Mouse stirred the stew in the small iron pot. There wasn’t much of it. She sniffed and said:
“You could have stolen a bigger joint. We’ll go hungry before the next town.”
“Uh huh,” Ciaran grunted lazily.
Anger began to curl in Mouse’s eyes.
“I suppose it’s all right with you if we run out of food,” she said sullenly.
Ciaran leaned back comfortably against a moss-grown boulder and watched her with lazy grey eyes. He liked watching Mouse. She was a head shorter than he, which made her very short indeed, and as thin as a young girl. Her hair was black and wild, as though only wind ever combed it. Her eyes were black, too, and very bright. There was a small red thief’s brand between them. She wore a ragged crimson tunic, and her bare arms and legs were as brown as his own.
Ciaran grinned
