Nena by Ann Boelter (digital book reader txt) 📕

worried about you before—just a bit. You were always so tough, so hard. It made you a great warrior, but it concerned me to never see your softer side. You were always so much like your father and brothers, and nothing like your mother. Your mother was strong, too, but she was also gentle and kind. I feared for you growing up without her influence. Feared that with only your father and brothers as examples, it had shaped you too much in their like. I tried to provide as much feminine influence on you as I could, but you were always so headstrong and stubborn. It has taken a great affection to crack through your shell and release the gentleness within. I’m glad to see it. Exanthia is a treasure in many ways.”

Great affection? Yes, she had felt great affection, but not in the way her aunt assumed. Exanthia was the beneficiary of the change within her, not the cause. Nena remained silent. Better Jalla thought that, than for her to know the truth.

And Nena did not agree this softer side was an improvement at all. The old her had been so sure of everything. Had been prepared to choose an unknown warrior from the plains tribe and leave her mountain home altogether. That version of her had not felt physically ill at the prospect. She may have had her doubts, but she never would have considered shirking her responsibility, or pining for a different future. The old her would have scoffed at how she felt now. The old her was strong—one to be admired. This new her was pathetic.

“Baldor brought a haunch of venison for you earlier,” Jalla interrupted her thoughts.

Nena glanced at the empty meat drying rack, then at the small simmering pot of leftover rabbit stew.

“Oh, he didn’t leave it. When you weren’t here, he said he’d bring it back later, so he could give it to you personally. What did he think—that I would take credit for his kill? Or give it to someone else?” her aunt fumed.

“Nena.” Baldor’s voice hailed her from outside.

“I hope he heard me,” Jalla muttered under her breath as Nena stood and made her way to the tent flap.

Baldor stood with legs spread and arms crossed over his muscled chest, the leg of venison lying on the ground beside him. The hindquarter lying in the dirt was not the most impressive presentation, but Nena knew it didn’t really hurt the meat. The hide protected most of it, and the dried outer edges on the exposed cut end would be trimmed away anyway. Far more dangerous and likely to lead to spoilage was that fact that it had sat out in the heat while he waited for her to return.

“I brought this for you,” he said without moving. His body language and what it implied was clear. He would not hand it to her. He expected her to bend over next to him to retrieve it.

Nena thought of telling him she knew he’d been there earlier—maybe even put him on the spot and ask him why he hadn’t left it then, so she could have been enjoying venison stew for dinner instead of leftover rabbit. She said nothing. She didn’t want to argue with him, and she didn’t care to try to make him a better man. She knew she would never be his wife, and there was no sense antagonizing him. He would already take it as a personal insult when she chose another.

“Gratitude,” she said as she knelt and hoisted the leg over her shoulder.

Baldor seemed to be waiting. It was not an awkward wait, like he was embarrassed or trying to say something—more like he was expecting her to say something. Did he really think he would bring her a chunk of meat and she would choose him on the spot? Nena realized he probably did. He had heard her father’s directive to her upon her return, and his ego knew no bounds. He was physically one of the strongest warriors, and the gods had chosen her brother, Lothor, for his sister. In his mind, Nena had probably chosen him already and was only waiting for the opportunity to voice it.

“This is an impressive kill,” was all she could muster.

Baldor frowned, then nodded, pleased with her compliment but unhappy with the lack of results.

Jalla was waiting for her just inside the tent and reached for the meat to begin cleaning it. Nena pulled out her own knife to help, but her aunt waved her off. “Exanthia will be back soon; she can help me. She needs the practice.”

The costliness of Baldor’s mistake of not leaving the meat with her aunt soon became abundantly clear. Long after the last shred of flesh was removed from the bone, her aunt pointed out every flaw in the meat, real or imagined. It was too stringy, too tough, too lean, had a foul taste. He should have killed one from the sweet grass meadows instead of the dry rocky cliffs. He should have killed a young one instead of an old toothless one, but this old one was probably the only one slow enough he could club to kill instead of using his bow. Nena knew she referred to Baldor’s reputation of enjoying violence. Though she could taste nothing of what her aunt was referring to, she did not disagree. Truthfully, most of the food she ate was tasteless to her.

Gentok was smarter and brought a trio of cleaned quail—Jalla’s favorite. He had no problem leaving them for Nena when she wasn’t around. The quail were followed by fresh fat speckled trout and a small practice bow he had carved for Exanthia. Nena heard nothing but good things about Gentok.

Nena sighed after the latest round of Gentok’s accolades. She knew Jalla was right. Gentok was a good warrior and a natural, gifted hunter. His acts with the meat and the bow were thoughtful and kind, if not calculating. And, unlike Baldor,