“Thanks. I hate this beard.” Hendrik scratched at it.
Dagan refrained from pointing out that it was, in fact, a terrible beard. It wasn’t his fault the wilderness didn’t provide for hair care, after all. Instead, he said, “Hop in. I have soap and lavender from the cook.”
Hendrik shook his head, settling back onto the bed. “You should go first. I’ve got sand in places I didn’t even know existed. You don’t want that in your hair.”
“I don’t mind,” Dagan insisted.
“No, please.” Something urgent—no, not urgent, but insistent, perhaps—crept into Hendrik’s voice. “You brought us here safely. You got us this beautiful room. You’ve fed and watered me. Please, go first.”
There was something so earnest in this plea that Dagan decided it’d be cruel to turn it down. Of course, Hendrik shouldn’t feel indebted to him; this was his job. But it was telling of Hendrik’s emotional and mental state, perhaps, that he wanted so much to return what he saw as a favor.
Dagan smiled and nodded. He took out the sachet of lavender the cook had given him, crushed it in his hands, then sprinkled it into the water. The rising steam filled the room with a combination of woodsmoke and purple flower scent.
“What is it?” Hendrik stood and edged nearer but stopped before he made it two steps.
Dagan waved him over, then started undoing his braid. “It’s an herb—a flower, really. For cooking and cleaning. If you use it on your hair, you’ll smell it for days.”
“It’s nice.” Hendrik sniffed carefully, reminding Dagan of a giant cat again. “I think I’ve smelled it before. Not sure where.”
“I should’ve asked before I put it in.” Dagan ran his hands through his hair, catching on a little knot, then fluffing it out a bit. It didn’t feel too dirty, but he might as well take advantage of the lavender.
Hendrik’s gaze fixed on Dagan’s hair for a moment. His mouth opened as if he’d say something. Then, he shook his head and looked back to the tub. “No. Really, it’s nice. Was just curious.”
Dagan left him to examine the tub from whatever distance he chose and began peeling his clothing off. He’d just bathed a few days ago in a beautiful spring, but already he was itchy with the dirt of the path. And just the tiniest, lingering bit of that slimy feeling from using his lifecasting near the estuary. Uncertain of Stone City customs about bathing and privacy, he turned away as he pulled off his shirt and undershorts, assuming that if Hendrik was bothered, he would also turn away.
When Dagan turned back to step into the tub, Hendrik had gone to the window. The dying light gave him an orangey-pink glow, and his eyes sparked.
Dagan slid deep into the water, facing the fire. The lavender filled his head, and the hot water melted his tired muscles. He ducked beneath the surface, wetting his face and hair completely, and then reached for the bar of milk-soap the cook had given him. It was flecked with green herbs, smelling of mint and other spicy things.
“Let me know if you need more water,” Hendrik said after a few moments.
“You’re so helpful,” Dagan replied, shooting a smile over his shoulder.
Hendrik glanced his way just in time to catch it, and returned it almost easily. “Is it okay if I—I don’t know. Touch things in the room?”
“Nothing will bite,” Dagan assured him.
Hendrik wandered the room while Dagan lathered his hair and soaped down his skin methodically, basking in the sensations and scents, since who knew when he’d be able to indulge like this again. Dagan looked back to check on him now and then, and Hendrik would be admiring a pretty painting or fingering a book of local flora and fauna or smelling a flower from the vase near his bed.
Dagan finished and toweled off quickly, wrapping a fluffy blanket around his middle. He found another for his hair, rubbing as much of the water out as he could before tossing it back over his shoulder to deal with later. The buckets were hot by then, so he hefted one and poured it in, churning up the lavender. “All yours. It’s divine, too. I love how wandering the wilds makes coming back to a settlement seem positively luxurious.”
“How long have you been a scout?” Hendrik asked, standing and pulling off his shirt. The long burn scar on his arm looked like it pulled as he did so, but if it bothered him he gave no indication.
“It’s my first trip.” Dagan picked up the second bucket carefully.
“Really? You know the woods so well.”
Dagan glanced up, surprised by the praise. He couldn’t remember doing anything especially scout-like, apart from escaping mama bear’s wrath and occasional minor feats of tracking or general pathfinding. The lifecasting check he’d been doing every morning was perhaps new for Hendrik, but he couldn’t really see that; he only knew what it was because Dagan had explained the basics. After pouring the second bucket, Dagan said, “It’s intense training, long after standard education comes to an end for most of us. We must be capable, adaptable, and dutiful.” He couldn’t help going a bit singsong on the end, there.
“That sounds like you’re reciting something.”
Observant boy. Dagan smiled. “Was it the sarcasm that gave me away? Or your history as a guard?”
“Both.” Hendrik began undoing his leather pants as he approached the tub.
A certain curiosity had been piqued by that glimpse of Hendrik’s rounded and frankly grabbable ass on the beach, and he clearly wasn’t shy. But he had been politely careful to give Dagan as much privacy as might be had in a room of this size, so Dagan did him the same courtesy and went to his bed to dress, his back to the tub. Now that he had Hendrik talking, however, he asked, “How long were you a guard?”
“I went to the Academy to train at five. I was given my charge at twelve.”
Well, that was appalling. Dagan wasn’t sure what the Academy was, perhaps just a normal school, like children here had, but somehow he doubted it. It almost sounded like an accomplishment, the way Hendrik had said it. So Dagan asked, “How old are you now?”
“Twenty, for a few more moons. I think. We don’t talk about the moons like you, so I’m not really sure where we are. Summer, right?” A sound of faint splashing indicated that Hendrik had found his way into the tub.
“About halfway through,” Dagan confirmed.
“Then yeah. I was born in fall.”
“You start your careers very young, in the City.” Dagan pulled on a clean pair of undershorts from his pack—and realized he had none for Hendrik. He’d have to do something about that. “Most twelve-year-olds in the Heart Wood are playing with wooden toys and skipping lessons to go swimming all day. Only the most dedicated are just beginning their apprenticeships, then.”
“Everyone has a part to play,” Hendrik replied.
Dagan glanced over his shoulder.
Hendrik was indeed submerged up to the middle of his broad back in the water, his arms, shoulders, and hair dripping. He made a lovely picture, glistening before the fire; even from behind, he was clearly as relaxed as Dagan had ever seen him.
Dagan went back to dressing and asked, “And you know what it is from the age of five?”
“If not sooner.”
