Campfire talk
1576 Words
*Briony*
The fire is softly crackling, sparking into the night. Despite the enormity of the dark sky, a close feeling surrounds this small camp, a closeness that wasn't in Fort Worth. I wonder if it's here because it's just the two of us, all alone, surrounded by nothing but the dark shadows of the unknown.
I sneak a glance at my companion, sitting on a nearby log and forking beans into his mouth. We've traveled the afternoon in silence, my thoughts consumed by my hat and the raccoon, his thoughts... I have no clue where his thoughts have wandered.
He has set up a tent, tended to the animals, and cooked a meal, speaking only when it's necessary. As he prepared the camp, he moved with a graceful ease, always keeping the right side of his body towards me. I'm not sure if he's trying to hide his scarred face or trying to spare me the sight of it. Maybe it's a bit of both.
"Are you married?" I ask softly.
He jumps as if I had fired a rifle into the night. His fork clatters onto the tin plate and flips to the ground. He picks it up, wipes it on his trousers, and starts moving the remaining beans around on his plate. "Nope."
He shoves the forkful of beans into his mouth.
I know his parents lived in Texas when their children were born, Chase has written as much. I wonder if they lived elsewhere. "Did you grow up in Texas?" I ask, hoping to coax him into discussing his childhood, a childhood that included Chase.
"Nope. Lived in Texas when I was a boy. Grew up outside of Texas." He says.
I furrow my brow. "When did you leave Texas?"
"When the pack war started. When Pa went off to fight, he signed me and Chase up to go with him." He tells.
Chase's letters thread through my mind. His military life astounded me, made me proud, but I believe Chase is nearly thirty and based on that, I had assumed he enlisted near the end of the war. I wonder if I misread his letters, misjudged his age. "How old were you?"
"Twelve. Chase was fourteen." He says.
"You were children," I whisper, recalling the many young faces parading along the dirt road in front of our pack house.
He shrugs. "Pa thought we were old enough. Chase was commanding his own unit by the time he was sixteen."
The food I've eaten rolls over in my stomach. "Yes, he gave me a detailed account of his accomplishments. I just didn't realize how young he must have been when he enlisted. Sometimes, I wonder if it wasn't actually a children's war."
He moves to the fire. "More coffee?"
"No, thank you." I mumble.
I watch as he pours the black brew into his tin cup before moving back. I get the feeling his movement to the fire is his way of signaling that he wants to end that particular vein of conversation. Given his aversion to talking about the war, I decide to oblige him.
“Could I ask a favor of you?” I ask.
*Wade*
I've been waging a battle all evening, fighting to keep my attention focused on the writhing flames dancing in the night instead of on Briony sitting beside me. I don't think Chase would appreciate how much pleasure it gives me to watch her, but the lilt of her voice, a soft southern drawl that hints at no hurry to be anywhere, the hope echoed in her words, is my undoing. Admitting defeat, I shift slightly, meet her gaze, and nod.
“When your brother and I wrote to each other, we didn’t describe ourselves, which is why we had to send something for identification. I was wondering if I could tell you what I think he looks like and you tell me if I’m wrong.” She asks.
“I could just tell you what he looks like.” I point out.
She shakes her head vigorously. “No, I want to see how close I am to imagining him as he truly is.”
She's sitting on a small log, looking like a little girl waiting to be handed a piece of candy. I'm willing to give her the whole jar, but in deference to my older brother, I just shrug. “Go ahead.”
She bites her lower lip. “All right. I know he’s tall, since you told me that. And I always thought of him as having dark hair, like yours. Only it wouldn’t be as long. I think his hair might just cover his ears. It wouldn’t reach down to his shoulders.”
I nod slowly, and her eyes brighten. I imagine the fun Chase would have keeping those eyes shining. She seems incredibly easy to please.
She closes her eyes a moment, then pops them open wide. “Blue eyes.”
Damn! I hate to disappoint her. I shake my head slowly. “Blaise got our ma’s blue eyes.”
“Are Chase’s hazel, like yours?” She asks.
“Same color, but he’s got two.” I say.
She leans forward, pity filling her eyes, and I wish I had just kept my mouth shut and not tried to tease her. What the hell do I know about teasing? For some reason, I want to hear her laugh again as she had with Mimi Halfmoon. And I want absolutely none of her pity.
“How old were you when you were wounded?” she asks quietly.
“Fifteen. Thought you wanted to know about Chase.” I say.
Straightening, she gives me a quivering smile, and I know I’ve hurt her feelings again.
Damn, I hate when I do that.
“You’re right,” she admits. “My interests lie with Chase.” She furrows her delicate brow. “His nose is straight, not too big, not too small, and it sits right in the middle of his face.”
I'm on the verge of asking her where else she thinks she might find a nose when I notice the glint in her eyes. She’s already forgiven me for my rudeness, she's teasing me. She does it with such ease. I envy her that ability and can do no more than nod.
“He has a strong jaw,” she says.
I shake my head slightly, and the sparkle dims in her eyes.
“He doesn’t have a strong jaw?” she asks.
“Ain’t never seen it wrestle a steer to the ground.” I say.
The sparkle that lights up her eyes is enough to blind a man. And her smile. Her laughter. Dear Goddess, but a man could start to believe in heaven and angels and an eternity of peace.
She wipes a tear of joy from the corner of her eye. “I meant that his jaw was well-defined, like yours.” She reaches out and trails her fingers along my jaw.
I jerk back as though she’s seared my flesh with a red-hot branding iron. I can see the hurt and confusion swimming in her eyes, but I can't explain to her about the needs that surge through my body with her simple touch, a touch that belongs exclusively to my brother.
*Briony*
"I'm sorry," I stammer.
He crouches before the fire. "Nothing to apologize for. Tomorrow's gonna be a long day. You'd best get some rest. You can take the lantern into the tent with you. I want to leave at dawn."
"Shall I wash the plate in that bucket of hot water?" I ask.
"Nope. I heated that up for you. Just leave your plate by the log, and I'll take care of it." He says.
Picking up the lantern and bucket of water, I begin walking toward the tent.
"Miss Starweaver?" he calls out.
I stop and turn around to face him. He stands beside the fire, the shadows playing over his profile. "Yes, Beta Moonshadow?"
"Chase has a beard," he says.
"A beard?" I repeat, surprised.
He nods. "Yeah, not one of those big bushy ones. A well kept, trimmed one. Heard a she-wolf say once that he was as handsome as sin."
"Thank you for sharing that with me," I reply. "I never imagined him with a beard. Good night, Beta Moonshadow."
"’Night, ma’am." He says.
I then walk into the canvas tent, the tarpaulin he had used to cover the supplies serving as my floor. I set the lantern on the small table and open my bag. Gingerly, I bring out a stack of letters. I untie the ribbon and remove the letter from the first envelope. Sitting on the edge of the narrow cot, I try to conjure up an image of Chase Moonshadow as I now know him to be. Hazel eyes. Well kept beard.
April 2I, I875
Dear Miss Starweaver:
I read in your advertisement that you are seeking a mate. If you are still available, I am seeking a Luna.
I am in good health, have all my teeth, and consider myself fairly easy on the eyes. I have land, cattle, and a dream to build a cattle empire the likes of which this great state has never seen.
Please write back if you are not yet married, and I will be pleased to bore you with the details.
Yours,
Alpha Chase Moonshadow
- Writer
