Phoenix

Shorty

Ash was still shaking with adrenaline when they returned to the tavern. It was mid-afternoon and there were only a few scattered individuals lying in hammocks along the beach. Shorty, noticing her state, made her tea in a stone bowl which he placed over a bed of coals still hot from the previous night. Transferring the tea into a stone cup, he wafted it under her nose. It smelled of wood and cinnamon, sweetened with dash of honey.

She sipped the tea, feeling it slide down her throat and seep warmth through her chest, replacing the nervous shaking with a comfortable tiredness.

"More?" Shorty asked when her cup was almost empty.

"Mmm," she murmured in a way that was neither a yes, or a no.

Shorty didn't seem bothered by her non-response. He set the hot bowl aside and pulled out a long, golden feather from his robe. "Look what I stole from Herald." He held it out to her. "Makes the perfect quill for writing." He dropped it into her lap. "Take it. I've got plenty."

She stared at the long, eagle feather—downy white at the base, darkening to brown at the tip which, when held to the light, shimmered a tawny gold. When she ran her fingers up the feather, it was smooth as silk. Down, it was prickly as a bur.

Shorty dropped two more objects into her lap while she studied the feather. One was a corked bottle filled with a mulberry-coloured substance. The other was a small, notebook bound with an elastic band. "You may as well take these too," he said. "That's ink made from boiled beets. And I made that book for someone, but she didn't want it." He scruffed his beard which, like Herald's feather, looked brown, but when it caught the light, shone with a mixture of browns, reds and blondes.

Ash waited for him to tell her who the notebook had been for, only he didn't. She considered the bound pages, noting their crude elegance. They were rough, made from fibres similar to the bark of the Elder tree and each page was bordered by pressed petals. She imagined the pages filled with soft, flowing handwriting in the mulberry ink and determined the book had been made for someone very special. It was not the type of book one would write anything in.

Shorty ruffled her hair. "I hope you'll make good use of it, Sprout."

She couldn't refuse the gift. Not since it had already been refused once.

She nodded and thanked him, and they sat in amicable silence until Ash had finished her tea and felt her eyelids droop.

"Rest," Shorty said, noticing her struggle. "Take the afternoon off. You're going to need all your strength for Miki's lesson tomorrow. She's not the type to go easy on... anyone."

Ash could barely hide her relief at being given the afternoon off. She was tired, sure, but there was something else she wanted to do. Something she hadn't realised she'd wanted to do until Shorty had given her the quill, ink and notebook.

She stood and made her way back to the tavern, glancing back at Shorty one last time. His gaze was fixed on a point down the beach, where boulders gathered around the mouth of the river. A woman stood there, thigh deep in the silty shallows, spear in hand, completely still, eyes fixed on the patch of water in front of her. The woman was Miki, judging by the defining shock of red hair draped down her back.

With the speed of a viper, Miki thrust the spear into the water, gave it a couple of jerks before pulling it out again. A fish, dangled on the end, still spasming though it was fatally speared through the gut. She proceeded to slap it against the water three times, first to stun it, then to end its struggle. Once she was sure it was dead, she threw the spear, with fish still attached, ashore, watched it arc and bury itself in the sand.

Shorty began walking over to her, a hopeful smile plastered on his face. Miki, upon seeing him, turned and dove into the water, didn't re-surface again until she was halfway down the beach, at which point, she dove back under and continued to swim away. Shorty stopped in his tracks, smile disappearing, replaced by a frown. He looked down at his feet, back at the place Miki had been, then, slowly, turned and walked back to the fire.

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