to leave, but he knew he would get to come home to his exotic mate not just tonight, but every night. Ghost would be waiting for him.
Ghost leaned into Gerry, but Gerry could see the tension he held in his shoulders. Gerry kissed him again. "It'll work out. I'll be home later and we can talk more then." Ghost acquiesced and returned to mixing.
***
The warehouses were packed with goods from the last of the Southron caravans to come in. Crates and barrels overflowed with produce, bolts of fine fabrics, dried fruits, and spices and herbs the likes of which couldn't grow in the Heartlands. Planks of deep red wood stacked to the ceiling awaited carpenters to turn them into furniture. Towers of barrels held olive oil, sweet-smelling soaps, and tiny dried fish.
The last caravans of the season had left well-laden with trade goods from the Heartlands to take back to the South. Fine furs and well-worked leathers, sturdy barrels filled with mead, dried sind meat, crates of tubers and gourds, and casks of honey all traveled south.
Gerry had spoken to Mother and the merchant, and his share for the night's work was marked on a tally stick so Ghost could exchange the stick for the spices and herbs he wanted. Ginger root was a local commodity, and the merchants had a plentiful stock. Gerry thought back again to the single-minded way Ghost was pursuing this outbreak. Before now, Gerry had never considered the ramifications of living with a healer if a plague broke out.
"You're lost in thought." Mother's deep voice startled him back to the present.
Gerry scrubbed a hand through his hair. "Sorry. Ghost discovered four dead from illness today. He thinks it might be a plague. He's trying to puzzle out what's happening. I'm going to come home to find him still awake and poring over his formulary."
"He's a dedicated witch," Mother said. "The last time I remember an outbreak like this was before you were born. We lost a lot of good people then. Maybe he'll find something in his notes from the Witch."
"I'd rather he not spend all night reading. He's not going to do anyone any good if he's unconscious from exhaustion," Gerry said. "And I can't hand out his herbs and concoctions. I'm no closer to understanding the ancient writing than I was before I met him."
Mother chuckled. "Reading's not as hard as it looks. It takes practice, like any skill."
Gerry looked at Mother in surprise. "You can read?" He had never seen Mother reading anything, other than the pictographs they all used, or the tally sticks the merchants offered. Counting and numbering was far more important than reading. Gerry himself could count and use tally sticks just fine. The rest was something he had never even thought about.
"Don't look so surprised," Mother said with a smile. "There's a fair bit about me you don't know. Give me some time to get used to you being a fellow alpha and not my dependent. I need to lose the habit of protecting you. You proved yourself in the ruins when you saved Ghost and Conn."
"I guess I never thought anyone but witches or rangers knew the old writing, and even rangers don't know how to read as well as witches." Gerry shrugged.
Mother's gaze was thoughtful. "My dam was a witch. She taught me the writing." He chuckled as he glanced at Gerry. "I had a dam. I didn't just spring up out of the soil, you know."
"I know," Gerry said, embarrassed. "I just hadn't thought about how or where you'd grown up. Did your dam know the Witch?"
Mother gestured for Gerry to walk with him. "My dam knew the Witch, when the Witch was newly come to the sisterhood. The Witch was only eight years older than me. She was supposed to take over for my dam, and so she stayed with us for a time while my dam taught her what was necessary. A good witch knows her village. She keeps track of lessons learned and passes the knowledge on."
They moved into a different room, and the ambrosial smell of spice filled Gerry's nose. Gerry couldn't help but think how much Ghost
Ghost leaned into Gerry, but Gerry could see the tension he held in his shoulders. Gerry kissed him again. "It'll work out. I'll be home later and we can talk more then." Ghost acquiesced and returned to mixing.
***
The warehouses were packed with goods from the last of the Southron caravans to come in. Crates and barrels overflowed with produce, bolts of fine fabrics, dried fruits, and spices and herbs the likes of which couldn't grow in the Heartlands. Planks of deep red wood stacked to the ceiling awaited carpenters to turn them into furniture. Towers of barrels held olive oil, sweet-smelling soaps, and tiny dried fish.
The last caravans of the season had left well-laden with trade goods from the Heartlands to take back to the South. Fine furs and well-worked leathers, sturdy barrels filled with mead, dried sind meat, crates of tubers and gourds, and casks of honey all traveled south.
Gerry had spoken to Mother and the merchant, and his share for the night's work was marked on a tally stick so Ghost could exchange the stick for the spices and herbs he wanted. Ginger root was a local commodity, and the merchants had a plentiful stock. Gerry thought back again to the single-minded way Ghost was pursuing this outbreak. Before now, Gerry had never considered the ramifications of living with a healer if a plague broke out.
"You're lost in thought." Mother's deep voice startled him back to the present.
Gerry scrubbed a hand through his hair. "Sorry. Ghost discovered four dead from illness today. He thinks it might be a plague. He's trying to puzzle out what's happening. I'm going to come home to find him still awake and poring over his formulary."
"He's a dedicated witch," Mother said. "The last time I remember an outbreak like this was before you were born. We lost a lot of good people then. Maybe he'll find something in his notes from the Witch."
"I'd rather he not spend all night reading. He's not going to do anyone any good if he's unconscious from exhaustion," Gerry said. "And I can't hand out his herbs and concoctions. I'm no closer to understanding the ancient writing than I was before I met him."
Mother chuckled. "Reading's not as hard as it looks. It takes practice, like any skill."
Gerry looked at Mother in surprise. "You can read?" He had never seen Mother reading anything, other than the pictographs they all used, or the tally sticks the merchants offered. Counting and numbering was far more important than reading. Gerry himself could count and use tally sticks just fine. The rest was something he had never even thought about.
"Don't look so surprised," Mother said with a smile. "There's a fair bit about me you don't know. Give me some time to get used to you being a fellow alpha and not my dependent. I need to lose the habit of protecting you. You proved yourself in the ruins when you saved Ghost and Conn."
"I guess I never thought anyone but witches or rangers knew the old writing, and even rangers don't know how to read as well as witches." Gerry shrugged.
Mother's gaze was thoughtful. "My dam was a witch. She taught me the writing." He chuckled as he glanced at Gerry. "I had a dam. I didn't just spring up out of the soil, you know."
"I know," Gerry said, embarrassed. "I just hadn't thought about how or where you'd grown up. Did your dam know the Witch?"
Mother gestured for Gerry to walk with him. "My dam knew the Witch, when the Witch was newly come to the sisterhood. The Witch was only eight years older than me. She was supposed to take over for my dam, and so she stayed with us for a time while my dam taught her what was necessary. A good witch knows her village. She keeps track of lessons learned and passes the knowledge on."
They moved into a different room, and the ambrosial smell of spice filled Gerry's nose. Gerry couldn't help but think how much Ghost
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