Nena by Ann Boelter (digital book reader txt) 📕

be done. We can’t track her once this hits. We won’t be able to see a damn thing.”

“Tryggr is right, Jarl.” The tracker joined them. “It will be dark soon anyway; with the rain and no light, her tracks will be impossible to find.”

“And tomorrow? Once this storm passes, will there be any tracks left?” Jarl shouted.

“Probably—yes. She’s riding hard and has made no attempt to hide her tracks so far. They will be washed out but there should be enough remaining to follow,” the tracker affirmed.

“Even if there’s not, it’s not like we don’t know exactly where she’s headed,” Tryggr added. “Since she left that village, she hasn’t deviated an inch from a straight line to the Teclan mountain.”

Jarl didn’t respond though he knew they were waiting for his decision. He hated to stop for multiple reasons. He hated the feeling that he was standing still while she was drawing further away. He hated the coldness of his furs without her. He hated the emptiness of being alone—something he had never experienced before. Nights were always the worst, and it kept him in the saddle every day for as long as possible.

“She won’t be able to ride through this either, Jarl. She’s heading straight into it. She’ll have to stop, the same as we do,” Tryggr nudged.

Jarl nodded, though he wasn’t happy about it. “Pitch the tents. And make sure the horses’ picket lines are extra secure. We’re in for a rough night, I’m afraid.”

“You heard him, boys. Make camp and make it quick. Thor’s about to pay us a visit.”

Jarl rolled out his own small travel tent while the others rushed to do the same. This was the first time they had needed them since leaving the main camp. Jarl was pounding his last tent stake into the ground when Tryggr returned.

“Um...what do you want to do about her?” he asked, nodding toward Altene.

“Set up a tent for her,” Jarl said.

“I didn’t bring a tent for her. I assumed she’d be sleeping with you.”

Jarl looked up at him annoyed.

“Well, why else does a man bring a woman along with him on a trip like this, if not for his comfort at night?” Tryggr defended his decision.

“I brought her to translate if we needed it, or to explain any strange Dor customs or items we might come across.”

“How was I supposed to know that?” Tryggr complained. “You said travel light, so I did.” He glanced back at her. “She can’t stay out in this.”

“It’s your mistake, so you fix it,” Jarl responded.

“Fix it how?”

“However you want, Tryggr.” Jarl went back to pounding the stake. He was still convinced Altene had played a part in Nena’s escape. The thought of having her in close proximity to him all night was not the least bit appealing.

Tryggr grumbled something under his breath and moved toward Altene.

“Um, I made a mistake in the tent count,” Tryggr shouted to her as another harder gust of wind hit them.

Altene only nodded and pulled at her pack.

“The weather is about to be unfit for man or beast out here. I...um...have my tent and it’s large enough for two. You can put your sleeping furs there tonight—next to mine—not mixed up with mine. Just to be clear.”

“That would be much appreciated, Tryggr,” Altene yelled back at him. “Gratitude, yet again.”

“It’s nothing,” he said. “It was my mistake, after all, and I had to set a tent up for myself anyway, so it was no extra trouble. And I’m probably the only one who has a tent big enough for two...because I’m big, you know.”

“Yes, I know,” she agreed.

“I think I just felt the first raindrop. Here, let me have your pack. I’ll get soaked if I have to wait for you to carry it.” Without waiting for her to accept, Tryggr hoisted her pack and her saddle onto his shoulders and strode off toward his tent.

Altene followed him, but paused at the tent flap to cast one last glance at Jarl. He was standing outside his own tent taking stock of the makeshift camp. She smiled and waited for his eyes to find her, but when they did, they were cold and his gaze didn’t linger. Her smile fading, Altene turned and ducked inside Tryggr’s tent.

“You can sit there,” Tryggr said and pointed to a narrow spot between their packs. Once she was seated, he brushed past her and began to tie the flap closed. He had just finished and was surveying his handiwork when the first wave of rain hit. He waited for a moment, watching for leaks, then satisfied that it would hold, he stumbled back to his bundle of furs. Crammed inside with two sets of gear and tack, there was little room for either of them to move. They sat in awkward silence in the dim light as the rain pounded against the outside of the tent.

“Is that blood?” Tryggr asked, when she shifted her position and her dress fell away from her leg.

“It is nothing,” Altene said and pulled the material back to cover it.

“People don’t bleed for nothing,” he disagreed.

“The saddle has rubbed me raw on the insides of my knees. Your cream has been most helpful with the pain,” she elaborated.

“Let me see,” he said gruffly.

“It’s nothing,” she repeated.

“I’ll decide that, now let me see,” Tryggr demanded. Altene pulled up her dress and revealed the ugly purplish wound on the inside of one of her legs. Tryggr exhaled sharply. “I’ve never seen it so bad before. Your skin must be very soft.” He turned and rummaged through one of his packs. He pulled out a shirt and began ripping it into strips.

“Tryggr, really you don’t need to...”

“Hush up, woman, and present your leg.”

Altene did as he commanded.

Using a small strip of shirt and water, he first wiped the wound carefully, then smeared a thin layer of salve over the top. He wrapped a clean strip around her leg and tied the knot on the outside of her knee to secure