“We can both draw the hot bath, and you can join me.” Dagan went up on his toes for a kiss, just a soft, teasing nip to finish it off, then caught Hen’s hand and started for the house. “I brought letters from the Council. Two from Kajja, two from your parents, one from Jak—that’s for both of us—and Innan sent me several.”
“How is everyone? What did Innan say? And why doesn’t Piret write?” Hen reached down to give Shelton the pats he deeply desired, and received many tail wags and hand-licks in response.
Their small cabin had one tree-shaped wall, its growth carefully guided over decades by Demetrius’s family of Verders and caretakers. The rest was built of sturdy oak, the insides hung with woolen tapestries for winter insulation; those would have to come down, soon. The last occupants, who’d retired to the nearby settlement a few years back, had added a lean-to shed for storage; before he’d gone back to scouting, Dagan had helped Hen convert it to a stable for Adela, the pony. The hearth in the main living area was large, the only thing made of stone, with plenty of room for cooking and warming on and around the fire. Shelton ran to it immediately, flopping onto his favorite sleeping cushion as close to the fire as he could safely get.
Bunches of wild herbs hung to dry above the mantel, though Hen only knew what half of them were. He was learning. Two long, wooden loungers with prettily embroidered cushions cozied up to the fire on either side. A small, low table sat between them, Dagan’s little tea service at the ready, though Hendrik hadn’t used it all moon. He just liked to see it there; it made the room as complete as it could be, without Dagan himself.
“Oh, I missed this place.” Dagan shrugged off his cloak. “Not nearly as much as I missed you, but it’s really so sweet.”
Hen snatched up the cloak before he could drop it on the floor. He hung it on a peg near the door instead. “Starting to feel like home?”
“Mmm, yes, though that could be anywhere you are, if I’m honest. But look at this room. I still can’t believe it’s ours.”
“How did Shelton do on his first scouting trip?” Hen asked. The little dog had come from Dagan’s parents, whose beloved Shelly had a litter a few moons ago. Dagan named her in honor of his dam and immediately set about training him for the scout life.
“Magnificent. He’s doing much better about not trying to eat every poop he finds, now.”
“Thank the gods for that.” Hen had never expected to spend late nights worrying about the state of dogs’ digestive systems, or goats’ for that matter. But here they were. “He looks worn out.”
“I did have to carry him on the long hauls.”
“You didn’t.” Hen laughed. “Spoiled thing.”
“Him or me?”
Hen kissed his cheek one more time, just wanting to drink him in. A whole moon without him. It had gone so slowly, but not unpleasantly, for all that. “Will he still chew the furniture if he’s not getting attention? That’s what I’m curious to see.”
“You’ve mostly broken me of that habit.” Dagan smacked his backside. “The dog should be no problem.”
Dagan would probably never be broken of that particular habit. Hendrik chuckled. “I’d never want to break you of it completely. It’s how you show your love.”
“I have so many nicer ways to do that.” Dagan raised both eyebrows. “Oh, but I’m disgusting—I need a bath before I fall into your lap. I know, I know, you don’t care. I do.”
“Tea?” Hen asked, starting for the mantel.
“Bath. Then tea,” Dagan replied, heading for the kitchen. “I’ll get the tub.”
“I’ll get it; you get the water, that’s harder,” Hendrik said with a snort. “Throws me off balance.”
While the dog toasted himself lazily, the humans buzzed around the cabin in a flurry of activity, heating water, making tea, searching out lavender and the “good” soap, as Dagan had become very particular about using goat’s milk in his. By the time the last golden rays of sunshine filtered through the canopy and into the window, Dagan had stripped off his scouting gear and stood naked before the fire, his skin flashing bronze in the glow. He glanced over his shoulder to be certain Hendrik was watching before undoing his braid and finger-combing it out, letting his hair cascade over one shoulder and down his front. The scratch marks on his thigh, which had been bright red when he’d left a moon ago, were gone now.
“Yes, I am watching,” Hen said with a chuckle.
“You can do more than watch if you get over here,” Dagan said with a little purr in his voice. He slipped into the tub and to his knees, giving a little moan of pleasure as lavender steam rose around him.
Hendrik unbuckled, then slipped off straps of the prosthetic. That was the longest he’d worn it out and about, and it hadn’t left any marks of note. Good sign. He set it aside and peeled off his linen drawers, then shorts.
“It’s really beautiful woodwork.” Dagan leaned against the edge of the tub, pillowing his cheek on his forearms to admire the prosthetic where it sat. “When we saw it before, he hadn’t done all the scrollwork. I’m glad you decided to ask for it after all.”
Hendrik had hesitated, when the bowyer asked if he wanted embellishments. Drawing attention to a missing part of his leg had struck him as oddly cruel, at first…but, no, that was all wrong. He’d been thinking of it as something he lacked, and that wasn’t the case; this was something he’d made. Something that was part of him, like the burn scar or the calluses on his hands. Something he liked about himself. Why shouldn’t he make it pretty?
Would his leg have survived if he hadn’t stood up to face the monster under the Great See again? If he hadn’t challenged it, hadn’t wanted to throw that flaming torch into the pit himself?
Maybe. But it was worth it, if that was the price he paid. He’d pay it a million times over if it meant he got to light that twisted creature up himself.
“Me too.” Hen stood and went to the tub, then leaned over to kiss Dagan’s forehead. “You were right. As usual.”
Dagan looked up through his eyelashes, focusing first on Hendrik’s prick, which was just above his eye level, then meeting his gaze and grinning. “Don’t tease a starving man with a meal like that, Hen. Come here and show me how much you missed me.”
Yes, that was exactly what Hendrik planned to do, as a matter of fact. Thoroughly and completely.
*
After the bath, they took Shelton out to make sure all the goats were in their shed for the night. Dagan wanted to stop and kiss Adela, too, who nuzzled him as if she’d missed him greatly. They then returned to the warmth of their fire. Shelton curled himself up next to Hen on the lounger, his yellow head resting delicately against Hen’s thigh. Dagan made strawberry-mint tea from things he’d gathered on his way home, then sat at Hen’s feet and read their letters aloud. As he talked, Hen braided Dagan’s hair then combed it out and braided it again, just to feel the silken softness of it between his fingers.
His recitations finished, and very satisfying, on the whole, Hen said, “Kon seems determined.”
Dagan gave a little hum. “I expect we’ll hear from him again soon, saying he’s perfected his wheeled chair design. We should put in paths to the goat pens and stable for you. We could use clay and pack it hard, so the wheels don’t get caught.”
“That sounds like a very big project.”
“Well, we can’t spend the whole moon in bed,” Dagan replied.
“Can’t we?”
Dagan turned, careful not to interrupt the braiding as he did so, and grinned at Hen over his shoulder.
“It’s just an idea.” Hendrik chuckled. “Anyhow, none of these letters explain why Piret hasn’t written.”
