Wildlings

23: Two Savages

Judit tramped along the narrow path behind Rama, frowning. She was trying not to touch the stinging leaves that poked threateningly on either side of her, and it made progress slow.

Rama breezed ahead as if oblivious to the plants trying to attack them. Judit sidestepped to avoid a particularly large one, and felt a burning prickle on her shin as she inadvertently brushed against another. She stumbled and swore in her head.

The blackhouse, all that weird dag with Hegri and Lintie, just thinking about Hegri at all: there were so many reasons why today was off kilter, and Judit felt torn and faded and all kinds of wrong. This was the last thing she needed. A brutal jungle trek where plants and insects did their best to hurt her.

She wasn't even comforted by the fact Jaddy had sobbed off with a headache or something, so she and Rama were alone. Any other day that would have been the dream scenario, but today Judit suspected that Jadrun had more sense than she did.

It was incredibly hot. The sun throbbed huge and white in the sky, bright radiation breaking intermittently through the foliage. When it hit her, her scalp burned almost as much as her plant-stings.

Rama stopped as they reached the familiar edge of the forest, the light dazzling over the sea, meadow flowers bobbing their pastel-coloured faces gently. The drop of the cliffs into the breakers was sublime. But the village that nestled in the centre of it all now filled Judit with a nameless dread.

"So today I was thinking we could–" Rama stopped when he took in Judit's downturned face. "You alright, leman? You look pale. I hope you haven't got what Jaddy's got."

"Fine. It's fine." Judit scowled, looking away from him, away from the village, back into the mottled shadow of the woods. She stared at a dead branch, pale as bone, sticking out of a tree trunk.

"Hmm." Rama sounded dubious. "So how's about we go down to the blackhouses—"

"I don't want to go to the blackhouses," Judit snapped. "I hate the blackhouses. I skitting hate it all."

"Woah, woah." Rama raised his hands in surprise, the movement drawing Judit's eyes back from the darkness of the forest. "What's brought this on? Are you okay? I think we need to talk."

He was so dagging gentle. Judit hated it. It disarmed her. She didn't know how to react, and that helplessness began to squeeze out of her eyes as tears. She wiped them away.

"Whatshername, Dr. Goodmin. She took us in the blackhouse today," Judit said, sniffing, staring at the toes of Rama's expensive-looking boots. "It's just horrible. It's so dark in there. There's no toilet. The smoke hurts my eyes. The bed..."

The bed. She couldn't even go into all the ways that bed spun her off kilter. That confined space, cuddled up, Hegri, everything. Her voice tailed off miserably.

Rama reached out, squeezed her shoulder gently. The tears began to come.

"I don't want to live in there," Judit sniffed, her voice thick with mucous and salt-water.

"Come here." Rama leaned in and hugged her, his arms wrapped around the top of hers, firm on her back. She stiffened for a moment then exhaled into the embrace, lifting her hands to touch his shoulder blades. Her face was pressed into his armpit, his shirt warm and slightly damp with perspiration. He smelt nice, lemony, the musk of fresh sweat subtle and not unpleasant. She sniffed, half to smell him, half so she wouldn't snot on his top.