The Weaver's Source

Part Four: Chapter 42

He grunted irritably and leaned heavily against the tree, settling one hand on his thigh and the other over Ursus' hilt.

"Sleep. I'll get you to hunt first thing in the morning." His stormy eyes flickered over me, drinking me attentively. "I won't be a kind teacher."

I settled down, full of warmth that he'd finally accepting my attempts to protect myself, not noticing how his expression darkened slightly with hunger or how he watched over me as I slept with guarded curiosity.

Two days went gone by and we continued to follow the road west and, to my great relief, the earth began to flatten out. Grigore did as he vowed, teaching me the basics of hunting; how to notice tracks and tufts of fur and how to distinguish each cry of bird and beast in the chorus of the woods, sharp to correct me when I answers his questions wrong. But my aim was absolutely abysmal no matter what he did. Every time I found something to shoot, the arrow shot wide or arced too short or far, so Grigore demanded I practice on trees, marking which to aim for with a tiny ward. And he'd watch me as I practiced, moulding me into better positions with his large hands, his deep voice instructing me firmly while his grip on me was gentle, sending my heart fluttering a little when his powerful body drew close to mine or how strong and masculine his fingers felt. Swiftly though, I began to notice he wasn't just watching me when he was teaching me though.

His dark gaze flickered over me constantly, his magic stirring to touch mine softly with an almost kiss like caresses and his thumb rubbing his jaw with that curious motion of his, be it when I ate or helped with our meal, fixed my clothes or simply rested nearby. It was constant and he didn't even try to hide it. Despite it being simple interest, it made me feel a little self-conscious, thickening whenever I couldn't feel what it was he was feeling and understand why he was doing it. Did I look strange or was I too grimy after failing to find a way to bathe? Was my archery that bad or did he dislike the way I'd nick his cloak to fix? But he never spoke, just watched, so I did my best to ignore it by not looking at him and keeping my eyes on whatever it was I was doing.

Dusk was coming as we made our way down a gently sloping road at my slow pace. The world darkened and the heavy set trees either side of the rugged dirt road hurried it but the sun cast bright orange and red tinge to the west. With the sound of blackbirds twittering in the trees and the crickets singing, it made me quite content, even though the cold autumn air was freezing my nose raw. I sung a little, humming gently to my magic as I walked a few steps behind Grigore. For once his inquisitive gaze was on something else other than me.

Dusk was quickly turning into night and the dusk birdsong began to quieten replaced by the deep hoots of owls and chittering bats. The road was virtually black with night, and I was slowly beginning to get nervous. My magic swirled, sensing a danger out in the thick trees. I tried to peer into the darkness, to see anything that could eat my magic, but saw nothing. Quietly and a little hesitantly, I jogged up to Grigore and touched his back lightly.

"Something's wrong." I whispered.

"I know." He replied without stopping or looking back.

When I took my eyes from the woods, I noticed that he was stiffer than normal. His back was straight, his arms no longer hung loose by his sides and his easy walk had shifted into a wolfish prowl. He was alert. It didn't comfort me though. It meant a monster was out there.

"Do you still have your ring?" Grigore asked.

I was quietly surprised by his question and I glanced down at my finger and nodded. 

"I do."

"Then let's hope it's enough to keep it from sniffing you out." He mumbled under his breath.