The Griffin's Flight by K.J. Taylor Page A

crude frame and put it over the fire, held up by sticks just high enough to avoid it catching alight, and then laid as many pieces of meat on it as he could manage. He left them there to cure and ate the pieces he’d already cooked. They were burnt on the outside and raw on the inside, but absolutely delicious. He had to force himself not to bolt it all down in a few bites.
    Curing the rest of the meat was a crude and unreliable process. He’d had to figure out how to do it through trial and error, and his technique still wasn’t perfect, but if this worked there was enough to keep him going for at least a week. The organs, though, would have to be eaten today. Not immediately, however. He wrapped them up in leaves and put them aside for later. Skade would probably want some.
    Now for the hide. Here he was at more of an advantage; his father, a tanner and leather worker, had taught him how to cure a fresh skin when he was just a boy. It was a smelly and unpleasant business, but he’d had practice.
    He didn’t have a vat or a bowl, so he gingerly lifted the hide in his arms and carried it to the pool. The water was brown not just because of the decaying leaves in it. There was a kind of bush growing around the edges that he recognised; it was known as leatherbush because its leaves could be used for tanning. It had turned the water brown, and it could do the same to leather.
    He made a small hole in the edge of the hide and threaded a thin strip of torn cloth through it, tied one end to the trunk of a leatherbush that stood on the very edge of the bank, and then dropped the hide into the water. It sank, and he left it there to soak. He’d come back later to check on it. The sheep’s brain would be useful, too, so he made a mental note not to eat it.
    When he got back to the camp, he found that one of the sticks holding up the frame over the fire was starting to char. He hastily moved it and then turned the pieces of meat over. They were starting to dry out already.
    Skandar was still sitting where he’d been before. He was watching Skade balefully, and when Arren looked at her he realised she was returning the look. She hadn’t moved, which was why he hadn’t noticed that she was awake, but her eyes were open and fixed on Skandar.
    “Are you feeling better?” said Arren.
    She looked at him, and then at Skandar. “You are a griffiner?”
    “Uh—well, this is Skandar,” said Arren. “D’you want something to eat?” he added, indicating the meat. “There’s plenty.”
    Skade looked away. “No.”
    “Come on,” said Arren. “You’ve got to eat. You need to get your strength back. You look half-starved.”
    Skade stared blankly at the sky and said nothing.
    “Honestly,” said Arren. “I don’t mind. I just want to help you, Skade.”
    She looked at him. “Why?”
    The question caught him by surprise. “What d’you mean, why? Why do I need a reason? You’re human, that’s why.”
    Skade laughed softly. “Fool.”

4
     
    Fugitives
     
    S kade remained uncommunicative for the rest of that day and continued to refuse the food Arren offered her. She also refused to let him dry her dress over the fire. In fact, she showed no interest in anything around her, though she watched both him and Skandar closely as they moved around the camp, her golden eyes taking in everything. Arren left her alone and busied himself with smoking the rest of the mutton and then tanning the sheepskin. It was hard work, but the pleasant prospect of having a blanket of sorts did a lot to motivate him. Once he had thoroughly cleaned the hide and had cured it with a combination of leatherbush-infused water and brains, he rinsed it off and then hung it up to dry. Tomorrow he’d soak and clean it again and give it a good going-over to make it more supple. It would be stiff and smelly, but he didn’t care.
    The sun began to go down, and he began to cook the sheep’s organs. He didn’t like liver or kidneys very much, but