Wolfskin by Juliet Marillier

that pierced the creature’s heart, but Somerled’s spear had taken it in the belly and slowed it for the final stroke. They had done it together.
    That night they sat by their small fire in a clearing encircled by dark firs tall as star-crowned giants. They roasted a little of the meat; the rest, neatly butchered, they would carry home tomorrow in their packs.
    â€œYou did well,” Eyvind said.
    Somerled chewed on his strip of meat, saying nothing.
    â€œI mean it. When you first came here, you could never have done that. Most of the boys couldn’t do it. They’d be scared of the dark, of wolves, of trolls. Scared the spear might miss. But you did it.”
    â€œStop trying to make me feel better,” Somerled muttered.
    There was a considerable silence while Eyvind thought about this remark.
    â€œI wish you’d tell me what’s wrong,” he said eventually.
    â€œThat’s the trouble with you.” Somerled’s voice was uneven. “You’re so good at everything, and yet you’re stupid. You’re so stupid you don’t even know how stupid you are.”
    â€œRight,” said Eyvind after a moment. He threw the rest of his meat on the fire, pulled his blanket around him and lay down to sleep. With Somerled, sometimes there seemed to be no point in trying to understand. There was silence for a while, and he began to feel drowsy after the long day. His limbs ached with weariness, but it was a good feeling, the sort of feeling that went with the cool, clean air of the woodland, and the smell of smoke from the campfire, and the sight of the dark, jeweled sky far above them. He imagined his mother’s smile in the morning, when they returned home with their trophy.
    â€œNobody cares.” Somerled’s voice came out of the darkness like the whisper of a small, restless ghost. “Nobody cares what happens to me.”
    â€œWhat?” Eyvind rolled over sleepily.
    â€œMy brother left me here to punish me. Now he’s taking me away to punish me.”
    â€œBut…” Eyvind struggled to get his thoughts in order. “Isn’t going to court good, if you want to be…you know, what you said?”
    There was a silence.
    â€œHow could you understand?” asked Somerled bitterly.
    â€œI am trying,” said Eyvind, propping himself up on one elbow. He could not see Somerled’s face; the boy had his back to him.
    â€œYou don’t care either,” Somerled said in a voice no louder than a rustle of wind in the bushes. “You’re just counting the days until I’m gone. Then you’ll go out with Sigurd and the others, and have a good laugh about me, and do your swimming and diving and hunting, and be pleased you haven’t got me to drag along, slowing you down.”
    This was true, most of it. Already, in his head, Eyvind had planned a swim across the Serpent’s Neck and a run to the top of Setter’s Crag, a trip Somerled could never have managed. He spoke carefully.
    â€œYou know how much I want to be a Wolfskin. I’m too young now. They won’t even let me do the trial until I’m fifteen. It’s hard to wait. Three years seems forever. It’s been good having you here. You’ve kept me busy, given me things to do.”
    â€œAn amusement.” Somerled’s tone was cold. “A little diversion.”
    â€œYou know I don’t mean that,” said Eyvind, sitting up. Still the other boy’s face was obstinately turned away. “Have I ever laughed at you, even once? You’re my friend, Somerled.”
    He heard the indrawn breath, and wondered if Somerled were weeping. Then his voice came, harsh and intense.
    â€œ Then prove it .”
    â€œProve it? How?” Eyvind was perplexed.
    Somerled turned. He had his hunting knife in his hand, and his left sleeve was rolled back. As Eyvind stared transfixed, he scored a neat line in the white skin of the forearm,