Chapter 2
When they found a small clearing, they decided to camp there. Graber gathered a bit of dry wood and soon had a cheery blaze going. Sitting on their rolled blankets, they ate a simple meal and drank from the stream that flowed through the meadow before they settled down to sleep. Visions of magical powers danced through their dreams, a lure more potent than gems and gold.
Hanson had no idea how long he’d been asleep when a bloodcurdling howl made him sit straight up, blanket falling unheeded to his waist and below. It didn’t make much difference since it wasn’t cold and he’d taken off only his heavy, mud-crusted boots before settling for the night, his normal habit.
Before he could do more than shoot a hasty glance around the small clearing, Graber landed at his side, so close a single bristle from the old boar’s snout could not have been wedged between them. Graber seemed to have grown a pair or two of extra arms and they all clutched Hanson in a death grip.
“W-w-what was that?”
“Hey, you’re the woodsman, always headed into the forest to cut your trees. I’ve never gone farther than I could still see the vale and the village, just enough to let my pigs get the acorns and mushrooms along the edges. But I’m guessing it must have been a wolf.”
“A w-w-wolf? Oh my soul, we’ll be eaten alive.”
“Nah, I’m too rank, and you’re too tough. He’d have to be mighty hungry. Come on; let go. You’re choking me.”
Graber edged away a scant finger width. “I—Can I move my bed over here by you? We can lie close and be ready to defend each other.”
A prickle of uncertainty edged along Hanson’s spine. “Noooo, I don’t think so. We’re friends, not bed buddies…never have been. Is that what you’re after?”
Graber huffed in disgust. “Don’t get all stand-offish on me. I wasn’t angling for that, but I know I’ve gotta be better than some old white sow.”
Hanson surged to his feet. “I never fucked Moonbeam! Never! I wouldn’t even think of it. She’s not that kind of—er—a girl. What kind of twisted whoreson do you take me for? I thought we knew each other.”
“Well, I’m better than Widow Sheena then. She must be forty and she’s fat to boot. You can hardly find the right wrinkle…”
“And about as much a widow as Moonbeam. Wait, who ever said I fucked her?Damn it, man, I’m regretting I asked you to come with me. Wait a minute. How do you know about which wrinkle?”
Grabbing his blanket, Hanson got up, circled the now near-dead fire, and lay down on the other side. But that was where Graber had left hisblanket. In a heartbeat, he was there, wrapping up in it and then rolling up against Hanson’s broad back.
Well, he can’t do much harm, both of us bundled like babes in swaddling. Goes to show you never really know people, though.
With that last thought, Hanson again fell asleep. The next time he awoke, the sun was peeking through the trees to the east. He scrambled to his feet, rolled up his blanket and then gave Graber a boot in the arse to get him up. Then afterwards he stood for a breath or two, looking down at his snoring partner, feeling a vague and confusing mixture of affection, protectiveness, and uncertainty.
They’d grown up together and been friends since childhood, but did he really know the other man at all? Suddenly, he was no longer sure. This quest already had him thinking things that had never crossed his mind before, as if he’d begun so soon to morph from Hanson the Pigs into someone else entirely. It was too late to turn back now, although he wasn’t as confident in his desire for magic as he had been just a few short days, even hours, before. Maybe all change was not progress…
* * * *
The two intrepid young men forged on for a hand and three more days. The woods seemed only to get deeper, darker and more forbidding the farther they went. Hanson soon got used to sleeping back to back with Graber, and, indeed, it began to feel much more comforting than strange. Sometimes they heard grunts and howls, shrieks and groans. Those times they got up and huddled together, feeding twigs to a small fire until weariness overcame them, driving them back to their blankets. The stores they had packed dwindled. Another day or two and they’d have to start forging for food to supplement what little remained.
The ninth day dawned gray and bleak. A thin, sharp wind found its way between the thick trunks of the towering trees to gnaw at the weary walkers like hungry rats. Both men wore their blankets around their shoulders to add protection to the summer jerkins they wore. They trudged along, setting one foot in front of the other, over and over, hardly caring whether or not they moved in what they still hoped was the correct route—away from home.