Red Magic - Jean Rabe [28]
Glancing back over his shoulder, he saw the centaur watching him closely and looking concerned. Galvin forced a smile and turned and headed into the trees.
By the time Galvin returned with an armload of fruit, the sun was beginning to edge above the horizon. Brenna was reclining on her rolled-up tent. Two satchels sat just beyond her. She wisely had packed lightly, the druid surmised, unlike other city people he knew. She wore her hair twisted in tight braids about her head. That, too, was practical, since they would be traveling among trees and bushes that would hopelessly tangle it. But her garb was far from functional. Today she wore a long blue gown of heavy cotton that was full along the bottom and edged with lace; its only saving grace was the tight sleeves. Galvin resigned himself to the thought that apparently all wizards dressed in billowy, expensive drapery. Maybe they felt that made them appear more important than people who dressed practically. Still, she looked pretty in it, he thought.
Galvin had taken time to bathe, shave two days' growth of beard off his face, and wash his hair. Still wet, it lay flat against the sides of his head and dripped on the back and shoulders of his cloak. He had changed into the only other set of clothes he had brought, which consisted of a forest green tunic, darker green leggings, and a plain knee-length cloak-also green. He regretted ruining the cloak he had worn yesterday. It had been a gift from a female Harper associate in Tsurlagol who had had designs on the druid. That had been a few years ago, and Galvin hadn't been interested in romance. But he liked the cloak and had worn it often. Wynter frequently chided him because he dressed only in green, but the druid considered it a functional color in the forest, since it helped him blend in with the foliage.
Wynter eyed him and winked. "A special occasion? Or are you just trying to impress the lady?"
The centaur's longbow was slung over his right shoulder, and an embossed leather quiver full of arrows rested between his broad shoulder blades. His staff, a thick piece of black-stained oak nearly eight feet long, rested against a tree. Beyond that, Wynter carried only a small leather sack strapped to his waist. It contained several silver and gold coins and a silver pin-a harp inside a crescent moon. Galvin often envied the centaur because he didn't need to pack clothes and other human essentials.
"No meat this morning?" Wynter continued, eyeing the druid's selection. The centaur knew Galvin refused to eat animal flesh, choosing instead to live on fruits, nuts, and vegetables he recovered in the wild and on bread and cheese he traded for with traveling merchants. Wynter, however, had a fondness for roast pig, despite the fact it didn't sit well in his equine stomach, and was glad his friend never objected when he ate it or grew angry when he repeatedly offered to share the flesh with the druid.
Galvin handed the centaur a large piece of citrus fruit. "This is better for you," he said.
Brenna eagerly selected a few pieces of fruit for herself. Galvin wondered what she and Wynter had eaten while he slept. Probably little, he thought. The centaur wasn't a very good hunter; he was a farmer by trade, when he wasn't gallivanting off with the druid on Harper assignments, a profession that kept him fit and well fed. Galvin noted that Wynter devoured the fruit eagerly, and Brenna was eating hers ravenously.
The councilwoman finished first, glanced at her bags, and then looked to Galvin for assistance.
"I won't be able to carry all this," she said, adding a weak smile.
The druid returned her smile, strapped on his scimitar, slung his satchel over his shoulder, and eyed her thin, shapely frame. "Then you'd better decide what to leave behind."
The sorceress puffed out her chest and readied a verbal assault, but the centaur stepped between her and the druid.
"I'll help you, Brenna," Wynter offered.
Galvin