Tristan woke minutes past sundown, panicking at being outside after dark. He didn't recognize Moswen. In fact, the sight of the giant panicked him even more, and it comforted Bedona to see something go the way she had expected. She had to calm him; she even used a small spell on him. It hadn't initially worked but the smell of burning meat seemed too much for his growling stomach to ignore. He calmed soon after his eyes fell on the roasted piece of eel.
Bedona bit into a piece of meat stuck on her knife, a slim and delicate blade with little practical usage. She had bought it because she had liked the design. The meat was soft from fire and it tasted pretty average, as much one would expect from a lack of any seasoning. When Moswen first went into the river, she had expected a lavish fish but he returned with a giant river eel instead. The elongated animal was as long as her legs and its body thicker than her arms; practically a snake, disgusting but she was hungry. She carved another piece from the eel over the fire with her sham of a knife. 'Some spices would really be helpful, even salt.'
It wasn't same for the other two however; they both ate it like it was the best thing they had ever tasted. It might well be for Tristan after the month he had had and he'd need to fill up after losing so much blood. While Moswen just needed enough food to keep his body going, she figured.
The distant water fall, and the hard crackling of fire did nothing to cover up their loud chewing. Bedona sat away from the two, on the opposite side of the fire, concentrating on her own food to drown out the annoying sounds. Moswen was worried about Tristan. There was a story there somewhere, between the two, she presumed.
Tristan hadn't spoken a word since he woke up the second time. Moswen tried but got nothing in return but few nods as responses. There was also that spaced out look in Tristan's eyes that troubled Bedona. The boy was gaunt like everyone in the village, about average height for someone his age, that put him a few twigs taller than her. He had roughly cut, short dark hair and a thin goatee and mustache to hint his adolescence. If it was that he had hit his head and wasn't himself anymore, it would explain a few things and he certainly had enough wounds on him for it to be possible.
"Tristan!" Moswen called out impatiently with a distinct touch of familiarity. "Tristan! Are you feeling better?"
Once they were done, they had sat down together near the bonfire with Tristan in between the two of them. Shadows played across them as they waited for the boy's answer. Tristan nodded like he had done past hundred times.
"Do you remember how you got here?"
Moswen was patient, but persistent. He wasn't going to give up so soon.
Tristan shook his head in reply and peeped around; his eyes fell on Bedona and lingered for a while.
"What is the last thing you remember, son?"
Moswen asked again, bringing the boy's gaze at him. The fear was gone now; only curiosity remained in Tristan for the giant. With the gentleness of a grandparent he put his hand on the boys back. Tristan flinched but didn't shy away.
"I…" he tried to say but only a wheeze came out of his throat. He coughed, cleared it and swallowed.
"I remember…ah…. Everyone, they are dead." He poked the fire absentmindedly with a thin stick. "We need to run far away, she… killed… everyone."
Even when he said it, Bedona could hardly feel any emotions from him. There was no urgency in what he said, like he didn't really mean it and was just reciting something he had learned.
"Who?"
It was Bedona who asked this time. Tristan looked up at her and his eyes wandered her face. May be trying to figure out the familiarity he was feeling in her.
"The Liaison from Sharak, Ava I think was her name, the old one with scars. She… killed everyone. And burned them. I didn't see the other one."
Bedona didn't realize for how long she sat there in shock. Ava had told her nothing about it. She felt like her heart had suddenly stopped beating and a sharp pain consumed it. She didn't want to believe it but it had made sense. "Calm down, Bedona!"
Moswen's words woke her like a cold water on a winter morning, heavy and chilling. She had been hyperventilating. The news had affected her more than it should have. Both of them were looking at her; Moswen, his gaze calm and calculated and Tristan wide with surprise and a hint of …adoration.
She looked down couldn't help but flush at her loss of control. Apparently, the people she lived with, catered for, and went through so much in the past few months had mattered more to her than she had expected.
"Where did it happen, Tristan?"
Ignoring her, Moswen asked again with a soft voice.
"The prayer hall where they made the feast." His answer came in monotone, like he didn't care. The shock must have been too much for him.
"And what did you do?"
"I ran, it was dark, I fell… I don't remember after that."
A silence fell among them with no one adding anything. Tristan stared at the fire. Moswen rubbed his mouth, eyes in deep thought. Bedona just wanted to go back and find out for herself what really had happened. Tristan's erratic narrative had left her curious and more importantly, concerned.
"I feel tired."
The moment Tristan said it he fell to his side only to be caught by Moswen; still alert.
"Yes, you should rest. You are still weak. We will talk about this tomorrow." Moswen looked at Bedona, his eyes full of kindness that said everything was right in the world, "You too Bedona, we will discuss everything tomorrow." He repeated.