Temar chuckled. “That sounds about right.”

Guinalle looked at him consideringly. “Do you think you could find an excuse to show her around one of your ships, let her see how most people are spending their time on this voyage?”

“Why?”

“She seems to think she’s being terribly brave and is really suffering nobly, having to share a cabin and a maid with me. With Messire and her mother aboard with their personal servants, we are enjoying rather better treatment than I imagine you are. I certainly can’t make Elsire understand that everyone else on the other ships is packed in like herring in a barrel, that a lot of them are out on deck in all weathers and she’s cursed lucky to have room for more than a couple of changes of linen.”

“All right.” Temar had always had a soft spot for Elsire. “Her airs and graces don’t fool me, you know, I remember her when she was a gap-toothed nuisance with torn petticoats and muddy shoes.” Besides, if he got Elsire on her own, there was always the chance of stealing a taste of honey from her petal-soft lips. She was a girl who knew exactly where to step in the dances.

“Temar!” Vahil’s hearty shout echoed around the steep heights on either side of the inlet. Temar stifled a touch of irritation as his friend loped across the grass, a crossbow in one hand and a hunting bag slung over his shoulder.

“Den Fellaemion said we had leave to see what kind of game’s hiding in these woods.” Vahil slapped Temar on the back. “That’s the kind of order I’m happy to take. Go on, man, get your bow and let’s get out of here before someone thinks up some real work for us to do.”

Temar hesitated, tempted but equally unwilling to pass up the chance of some free time with Guinalle.

“Can I come?”

“I’m sorry?” Her question took him by surprise.

“I’d like to see some more of these islands and I’m quite a good shot with a shortbow.” Guinalle’s eyes were wide with mute appeal.

“Absolutely,” said Temar emphatically. “Of course, we’d be glad to have you along.”

“I’ll get changed.” Guinalle ran over to her tent and Vahil groaned.

“I’ll allow she’s a pretty flower, Temar, but she’s not exactly ripe for plucking, is she? Now we’ll be hanging around for the best part of a chime while she decides which dress will go most tastefully with the undergrowth.”

“She’s not Elsire,” Temar shook his head. “Half a Mark says she’s back here before I am.”

He didn’t exactly tarry over finding his short bow and quiver but the boots he had been wearing would probably have been sufficiently stout for the hillsides, though he decided to change them anyway. At any rate, Temar was pleased to see Guinalle heading for the waiting Vahil at much the same time as he finished lacing the tops of his hunting boots. She was wearing a close-cut divided skirt in a dull green and a long-sleeved tan jerkin and her own flat-heeled boots had clearly seen plenty of wear. A long knife was belted at her neat waist and she carried a short bow with the ease of familiarity.

“There should be a game trail coming down to the water.” Vahil led the way, his usual good humor well in evidence once more.

Temar and Guinalle followed him, the sounds of the camp soon fading as they climbed into the dense green of the moist forest, where the clouds clung to the high trees. Temar paused to give her a hand over a rocky stretch of path, the stones slick and damp with the warm mist.

“Isn’t it nice to get away!” he commented appreciatively. “No one asking you to sort out their tenth quarrel over baggage space or expecting you to have the answers to everything from homesickness to colicky babies.”

“That’s what you’ve been doing, is it?” Vahil was clearly amused.

“That and consoling the cook, who’s been planning something with eggs but the hens have gone off lay, convincing people they can manage on their water ration if they don’t use it for laundering their linen and dealing with a handful of petty disputes a day.” Guinalle shared a rueful glance with Temar.

“I leave that kind of thing to my father,” laughed Vahil. “My main problem’s boredom.”

Temar was not displeased to see faint vexation in Guinalle’s eyes, but felt honor bound to support his friend to some extent.

“I know I’ll be glad when we make a landfall and we can get on with the business of setting up the colony. You’ll have plenty to do then, Vahil.”

“True enough,” groaned Vahil with mock dread. “Look, there’s a trail heading through that dip; with any luck the noise of the camp won’t have spooked the game through there.”

“You’d better go in the middle.” Temar gestured to Guinalle. “I don’t suppose there are beasts of any size on a place like this but we might as well be careful.”

“Thank you, Esquire,” she said demurely, pushing carefully through the bushes after Vahil who was showing just how quietly he could move when he chose to.

Temar followed, his shirt soon damp from the moisture on the leaves and with sweat from the warmth of the day. They passed through the dip and began a careful descent into a shallow valley, rich with strange, glossy-leafed plants in a myriad shades of green and dotted with a few spicily scented blooms.

“There’s a clearing ahead.” Vahil paused to speak softly to Guinalle, who passed the word back.

Temar had to restrain an impulse to brush a sticky tendril from her damp forehead but happily answered Guinalle’s smile of frank enjoyment with one of his own.

“There!” Guinalle froze and sank down, taking an arrow from her quiver and nocking it carefully.

Temar and Vahil followed her gaze and saw a scatter of furry creatures grazing peaceably on the long grass in the center of the clearing. They exchanged a nod and moved stealthily to take up positions for themselves. Temar glanced across to Guinalle and, when she gave the nod, let fly. His second arrow found its target as well, but by then all the animals had vanished into the concealing forest, a few shaking leaves the only sign of their panicked flight. They rose and crossed to see what quarry they had taken.

‘What do you suppose these are?“ Vahil shook his head in mystification as he expertly removed his quarrel from the expiring creature.

Temar used his knife to open the mouth of his kill, cautious in case it was not quite dead. “It’s got teeth for grass and fruit, I’d say, so it should be good eating.”

“It’s certainly heavy enough, for the size of it.” Guinalle had pulled back the blunt-nosed, squarish head to slit the throat of the one that Temar’s second arrow had not quite killed clean. “I’d say it’s a hare that has ambitions to be a deer.”

Temar laughed. “That sounds about right.”

“Let’s find somewhere else to gut them,” Vahil suggested. “We could try waiting for the rest of them again tomorrow, if we don’t leave too much blood.”

Five of the densely muscled beasts between them was no slight burden and Temar was glad to let the two he carried slide from his shoulders when Guinalle sat down on a scatter of rocks a little way above the stream running through the base of the valley.

“I’ll cut some poles.” Vahil headed for a stand of springy young growth and Temar began gutting his animals, pleasantly surprised to see Guinalle doing the same with reasonable skill, if not the speed of any long practice. They worked in companionable silence until all the prey was cleaned, the entrails buried to baffle the flies and Vahil had uncorked the wineskin he had thoughtfully picked up before leaving the camp. Temar coughed at the smell of blood clogging his nostrils and picked some sprigs of a low growing, purple-tinged thyme. He handed one to Guinalle, who accepted it with a composed smile, faint color kissing her cheeks.

“Den Fellaemion said he’ll be looking to set up a permanent anchorage on these islands, you know, when the colony’s established,” Temar observed, looking idly around to stop himself gazing too obviously at Guinalle.