to squat down that, once one became accustomed to it, was actually comfortable to do for long periods, she’d never discovered the trick of it. She always opted for something to sit on, even if was a hard stone or misshapen log. Living at the home for so many years had made her quite a bit softer than she was when she arrived at its door.

Her jaw cracked with a yawn, and his dark eyes rose to watch her. Although they appeared near black in the light, in the dark they had a glowing ring of amber that she could just make out in the shadows of the tent if she looked hard enough. They were rather pretty. The corners of his eyes crinkled.

“You are tired. I have something for you, and I promise you will sleep well,” he murmured as he fetched a cup and lifted the teapot to pour a stream of dark amber liquid into it.

She eyed it curiously. “Unless you plan on drugging me, I don’t see how that’s possible in this place,” she pointed out with a little shiver.

“I did warn you, did I not?” His dark brow arched, and she nodded miserably.

He had warned her, but she had no choice. “I know, and even experiencing this firsthand my answer would be the same.”

He grunted, and it sounded almost approving to her surprise. “Loyalty and protection of one’s family is sacred. You may not be their mother by blood, but you are a good, strong mother to them,” he observed, his words warming her. “Now drink. No drugs, but the herbs within it are a troll remedy for easing the mind and allowing a healing sleep. You have not truly slept in some time.”

She nodded wearily as she took the cup that he offered her. The ceramic mug was heavy and pleasantly warm in her hand. Just touching it as the smell of the tea rose to her nose relaxed her. If this could help her sleep well without drugging her into a stupor, then it would be a miracle. She had suffered from nightmares since the Ravening which often interrupted her sleep, but since leaving the perceived safety of the children’s home, she’d been compelled to set a ruthless pace that had exhausted her.

“If something happens, I will be able to wake up, right?”

He nodded. “I swear this. No troll would take a draught that left him immobilized and unable to protect himself or his family. You will be able to wake if you need to. Otherwise, you will sleep undisturbed.”

“Okay,” she mumbled.

She was going to trust him. She couldn’t believe that she was going to trust him, but she was. Something inside her just insisted that she could, and she was finally going to give in just a little to it. She lifted the cup to her lips and then stopped and lowered it, setting on the stool beside the bed. His eyebrows rose, and she gave him an apologetic smile.

“I’m going to drink it, but would it be okay if I got a little more comfortable before I sleep?”

He blinked, and then his lips quirked in wry amusement. “I did not think. One moment. I have just the thing.”

Rising gracefully to his feet, Raskyuil walked to another part of the tent where he had some bags laid out beside… was that a motorcycle? Her eyes widened as she peered at it curiously, but she was distracted when he turned toward her with a large tunic in his hands. To her surprise, he walked over and handed it to her.

“This should be serviceable,” he rumbled. “I will step outside while you change. Just let me know when you’re done. Don’t worry about your clothes. Just leave them on the floor beside the cot and I will see to them in the morning while you sleep.”

She clutched the tunic to her chest, his familiar smell and the clean scent of soap wafting from it. She stroked her fingers over it. How was it so soft? She’d never felt such soft fabric. “What about you? Aren’t you going to sleep?”

He dipped his head. “Do not worry, little mate. You have a soft body and need to rest properly, so I will sleep on the floor. I don’t require much sleep. Now change and drink your tea before it gets cold,” he ordered and ducked out of the tent, the flap dropping closed behind him.

She stared after him for a long moment, her tired mind trying to keep up with exactly what was happening here. Reluctantly, her lips tipped, and she shimmied out of her dirty clothes, grateful to be free of them. She desperately wanted some soap and water to clean up, but another yawn and a glance toward the steaming mug waiting for her quickly changed her mind.

Tomorrow. She would ask about it tomorrow.

In the meantime, she at least had something clean to sleep in. She made a small sound of contentment as she pulled the ridiculously soft tunic over her head and was immediately encased in the warm fabric. The neck gaped awkwardly so that it hung over one shoulder, but it hung a little past her knees and the short sleeves draped past her elbows, concealing her nudity under it effectively. MaryAnne crawled back into the bed and snuggled into the fabric as she tucked it around herself a bit more and picked up her cup.

“All done,” she called, and took a healthy sip.

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