Finn Ashford's Arc

Chapter 8 of 12

Finn swung from the branch and tried to keep his hands free. Blood pounded in his ears. His knife sat in his belt, but reaching for it would mark him as a threat before he could speak. Beside him on the porch he saw a low workbench piled with tanning tools and stretched hides, frost on the leather. Someone had been working here this morning. Someone who knew how to skin a thing fast. The footsteps crossed the boards and stopped at the edge of the porch. A pair of boots came down the steps. A black gown swept after them, banded with red fox fur that hid the wearer's hands and waist. Finn could not see what she held until she lifted it. A slim silver dagger, the blade marked with old stains. He counted a second sheath at her hip. Matched pair. "Well, well, well," she said. Her voice was soft and warm. She crouched so her face met his upside-down face. Long blonde hair, crimped in waves. Green eyes. He had seen those eyes once before, across a table, asking him what he carried in his coat. She stepped past him and bent in the snow. The gold bracelet lay where it had skidded. She picked it up by the chain and let the red stone swing. "I knew you would bring this back to me," she said. Finn opened his mouth and shut it. He did not know if she meant to thank him or to gut him. The fur on her gown hid the second blade. He chose the only move that left him alive in the next minute. He stayed quiet and let her decide. She walked back and set the edge of the dagger against the rope above his ankle. "We need to talk," she said. The blade parted the braid in one stroke. Finn dropped. His shoulder hit the step. The snare loop slid loose around his boot. He rolled to his knees in the snow, his own knife still sheathed, her dagger now pointed loosely at his chest. She did not raise it further. She tilted her head toward the open door. Finn stood. His legs shook from the hang and from her face this close. He picked the spilled meat out of the snow and pushed it back into his coat. He left his knife where it was. He walked up the steps past the tanning bench and into the lodge. Warm air hit his face. A fire cracked in a stone hearth. She shut the door behind him and slid a bar across it. The bracelet lay on a table between them. She set one dagger beside it and kept the other in her hand. "Sit," she said. He sat. The guess was made. He was inside, and he was alive.