Gwenhwyfar_ The White Spirit - Mercedes Lackey [146]
It was the sound of a small wren peeping inquisitively not a foot from her ear that woke her. She knew exactly where she was; a warrior got into that habit of waking with full knowledge fairly quickly, and it wasn’t one that was easily lost. The sound of the bird was reassuring. If anyone or anything had been snooping about, that bird would not have been poking through the brush that hid her sleeping spot.
She stayed right where she was, though; she could not afford a single wrong step out here. Her resources were too thin to allow for mistakes, and even though she had a head start on those hunting her, they had the advantage of numbers and mobility. She had no time at all to waste. Everything must be carefully planned.
She needed food; it was too early for berries, finding a cache of nuts was chancy, and she didn’t want to wait here to see if she could snare rabbits. Roots were possible, especially those of water plants, but the best idea was to fish. In the spring, fish were hungry. The best use of that toweling was to make a fishing line. She could carve a hook easily enough, and a bit of twig would serve as a bobber. She knew exactly where to dig for grubs and worms. So, unravel a long woof thread from the toweling, make a hook, get bait, fish. That was the first order of the day. Next, try to find a flint or other sparking stone; they were often enough found among the pebbles in streams and lakebeds. She had the ax, so she could make a fire if she could find a piece of flint.
Cautiously, she pushed the brush out of the way and took a careful look around before emerging into the dawn.
By the time the sun was overhead, she was full of fish, she had a hook and line, a flint, and had even found a way to sew the “shoes” together, padding the bottoms for a little more protection. They were only cloth, so they wouldn’t last long, but she only needed them to last until she managed a better substitute, or found someone she could trust, or stole something.
With more cooked fish, cress, and some baked cattail and mallow roots in the bottom of her bucket, protected by a bit of cloth, she headed west.
She was very glad now that she had taken the bucket. It was proving as useful as the knife. It now held food, dry tinder, and the flint she had found among the stones at the lakeshore, as well as the rest of her meager belongings. The Water Horses had not made another appearance, and she assumed they had either forgotten her or had given her all the help they were inclined to. So before she left the lake, she had left three nicely cooked fish and some baked cattail roots on a rock beside the water by way of a thank you gift.
As she cautiously threaded her way through the forest, using streams as often as possible to keep her trail broken, she made a mental inventory of things she wanted. Real shoes and real trews were both high on the list, and so was a bow. She tried very hard not to think too much about the fact that she had no idea where she was. She was a scout, and an expert one at that. She knew all of the signs that showed where people were, and the farther she got from Medraut’s villa, the more likely it was that it would be safe to approach them.
She also kept her eyes open for anything edible, and she gleaned some early mushrooms and a squirrel’s cache of nuts that way.
It was not until she found another good place for a camp, this one a hollowed out but still standing, tree, had set several snares made with more raveled thread from her towels, had eaten and made herself comfortable for the night that she realized something.
Even though this was real hardship and was only going to get harder, she didn’t care how long it took to find her way to friends.
For the first time in her life, she was free. There were no demands, no duties she