Chapter 37 #3
I took time to mend the girth and unload the panniers before putting them back on Red and then re-packing them, especially because I did it with one eye on the trees, in case the wolves returned.
Half of me knew they wouldn’t bother us, but that was the part of me I couldn’t trust because it was based on the impossible thing that I thought I’d seen with the girl.
The rational part of me kept a sharp lookout, not just on the trees but on Digger who was, as ever, keeping a much better watch than I ever could.
It wasn’t just that she could monitor the scents the wind brought to her nose, it was as if she was plugged into a whole other layer of nature that humans like me could not access.
I wondered, as I worked, what she would have made of what I thought I’d seen, if she’d come on it instead of me.
And then the work was done, the babies fed and loaded back into their pannier bed, and I led the horse gingerly back up on to the M-way.
I took a moment to scope out the path ahead, pleased to see the road twisted away through moorland now, with grass and heather on each side, which meant there were no sections I could see where we’d be walking through woodland where wolves could come up on us without being seen.
OK, I said. We better get moving.
And then I threw up.
It came out of nowhere. I stood bent over and looked at the splat on the crumbling roadway at my feet.
Looks like concussion, said Cat.
I don’t have time for concussion, I said.
Ride the horse, Cat said.
I’ll be fine, I said.
I hadn’t ridden the horse much on the journey because I figured she was heavily laden enough already carrying everyone and everything else we needed.
And I was happy enough walking. But I did feel more tired than usual, that was true.
It was tempting. I tried to remember what First Aid and Safety for Dummies – now just a pile of ash somewhere a long way south of us – had to say about concussion.
I’m sure it had advised me to call emergency services.
Probably also to use a pillow in some helpful way.
I know it was the least of the three brain injuries and was the one with no permanent damage, unlike contusion or haematoma.
But I realised I hadn’t dealt with the cut on my forehead.
It had stopped bleeding and clotted, but I still felt gingerly around it, hoping not to find a dent.
There was just a lump, which I decided was good news, as was the fact that I didn’t have fluid coming from my nose or ears.
I did have a headache. I didn’t feel woozy. I did feel tired. I always felt tired on that journey, but this was a lot more. Shaky tired.
I think I’m OK, I said.
I looked up at the sky. From where the sun was, I realised morning had gone while repairing the girth strap and feeding the babies.
Ride the horse, Cat said again.
Fine, I said, hoisting myself on Red’s back. She didn’t like the extra weight and shifted around unhappily.
Just until we find somewhere for the night, I said. I think we should have a short day.
Don’t fall off, said Cat.
Good idea, I said.
And then, later, as we crested the first rise and saw the road ahead winding north through a wide moorland valley which had, I was pleased to see, at least two likely scrabbles of buildings, small villages or big farms in the distance where we could camp in safety and comfort for the night.
My head throbbed but I felt a bit better. Well enough at least to raise the hard subject of what I’d seen.
She made the wolves go away, I said quietly.
Who did what? Cat said.
I pointed to the girl who was sleeping happily entwined with her brother, lulled by the rocking motion the panniers made as Red walked.
She sat in front of them and showed no fear, just laughed, I said. And they lay around her as if she was, I don’t know, either interesting, or in charge, and then she just—
She just what? said Cat.
I waited a moment, trying to put what I’d seen and what I’d felt into words that didn’t make me sound like I was crazy.
She just waved them away, like she was dismissing them, I said. And they just… left.
That’s not possible, Cat said.
I know, I said. But it did happen. I saw it, Cat. I—
Hit your head? Said Cat.
Yes, but—I said
Ate weird mushrooms? she said
No, I said. Very funny. But it still happened, Cat. I swear it.
It was more than usually important to me that she believed what I was saying.
It wasn’t just a trust thing, it was about carrying some of the burden: I had seen what I had seen, and its very strangeness gave it a weight that felt too much to keep to myself.
The gravity of it somehow disturbed my stability.
I needed Cat to share in it, to provide some counterbalance that’d keep my world level and familiar enough to keep travelling through.
Tell me again, she said.
And I so did. Two, three, four times more at least. And each time it was as real in my mind’s eye as if I was still there in the scrubby trees watching it, and each time she said I was hallucinating. Or had hit my head.
And then as the light began to leach out of the sky and send the shadows stretching across the valley floor we found a good place for the night, in an old stone farmhouse tucked in to a fold in the hill slope with a roof that had only fallen in at one end and plenty of weather-tight space at the other, and after making a fire out of old furniture, pegging out the goats so they could feed, seeing to the horse and then feeding the babies, I had enough time to realise how very tired I was and how much my head hurt and when Cat asked me to tell her about the wolves again I just stared into the fire, shook my head and rolled over in my blanket and let the warmth do its work and allowed the sleep that had been dogging my heels all day to just take me away.