Naked by the Campfire

Chapter 5: The Huntress in the Hollow (Part 5)

"What do we do?" Lyra whispered.

"We go around." Aelindra's voice was calm, matter-of-fact. "There's maybe fifteen of them---too many to fight with just my bow, and you're not exactly in fighting shape. We'll circle east, through the denser woods. It'll add an hour or two to the trip, but we won't end up in that cookpot." She glanced at Lyra, her pale eyes glinting. "Fresh human meat is considered a delicacy in some orc clans."

Lyra's stomach turned. "Good to know."

"Come on. Stay low, stay quiet, and try not to step on anything loud."

They circled the orc camp in silence, moving through the densest part of the woods where the undergrowth was thick enough to hide their passage. Aelindra moved with practiced ease, her feet finding the quietest paths. Lyra did her best to follow, but she was far from silent---every step seemed to find a dry leaf or a hidden stick, and she winced at every crack and rustle. Her nakedness, which had become almost normal during the long walk, suddenly felt terrifying again. Pale skin against dark foliage---she felt like a beacon, certain that every orc in the valley could see her.

They passed within fifty yards of the camp. Lyra could smell them now---a musky, animal scent mixed with woodsmoke and cooking meat. She caught glimpses through the trees: a massive orc with a scarred face sharpening an axe; two smaller ones wrestling in the dirt, laughing with harsh, barking sounds; a female orc stirring a pot over the central fire, her tusks glinting. They were brutal, primitive, utterly alien---and yet, watching them, Lyra felt a strange flicker of recognition. They were not mindless monsters. They were people, of a sort. Living their lives, arguing and laughing and working. The realization unsettled her more than mindless savagery would have.

Everything I thought I knew is wrong, she thought. Everything.

They made camp that evening in a small clearing ringed by ancient oaks. The orc camp was miles behind them now, and the forest had grown quiet again. Aelindra built a fire with practiced efficiency, and soon a small flame was crackling in the center of the clearing.

Lyra sat close to the fire, her knees drawn up to her chest, her arms wrapped around them. The position gave her some small measure of coverage, but she didn't dwell on it. She was too tired to be self-conscious.

Aelindra sat across the fire, her back against an oak, her bow propped within easy reach. She produced a packet of dried meat and hard travel bread from her pack and tossed a portion to Lyra.

"Eat," she said. "We'll reach Thornwall by midday tomorrow if we start early."

Lyra caught the food. "Thank you. For everything. The tonic, the food, the escort. I don't know how to repay you."

Aelindra shrugged, chewing on a strip of dried meat. "You don't. That's the point of helping someone---it's not a loan." She swallowed and shot Lyra a wry look. "Besides, you were so pathetic this morning. It was either help you or feel guilty about it for the next century. And elves live a long time. That's a lot of guilt."

"How long?"

"Hm?"

"Elves. How long do you live?"

Aelindra tilted her head. "Depends. A few centuries, if you're careful and don't get eaten by something. My grandmother is over four hundred, and she still climbs trees." A faint, fond smile crossed her face. "Drives my mother crazy. Says she's going to break a hip. My grandmother says hips were made to be broken."

Lyra shook her head, marveling. Four hundred years. It was beyond comprehension.

"I'm glad I met you," she said quietly. "Even if I was pathetic."

Aelindra laughed---a real laugh, warm and unguarded. "You were. Absolutely pathetic. But you've got guts, I'll give you that. Most people would have given up after the first mile. You kept going." She met Lyra's eyes across the fire, her expression softening. "That counts for something."

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, the fire crackling between them. The stars began to emerge overhead, cold and bright. Lyra stared up at them, her body aching, her stomach still growling despite the food. She was still naked. Tomorrow, she would still be naked. But she was not alone.

"Aelindra," Lyra said, as the fire began to die down. "Thank you. Really. Most people wouldn't have helped."

Aelindra was quiet for a moment. Then she said, "Most people aren't rangers. We have a saying: the forest provides, but only for those who respect it. You were lost and wounded and alone. Leaving you to die would have been... disrespectful." She paused, and a faint smile touched her lips. "Also, you were so utterly pathetic that I felt vaguely guilty. So don't read too much into it."

Lyra laughed softly. "I'll take what I can get."

"Good. That's the first lesson of being an adventurer." Aelindra pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders and settled back against the oak. "Sleep. We move at dawn."

Lyra curled up on her side, as close to the fire as she could get without burning herself. The ground was hard and damp beneath her bare skin. The fire warmed her front, but her back was exposed to the night, and she shivered constantly. She tried to arrange her hands to cover herself---one between her thighs, the other over her chest---but the position was awkward, and she knew her hands would slip once she fell asleep.

She was still naked.

But she was not alone. The woman on the other side of the fire had pointed ears and silver hair and a laugh that was warm and real. She had called Lyra pathetic and brave in the same breath. She had shared her food, healed her wounds, and guided her through a forest full of orcs. She was prickly and sarcastic, but she was also kind---genuinely kind.

A friend, Lyra thought, and the word felt fragile and precious, like a flame cupped in her hands. I think I've made a friend.

"Get some sleep," Aelindra said, her voice drowsy. "Tomorrow's the last push. And when we get to Thornwall---" She paused, and a grin spread across her face. "The first round's on you."

Lyra groaned. "I don't have any money."

"I know." Aelindra's grin widened. "That's what makes it funny."