Dream Lover

SIXTEEN

She'd thought they'd had a relatively good time this morning minus the early rising and force feeding. Who kisses ‘a pain’ like that anyway, she huffed to herself? She found her sandals under the rock where she left them dusted them off and slid her feet into them. When she finished that, she started to wring her hair out before she began twisting it into a messy knot. She was in the middle of securing the knot thinking she would find a way to cut most of her hair off soon.

Then she shrieked when Byron scooped her up from behind. "You seem to be back to your old self," he told her as he began walking with her. She huffed but didn't respond. Instead, she squirmed trying to break free from him. "You are stuck." she only tried harder to break free she even attempted a few head butts, but Byron dodged them and kept hold of her. 

She squirmed some more then relaxed every muscle in her body coming as close as she could to dead weight, trying to make herself seem heavier. That's how Alton came upon them. Byron half grinning, shifting her in his arms to support her while she lay limp with her face in a full sulk. She saw him first, her head lolled lifelessly but her eyes spotted him and tracked his movement she didn't give up on her position. 

"Can you point out the men you say you killed?" she seemed to take offense at the question. Instead of answering him, she asked Byron, 

"Is there any law that says I have to be nice to him?” Byron's grin spread.

"No." after being reassured she rolled her eyes toward Alton and said nothing at all. At a loss, Alton looked at Byron pointedly. Byron cleared his throat, "however, it would be better for you if you were nice to him." he said shaking her a little bit she kept her limp pose forcing Byron to support her neck so she wouldn't hold the conversation upside down. With her head up, she pinned Alton with a cold stare before she asked,

"What was your question?" in a sweet tone that was clearly practiced, she looked like she'd rather spit at him than answer his questions. 

"Can you identify the men you say you killed?" Alton asked. She began using her muscles again and thumped Byron on his chest. 

"This is what I was saying this morning" she said "put me down." he set her down and once on her feet she looked to be sizing him up. 

"How many dead men have you found?" she asked him

"Seven," Alton replied, "Byron claims a young girl killed one also with a crossbow after he took his hand. 

"That leaves six more. I already told you I killed six."

"You did— 

"Now you’re asking me again," she cut him off. "Did you find another blood soaked woman claiming she killed them?"

"No"

"Then why are you asking me again?"

"I—

“Fine,” Elle said, "There was a boy about twelve here he killed them all." she said. She thumped Byron's chest again. "Look at him, ready to go hunt the kid down and invite him to knight's school or something."

"What's all this about?"

"Elle believes men are inclined to think poorly of women." Byron filled him in. "apparently you are helping her argument." she scowled up at Byron. 

"You aren't doing too bad yourself," she told him before she turned on Alton. "I'll lay out the basics. What you just did there, implying I was lying about murder, is insulting. Deferring to him to speak for me," Elle continued revving up, "is also insulting. I can tell you in stunning detail how every last one of those men died because I did the killing. Don't look at him!” Elle yelled when Alton's eyes shifted to Byron. "He can't confirm s**t because he was late just like you and the rest of the cavalry. If you have another question for me, I suggest you ask it if our genitals were identical." 

"Do you know who you’re talking to?"

"Do I look like I would be impressed with whatever authority you have?" Elle shot back. Alton took a small step toward her. Byron was ready to defend. Elle slapped a hand on his chest, "You don't get to fight for me today." She told him; she was mostly ignored. Byron shot a clear warning over her head

Alton saw that she wasn't going to give any ground. If he attacked her, she would have done her best fight him on her own. The look Byron sent him said she certainly wouldn’t be. He calmed himself stepped back 

"Could you tell who sent them, if they were renegade, or mercenary?" Alton asked after a moment. 

"I wouldn't know how to tell the difference," she told him.

Again, his eyes shifted from her to Byron. They began to discuss the possibilities. 

After about half of a minute of their conversation going over her head literally and figuratively, Elle eased off. There was a conveniently wide and relatively flat section of tree root only a few paces away. She sat there for a moment, when another few minutes, went by and they were still talking she curled up on her side and rested her eyes for just a moment. 

"She’s snoring." Alton noted curiously. She was just a tiny thing nearly swallowed whole by Byron's shirt. Now that it was no longer tucked into her pants and her legs were bent, the shirt covered her from neck to ankles.

When Byron reached for her, her lids shot back, and her eyes bulged she made a sound that seemed half shriek half sob and pushed her little fist in to his chest just over his heart. It connected hard enough that even Alton heard the hollow thud ring in Byron’s chest.

Had she had a knife in her hand she would have killed him. He soothed her as she began to struggle against hyperventilation and shakes. Alton lost any doubt that she had survived her first battle today.

It didn't take long for Byron to forget the emotions that had surfaced while he'd thought Elle might be hurt or dead. She had worn his patience thin before they'd taken six steps through the woods toward the tree house. She didn't want to be carried; she preferred to hobble the whole way. She slapped at his hands when he tried to help her over the fallen trunks and treacherous tree roots littering the path insisting, she could do it herself, despite the fact that he'd helped her over the same obstacles on the way to the river that morning with no complaints which she dismissed when he very patiently pointed that out.

 Halfway through the walk, her left leg buckled, and Byron had had enough. She actually pouted, actually poked out her bottom lip, when he scooped her up and refused to let her walk another step. 

Once they got to the house, he put her down and turned his back on her for just a moment to replace the weapons and collect dinner only to find her halfway up the tree trembling visibly with every step. When he called to her and told her to stay exactly where she was until he got up there to keep her steady. She glared down at him with that stubborn expression of hers and tried to climb faster so he couldn’t catch up to her.

She'd been lucky she hadn't fallen and broken her neck. And luckier still, when he managed not to strangle her after he got inside a few steps behind her after bolting up the thing two rungs at a time. 

Once they were in the house, she seemed more inclined to sit still. She picked at the roast pork, too hungry to remember her old objections and inspected the vegetables he presented.

She poked, thumped, and sniffed at them, as unsure about them as he had been, then asked for a knife and began to cut them into thick slices. After taking tiny bites of each of the raw vegetables, she cut a piece of the pig’s belly and cut it in to thin slices.