Maud’s eyes were a shade between the brilliant emerald green they had been when Draka first met her and the sky blue they had been these past few months. It was as if they were unsure which color they wanted to be. Green or blue, Draka had to concentrate on his cutting to keep from staring into them. He knew there was a word for the color they had turned. He couldn’t remember it. Why her eye color had become so important to him was lost on him. There must be a significance to them, he assumed.

  Maud held onto the pelt from one end and kept it just tight enough that she didn’t tear the skin before Draka got to it. The excess that had already been cut away was bundled into her lap.

  They had a short lived argument about where he was to do the skinning of the stag. It was the largest he had ever felled. Nearly the size of Gerard’s warhorse and probably as heavy. He wanted to do it on the table where he could stand and have room to move around it instead of shifting knees and leaning awkwardly to get the right cuts. Also, the smell of Maud’s cooking always helped him concentrate. Maud wanted him to do it anywhere outside of the house. The compromise was the porch so that the sun wasn’t on his back while he did it.

  He beamed as if the light of the Lord had fallen upon him to the song of angels when Maud sat on her knees at the head of the beast. Last time he hunted, she was too deep into her mourning to do much more than watch from the doorway. That one was smaller and could hang on the hooks while he did this bit. This one, Draka thought proudly, would feed all three of them for more than a month if she cures the meat right.

  “Like this?...Here? No, I have it…Will you cut already?...Is that the—you know—thing? Gross…There—you missed one.” She laughed and giggled, even with the blood dripping across her apron and dress, smeared across her youthful face from when her cheek or chin itched, as if she were enjoying every moment more than any other in her entire life.

  Draka was glad to see it. Happier still to be there for it. With all she had been through, it was a miracle she could smile at all. It was still difficult for him. The child was more than resilient.

  “What?” Maud cocked her head at him. She looked like the stag had kicked blood onto her cheek and into her dark eyebrows.

  Draka blinked at her for a moment. If he had ever fathered a daughter, this was exactly how he had imagined her to be. His eyes began to water. He shook it away and returned to cutting.

  “Did I tell you that I know the alphabet now? Do you want to hear them?”

  Draka nodded, another beam of pride. She began to recite them but stumbled now and then while she tried to remember a letter or two. It was when she got to the letter ‘Q’ that she had to run through the others again to remember what the next letter was. Draka had to put the knife down and watch with a wide smile.

  “Oh, and did I tell you about the first people? Adam and Eve!” Her excitement was barely matched to his soaring pride.

  She liked learning. Pierre had told him how quickly she was catching on, how she asked more questions and thought deeper than any other student he had ever met. Perhaps, if things go well, they’ll be able to write letters to each other while he is off in Berone.

  “I don’t like snakes either, but it still seems odd, don’t you think? I mean, why would you listen to a snake of all things? Dumb.”

  Draka tapped his knife on the fold of the pelt for her to tighten it while stifling a guffaw. You’re not wrong, he thought.

  “And then there was the flood. Pierre said that a cubit is like how Ma and I use spoons to get the right amount of ingredients. He said that—I see, I got it—that it is how Noah knew to build the arc big enough for all the animals. It didn’t say anything about how many kinds of animals didn’t make it because Noah and his family ate them…”

  Draka put a hand to his forehead as he laughed and shook his head. She only crinkled her brow at him in confusion. Draka pointed at the naked meat and shook his head, then pointed at the field of green wheat stalks and made like he was eating it.

  “They didn’t eat meat?” Maud looked from the wheat field between their houses to the venison they were skinning and back again. “Why would anyone willingly do that?”

  Again, Draka laughed. He returned to cutting.

  “That isn’t one of the things that God makes us do, right?” Draka eyed her for a moment. Maud hesitantly explained, “Not eat meat and all?”

  Draka tapped the skinning knife and rolled his eyes at her.

  “Right,” Maud laughed at herself, “We wouldn’t be doing this if that were true.” After a moment, “How often do you pray?”

