A boar wandered through the forest, shaking its shaggy head in the morning chill. It was thirsty and it rooted in the earth for the smell of water. It knew the way to the nearest pond, having been to this particular watering hole numerous times over its life, but the scent was something to follow. It snorted and huffed and trotted away. The branches rustled overhead, and it froze for a moment, tilting its head low, before waddling once more. A breeze, a gust, a shift of the wind to carry more scents and smells into his nose. The wind carried no threat, just the scent of a female not quite ready from over the hill. Something to pursue after thirst and maybe hunger. There was a palm fruit tree that had decided to shed some of its heavier treasures that it passed on the way. A little overripe for its taste, but still good.
It trundled through the underbrush under the shade of a dense canopy until it came to the watering hole. Cool, clear water rained down from a cliff and formed a pool constantly swirling. It snuffled the air again and found nothing but the water and the fruit and a handful of mushrooms on the opposite bank. Those would be better than the fruit, in all honesty, and that would be its next meal. The branches overhead shifted again, and it was just the wind. It bent its head low and drank long and deep and the cool water flushed down its throat. This was nice, really nice. It was perfectly happy with this part of its life and could go on for a good long while. It might even go for a swim. Part of its sharp hide had a mat of mud that was not quite comfortable, and the stream would take care of that.
Lina fell from her perch in the trees and drove an elbow into the back of its neck. It didn't snap, but at least the action got the attention of the grand old boar. And it was in pain. That wasn't good. Her hands found the beast's snout and the top of the skull. Squeezing and twisting and wrenching she tightened her arms around the thrashing animal until a sharp crack echoed from the trees and the beast went still. Sloppy, not her best work, and it would make a terrible gift, but it was the best she could do on such short notice. If everything lined up the way it should, the boar would be a deer, a doe preferably, but this island did not have deer. It just had boars and birds and the occasional snake. Gregor did not particularly care for snake or bird, so boar it was. It was a good enough gift for her purposes. Gregor would understand. He knew this island had no deer, no animals properly suited for gift giving, and he would take it in stride.
It would have been cleaner if she had her axes on hand, but it would spoil the gift. The hide needed to be intact so that he could use it however he saw fit. It wouldn't do if the skin had a tear in it, no matter how quick or clean. And the blood would spill and a gift without blood was hardly a gift at all. The best type of gifts had blood and you could eat them and cook them. Gregor would like it.
She gazed into the water, trying to find herself in the reflections. She was below the clouds, but in front of the reeds. Long, thick braids of red hair, dark skin, broad features always scowling even when she was smiling. She liked the way she looked. Especially the hair. It thumped against the back of her neck when she moved like a drum line. She shook her head back and forth and the weight comforted her. It kept going when she stopped moving. She rolled her shoulders back and savored the soft rolling of the joints, the slow stretch and slack of her muscles. Movement was nice. Soft movement, taking in every sensation in agonizing sloth was better. The other way and the sensation changed, just a bit. She didn't need to do it, but it would help a little with the next part of her grand scheme.
She stole away from the water, the brief bout of self-conscious preening subsided with the realization that her prey was lying in the grass and it couldn't stay that way for very long. It needed to be delivered and the sooner, the better. Meat had a way of going bad fast and now was not the time to dilly or dally. Lina flexed her neck, one side, then the other, the snaps and pops roll down her spine. With a deep breath, she heaved the boar to sit on her shoulders, snug and safe from the horrors of the ground. Her broad shoulders would keep the worst of it out. She headed off back into the forest, steps slow and careful with her new prize. It was a gift after all, although she didn't quite know the occasion.
Gregor had simply asked if she wanted to steal away from the rest of their companions for a handful of days and she had said yes. She liked them all, more or less, but she was still a creature of the forests and jungles, solitary and alone and wandering. It was nice to be that again. Gregor hadn't said why, or even hinted at such a proposition, but their captain was willing to accommodate them while he attended to some business in Los Lauros. Lina wasn't a particular fan of that port anyway. It was better to stay on this little key and hunt with someone else and wait for their ship to swing back and pick them up. And she could kill more boars to bring back for everyone. And she liked Gregor and she liked that he could hunt. She hoped that he would have a gift for her as well.
