Conversation at Sunset (extract from novel in progress)

   Rain was striding up the valley, away from the cottage and workshop and even further away from the noises of the market, now turning from business to merrymaking.  Sabre looked over his shoulder a couple of times as Freya struggled to keep up – the slope became more of a scramble as they reached the northern lip of the valley – but Rain gave no indication he knew she was there.  As the path became narrow and rocky and too steep for Freya to climb without using her hands, she called out.

“Rain, stop!”  His step faltered and she saw his shoulders droop a little.  When he turned he was softer, remorse shaping his features.  He stepped down closer to her and held out his hand.  She pursed her lips and scrambled up beside him without accepting the offering.  When she was level with him Freya planted her hands firmly on her hips.

“Where are we going?”  She demanded.

“I want to talk to you, away from the others.”

“You only needed to ask!”  He looked stunned for a moment.

“I am sorry, Freya, I am not angry with you…”

“I know that, Rain.  I know you aren’t angry with me.  I know that because I haven’t actually done anything wrong!  But if you ever summon me like a disobedient dog again I promise you: then I will give you something to be angry about!”

    Freya was speaking barely above a whisper - she didn’t want her voice to carry down the hill - but her tone was furious.  Her nostrils flared waiting for Rain to speak.  His eyes were dark and impassive as ever, though his lips were tight.  After a long moment, Freya’s mouth dropped open as he stepped back and bowed to her.  A moment later he was silhouetted in golden evening light, before he dropped out of sight over the brow of the hill.  It took Freya a few moments, and dozens of hard heartbeats, to gather herself again to follow him.

    When she crested the valley, the whole sky opened to her.  The sun was low in a blue that rose up to variant purples and deep, almost-night.  The sun was still golden but was fast deepening towards the horizon and a more fiery hue.

    Rain walked lightly down a way and found a long, narrow rocky outcrop where he sat with his back to Freya.  He heard her footsteps pause a few feet behind him and despite the distance he felt the warmth of her prickling his back.  Sabre trotted off down the slopes sniffing and jumping on the occasional bug.  He looked like a wolf but in his heart he was an adventurous, joyful pup.  Freya wondered how similar was his master as she found a seat next to him.  The stone was still warm from the day, though the air had cooled pleasantly.  Rain scanned the low hills before them, the market was in the crater of an ancient volcano, the lip above and behind them the highest point for miles.

    Rain whistled a shrill call and as Sabre loped up the grass he turned and pointed to the crest they had just come over.  Sabre understood and leapt lithely up the rocks to settle at the peak, lying on his belly with head erect, keeping lookout.  When he was in place Rain turned back to the sunset and heaved a long, quiet sigh, tucking his knees up under his chin and wrapping his arms around them.  Freya thought it a strange scene, the man who was so respected and self-controlled, so relaxed and confident, sitting beside her like a weary child.  She crossed her legs and folded her hands in her lap, waiting.