  Draka finished off around a hoof and moved to the next with a dismissive shrug.

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  “I mean, other than in the morning and when you eat. Do you pray in between?”

  Draka nodded. He handed Maud the knife and spread thick fur aside for her to cut between. She had steadier hands than him. With a brush of her dark hair to behind her ear, she leaned in to cut.

  “Pierre says that I should pray at least five times a day. So, three at the meals—Oh! Did you know that we call it breakfast because it’s breaking the fast of the night?” Disappointedly, “Of course you did. I’m sorry. I had no idea until he told me.”

  Draka bumped his forehead affectionately against her to say that he liked hearing it without moving his hands away from holding the fur back. She knew what he meant and nodded as she continued cutting.

  She handed the knife back to Draka once she had finished where he wanted and returned to pulling the pelt taut in silence.

  Did he upset her? He wondered. Maybe he had gone too far. Perhaps he thought they were closer than they were. That he had mistaken their friendship for something else.

  “I don’t want you to go,” she said flatly.

  Draka stopped and looked up to her. The smile was gone. He furrowed his brow to match her concern. He put a hand on hers to reassure her. She only shook her head.

  “I’m not worried about our safety, you barbarian fool! I’m worried about yours!” She tugged her hand away and pinched her arm. Her eyes cast downward from his, “If something happened to you…”

  Draka didn’t wait. He set the knife down and went to his knees beside her. She folded into his embrace just as easily as he offered it.

  “Maybe if I came with you…” Draka dropped his embrace, shaking his head. Maud only pressed more, “Who’s going to cook for you? Gerard? And wash your clothes? Keep your bedding soft? What about Vigora? You think she wants to sleep tied to a tree like the other peasants?”

  She has a point on that one, but the answer is still no.

  “Then you should stay. We’re not safe without you here and you won’t let us go with you there,” Maud sat back and crossed her arms stubbornly at him. “Then, you have to stay to keep us safe.”

  Draka rolled his eyes and went back to skinning. That, at least, he knew wasn’t trying to manipulate him.

  “Why is it so important that you go instead of someone else?”

  Draka looked to the sky for guidance. As usual, nothing but silence. He tossed the knife down and went inside.

  “Wait,” Maud pushed to her feet, “where are you going?”

  Draka wiped as much of the blood from his hands as he could before he grabbed the parchment. Maud came to his side just in time for him to finish and hand it to her. He went back outside to continue skinning. She followed with her nose in the parchment as she sounded out each word.

  “‘I want to make peace. This is not my war and my army is small. His army is strong. If I can, I will be back with no battles,’” she read slowly. Once she finished, she said, “And what if Mueller doesn’t want peace? What if he tries to kill you?”

  Draka pointed to the sky with a shrug.

  “What if God wants him to kill you?”

  Draka answered with another shrug.

  Maud growled and stood over him, “What will happen to us? You have any idea what it will mean for me and Ma—”

  Draka gave her a narrow-eyed look.

  She rolled her eyes, “Ma and I.”

  Draka tried not to laugh at her. That wasn’t what he meant with the look.

  “Without you…” She was bursting into tears. She turned away from him, “Without you, we—I have nothing left. And…” She turned and threw the crinkled paper in his face, “I’m not talking about how you’ll make us destitute and homeless. I’m talking about how I need you here.”

  Draka sat back on his feet with a long sigh. He signaled for her to fetch his quill and ink. Once she did, he wrote on the parchment and she read aloud, “‘This must be me. You will be fine. I am giving Pierre instru—instru—oh, I see now—instructions for you and your mother.’”

  “And do these instructions have anything to do with how I will be alone and have no one left? Is that part of them?”

  Draka snapped his fingers for the parchment back.

  “‘Is your mother not someone?’” Maud lowered her head with shame. “I see your point.” She went back onto her knees and took up the pelt again. “That doesn’t mean you win. I still think you should stay. I just have a bad feeling, okay. This really scares me.”

  Draka nodded as he cut. Me too.