---
Gregor sat in a clearing, a soft babble of a stream to his back, his blade planted in the earth. The cold scarred metal served as a passable brace for his spine. He ran a hand through his hair, parting the strands down his neck. He had spent most of the morning clearing the site, getting a fire pit started, a nice setup for a tent in case the weather turns, drawing water, and now he found himself idle. He could hunt, but then he might miss the arrival and he did not want to miss that moment. He and Lina could hunt together should the desire for food arise but that was a task for later. He just had to wait here for Lina and then go from there.
There was nothing after that moment when she came through the brush and that left an odd pit in the bottom of his stomach that would not dissipate. It coiled and writhed as it wormed its way into his hands. They shook and he could not make them stop. It was a fear, but not the one that came with violence or storm or snakes. It would not fade. Nothing came to mind to chase it away. It just sat there and grew and grew into it something that took control away from his body. He did not like that.
He wanted stillness and there was none to be found. The forest was a living thing, rustling wind and animal chatter, birds chirping and warbling from overhead. Even the water had to move and prattle on and on about how it was moving. And it was much too hot for him. Even after years much farther south than he ever thought he would travel; it was still too hot. Maybe it was just this island, too loud and warm. Somewhere out there, there had to be an island that would settle into stillness with him. And the internal movement was not pleasant.
There were motions he enjoyed. Swinging the hunk of iron with the force of an avalanche was one. The slow building pressure in his forearms as he squeezed muscle and bone of something else. Those quick sharp ducks and dodges of combat. Those were fine. The itch in his palms that jittered, and shook was not one of them. Those could die off in the tundra for all he cared. He wanted stillness and there was none to be found, neither within nor without.
It was better to let this thing win. There was no fighting it. He wanted, needed to move more, so he moved, getting up, leaving his sword planted in the earth and paced, slowly, taking his time to measure the steps and hopefully sate the coil in his core. It was not enough. It wanted frantic, manic energy, to uproot trees and crush mountains beneath his fingertips.
With no small amount of surprise, Gregor realized he was nervous. He did not particularly care for being nervous. He would rather not, if given the chance, but it seemed that was out of the cards at this point. He had been this way once before and preferred not to think about it. Captain Sandskin had taken him after he first came aboard to a house with a red light out front. A woman took him upstairs and made him undress and then she stopped when she realized that he wasn't comfortable and that was the end of that. She tried touching him and that really didn't go in any pleasant way. And then they sat and talked for a bit and then he went back out where Sandskin laughed and clapped him on the back and then they got drunk. Gregor liked that part. He liked that part a lot because everyone else took his silence and spun lies from it and he didn't have to tell the truth because they didn't want to hear that.
He was nervous about Lina and that was foolish. He knew her. They had sat together and ate together and drank together, but never alone together. He eyed the barrel of rum he had decided to bring with him. He needed to borrow the power of the burning water now, but that was a dangerous path. Memory and control for power was a tight balance and he found himself wanting to keep his senses about him for a little longer.
He should have brought something more than a barrel of rum. Furs and jewels and houses and all the things Jack talked about giving to L'bombe. That was what women wanted. Not a barrel of rum and tent by a stream. He was stupid, incredibly so. He never should have done any of this. He should have just stayed on the boat, gazing out to sea, fighting when the call came and then nothing else. Lina would come and stand by him every so often and that was enough. This was too much. He did not know what to do. He wanted to find somewhere dark and cold and damp and box himself in so that no one would ever know of his idiocy and shame. Women liked shiny things and soft things and warm things, and he could only offer a barrel of rum that tasted like medicine and sickness and headaches and a shoddily constructed laavu that would fall over at the slightest breeze. At the very least he could have made his with logs and wood and not sticks and sail canvas.
Gregor splashed himself with the stream water, running his fingers through his hair and over his face in a desperate attempt to make himself more presentable. It just made his face look shiny and his hair matted and now he looked like he was being drowned. Mistakes, so many mistakes that should not have happened, would not have happened if he just stayed the course and stood at the prow of the ship, hands over the pommel of his sword, gazing unflinchingly out into the water. Lina could be there too, occasional, draped over the prow on her belly, gazing out to sea with him. That would be enough.
