The Weaver's Source

Part Three: Chapter 27

"It'll storm later." Grigore announced behind me.

I jumped a little, trying my best to ignore the weird fluttering of my heart which always happened when I heard his deep voice, and whirled to face him, surprised to see him clean shaven and his damp hair tied back in a knot with only his loose shirt and breeches on.

"Good morning." I stammered.

He grunted in response. I watched him as he stepped around me, walking over to his small camp hidden by a gnarled dead tree and tossing his pack aside.

"The farmer'll let you bathe. Take advantage of it if you want." Grigore said as he sat heavily on rotten log.

My magic twittered a little more than usual in my chest. It had been strengthening the last couple of days, singing to me whenever my mind went quiet, but it was particularly strong this morning. I felt my stomach churn with the warmth and my heart stuttered at the sight of his scarred, strong face clear of hair and the shirt that sat widely around his throat, clearly showing the lines of his neck and a snippet of his chest. It bewildered me that my magic was reacting strongly to him again. It had been fine for days after I found him and now it was gradually getting worse. What had changed?

I cleared my throat, forcing myself to focus and shoving the magic aside to get myself under a little control.

"How do you know?" I asked as I followed him, trying to avoid the scratchy bracken that grew from the earth in twisted forms.

"Know what?"

"That it'll rain."

"I can feel it." He replied a little sharply. "And it won't be a light shower."

"So will we be leaving here still?" I asked and sat down opposite him, watching him intently as he put together a fire in the ashes of the one he created last night.

"We will. It's some distance until the tundra stops and it'll be better when it does. Deer are much harder to hunt when they can see you for miles." He said and by the tone I knew he wasn't willing to speak anymore.

I frowned a little, remembering how much he used to talk to me a week ago. He would talk almost freely and even seemed to enjoy teaching me about the stars and how to tell what monster is nearby. I didn't understand why he was slowly closing himself off. I had thought that, while he may not accept me as a Source, he had accepted me as a companion, but it was as if he was returning to how he treated me when we first met; cold and aloof. Maybe I had done something to upset him or my presence was now annoying him, I worried gently.

While he tore up stale bread and drowned it in oil on the ancient pan, I worried to myself and tried to think of what I had done to upset Grigore. I couldn't think of much. When he hunted the rats, I stayed with the farmer and his wife and sons, just as he had told me to. I never moved. And I always remained close to him in the towns and when he felt a monster nearby when we were on the roads. 

I jolted and looked up sharply when Grigore called my name. I blinked a couple of times before I realised he was offering a plate to me. I smiled weakly and reached out, letting my hands clasp the plate and felt my fingers brush his. Warmth sparked out instantly, my magic rushing to my hands in an explosion of heat and I abruptly let out a surprised cry when Grigore suddenly tore his hand back with a snarl as if I'd burnt him. The plate fell to the ground with a hollow thud while I had frozen in shock. My magic cried and buzzed manically beneath my skin, slipped around my body, heating me pleasantly between my legs and swelling me with a deep hunger for him. I gazed at him, my eyes flitting over his rough hands up to his dark eyes, swallowing him up. I knew my chest was heaving with every breath and I tried desperately to stop the hungering expression from taking over my features but it broke through.

For a moment we simply stared at each other. Grigore's body was rigid, his gaze fixated on my mouth, his brow furrowed deeply in annoyance and he flexed his bare fingers and rubbed his hand fervently. I simply sat there, my lips partially open while my arms were crossed firmly over my chest, keeping my hands still, trying my hardest to stop myself from grabbing him and planting several hot kisses on his mouth. It was difficult, especially as Grigore's magic surrounded me thickly, full of temptation, calling me to him.

Slowly his hard gaze softened into something like unease and I managed to get my control back from my magic.

He said nothing as he rubbed the back of his neck hard, then set to work on another plate. This time I was careful not to touch him. I wasn't quite sure why we reacted like that but my fingers still tingled pleasantly, making me want to try again. Grigore however remained alert, not looking at me anymore and remained silent.

Before long we were finished and I left his side to seek out the bath Grigore had told me about, eager to give myself space in the hopes my heart was stopping hammering in my chest. The bath helped a little and, dressed once again with my hair mimicking wet rat tails, I sought him out. He was fully dressed again, armed with Ursus and his was baggy shirt surrounded by his snug fitting jack. Seeing me ready, Grigore said his farewell to the farmer and practically dragged me away.

So onwards we went, over the bleak tundra that sat at the bottom of the giant mountains looming in the east. I glanced up at the clouds and didn't see anything different from before. They remained grey and numerous but not as if they were about to release massive storm. It was going to though. Grigore had said it would.

I trailed after him quietly, not wanting to disturb him. He appeared to be deep in thought, thoughts that made his brow crinkle with annoyance and his magic crackling a little darkly, warding me off. I wondered what was bothering him and if I could help. I doubted it. The one thing I was learning about this strange Weaver was that he was stubborn and had a massive amount of pride. But he was gentle and kind when the fancy took him and he wasn't in one of his moods. I left him alone though and didn't prod him about his temper. He would sort himself out. He had done in the past, when I first met him, so I believed he would do it again.

Humming softly to myself, I clambered over rocks and rocky terrain, letting Grigore help me when he felt I needed it and trying to ignore the sensation of his large gloved hands taking my own and forget about what happened at breakfast. It was difficult. I knew Grigore couldn't forget it either. He would drop my hand as if it was on fire, avoid looking at my face and kept a fair distance between us.

I paused when I reached the top of a particularly large hill, shielding my eyes and clutching my cloak around me against the bitter wind. Thunder clouds were beginning to gather in the distance, fat and wide. As it grumbled, I hurried after Grigore, hoping we wouldn't be caught it in downfall that was going to break.