The Princess and the Bear - Mette Ivie Harrison [32]
Richon looked down at himself then.
He wore the body of the young man he had been, still ungainly and uncertain, but strong. His boots were the ones he had loved once, and the clothes, sweaty and bloodstained, were what he had worn at the end of the battle with the animals. And when he put a hand on the pouch at his side, he could feel the coins that jingled in it.
Had he had coins in his pouch then?
He did not remember. He had not often carried coins with him. He had had servants for such things.
This must be a gift of the wild man.
“Hound,” said Richon in his own human voice, not as deep as he had wanted it to be.
He put out a hand.
The hound—the human woman—met it with hers.
“What shall I call you?” he asked.
“Must I have another name, then?” Now she, too, spoke in the language of humans. Her voice was low, more like a man’s than a woman’s, and not at all smooth. Perhaps it would become smoother as she grew used to it, but the bear did not think she would ever sound like other women.
He would not give her a name. He had imposed on her too much already. But it would be strange indeed if the king referred to the woman at his side as “Hound.”
A small smile played across her face. “Call me Chala, for it means ‘human woman’ in the language of the hounds.”
“Chala,” he said aloud, trying it out. She seemed to think there was irony in the word, but he thought it fit her well.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Chala
WEARING A HUMAN body again was like having a thorn in her paw. She never entirely forgot about it, but there were also times when she could focus on something else. On moving down from the mountains, for example. A human body was not as well equipped as a hound’s, especially not a woman’s body wearing a full-length gown. But if she thought only of the next step, and the next, it was better.
And at least she could watch Richon as he also tried to adjust to his new body. It was amusing to see how fragile he seemed. She had been so used to his enormous bear’s form, and the thickness of his fur, and the way he could run on all fours or walk upright on his hind legs. Now he seemed all unbalanced, and tottered over rocks that would not have bothered him before. His feet were covered in boots, but still he winced at the rocks underfoot, and he tired so easily that they had to stop frequently to give him rests.
Chala was surprised at the body he had now. His chest was hairless, and so thin and without muscle she could see the line of each rib underneath his tunic. His arms and legs were wiry, but his stomach was soft with food that others had killed and brought to him to eat. Oh, he was handsome enough, she supposed—for a human. His eyes were a clear, bright blue and his nose was unbroken and well shaped. He had broad cheekbones that reminded her a little of the animal that she still saw in him. But was this the kind of man humans chose as a king?
She had seen King Helm and he was nothing like this. Even King Davit, Prince George’s father, ill as he was, had had evidence of muscles on his wasted figure. Prince George, too, had the look of a man who did not let others do for him. He was not as good with the sword as King Helm, but he had held his own.
Yet Chala doubted very much that this young man beside her would have lasted more than a few moments in that arena. He might be able to ride a horse well and kill an animal with a spear, but she was not overly impressed with him.
In the world of wild hounds, the male leader of a pack was always the strongest and the biggest. If he fell ill, he was quickly overtaken by another and torn apart. But for humans, it was different. It made no sense, but there it was. The bear had been strong, but it was this weak human who had been king, and was again.
Well, she might be human in body, but she would not go along with that. She would treat Richon as a leader of her pack, and perhaps he would see how to be strong through her.
They spent a full day getting off that first mountain, and then, when dark