CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: AN OASIS.
Neb perched on one of the dune banks scattered along the River Cole's estuary, absently snatching handfuls of sand then allowing the grains to trickle from his fist again. Seagulls circled the cliff-tops behind him, piercing his ears with their angry squalls. Balkind cruised among them like a wolf among sheep. Neb shuddered. Despite the hollowness of his stomach, he'd have to be starving before even considering eating raw meat. At Neb's feet a fire spluttered and consumed the last of its fuel. Neb sighed and rose to scout for driftwood. He longed to shout at Samara to hurry up; since their arrival here, she'd repeatedly submerged herself in a rock pool of briny water. Surely she must be clean by now. Instead he saved his breath and didn't even glance in her direction as he began wandering along the high tide mark. He stooped occasionally to pick up shards of wood; one or two reminded him of bones, and perhaps they were the bleached remains of shipwrecked sailors finally washed ashore after years of drifting. 'Enough!' he said out-loud, 'enough thinking and enough driftwood.' In any case, inlets of water swelled and conjoined with others as the tide swept back in. Neb turned and retraced his steps.
'About time,' he muttered; Samara huddled next to the fire, wrapped in a blue plaid blanket. Neb had taken it from the cloister's infirmary after biding farewell to his friend, Eric.
Samara suddenly stood and hurled something into the fire, instantly re-energising its flames. With a shout, Neb sprinted forwards. But he was too late. Only charred scraps of red remained of Samara's gown. Now she had only her petticoat to wear; a white sheath like under-gown that flared slightly from her hips to flutter against her ankles. Hands on hips, she glared at him, daring him to protest. Neb wanted to shout at her, remind her that they'd stopped here at her insistence and demand some gratitude from her. Instead he crouched to tease driftwood into the fire, shaking his head and thinking he would never understand women. He concentrated on coaxing the fire into life again, strangely, his mood grew calmer as the flames blazed: At least something behaved as he expected. Satisfied he had the fire under control, he straightened and faced Samara.
'Why did you do that?'
Samara's eyes glittered. 'Do you really imagine I'd ever wear it again? It was my mother's wedding gown. I … I wanted to wear it at my …' her voice broke and her face crumpled. Clumsily, Neb put his arms around her, cursing his stupidity. When she turned to cry into his chest, he wanted to slap at his own brains.
Finally, he thought he understood. Before they'd left the cloister, Neb had willingly accepted Alfred's hand in apology. The man had suffered enough; in Neb's view, he'd more than made up for his original treachery. But even when Alfred knelt before Samara and begged for her forgiveness, she'd refused to look at him. Neb had tingled with embarrassment and as they flew away from the cloister, he'd made a silent oath: The next time Samara needed rescuing, he would leave the thankless task to some other griffin riding fool.
Now, feeling her tremble beneath the tartan blanket, he realised Samara hadn't been gloating over Alfred's humiliation. She'd needed every ounce of self control just to remain upright. Neb patted her on the back awkwardly, racking his brain for consoling words.
'Don't' she muttered, and her shoulders stiffened as her fingers clenched at the blanket's edge. Neb ducked his head to hers, partly confused, partly worried she was about to start fitting. He rubbed at her shoulders, hoping to ease out the tension. Samara shrugged him off, stepped back and repeated, 'Don't. Don't you dare say it,' her eyes were those of a hunted animal, about to turn and rip out the throat of its hunter. Raising her chin, she shouted: 'Don't dare tell me "everything's going to be all right" because it isn't! Fingers will point and tongues will wag behind hands – and maybe to my face –'
'Samara stop this – you sound crazed.'
'I am crazed – don't you see – don't you get it?' Her fist beat at her chest 'I'm a demon's widow – how crazy is that?! How many proposals do you think I've got in my future?' she blazed. Any moment now there would be two Samaras, one formed purely from anger.
'We don't have to tell anyone,' Neb said quietly.
Startled, Samara glanced at him, then she sneered: 'Oh don't pretend. Of course you will. You'll tell your precious Griffin Master how brave you were, and what a hero you've been.'
Neb scoffed, 'Balkind was the hero. I'm just a fool.'
Samara's lips twitched, so he hurried on 'My future isn't looking too bright either. Romulus offered me the chance of a lifetime and I threw it in his face.' He risked a jest. 'If I wasn't a man, I'd join you in hysterics.' Except he wasn't a man, not yet, and now he wasn't even a griffin's lad.
Samara sniffed and swiped a corner of the blanket over her face. 'I wasn't having hysterics.'
Neb widened his eyes and clamped his lips, grinning triumphantly when Samara choked back a laugh at his mugging. She swiped the blanket over her face again and then stepped towards him. She stopped inches from him to stare up into his face.
'You'd do that for me? You'd give up your dream?'
Neb shrugged and nodded and suddenly she was in his arms again. Her lips brushed against his. Startled, Neb took a step backwards and stroked his fingers to his mouth. Samara smiled at his confusion and it was like the sun coming out. Stepping closer, she kissed his lips again. After a heartbeat of hesitation, Neb embraced her; her arms snaked around his neck, the blanket dropped unheeded to the ground. Their kiss seemed to last for an eternity. In his arms, Samara felt so frail, so fragile. Yet she had an inner resolve of steel. She tasted of the Atlantic Ocean which swirled into the river's mouth; wild and free, fascinating and dangerous. After an age of kissing and savouring Samara's closeness, Neb became aware of a clucking noise. Still embracing Samara, he turned around: Balkind crouched a few paces behind him. The griffin's neck feathers bristled with impatience. His head was cocked to the left, one eye trained on Neb and Samara, the other on waves crashing ever closer. Disapproval gleamed from both eyes.
Suddenly uncomfortable, Neb pushed Samara away from him. He indicated Balkind, 'We'd better go,' he said.
Samara frowned, narrowed her eyes, drew back her hand and slapped his face.
Neb clutched his cheek and stared at her, 'Wha?!'
Stooping, Samara swiped up the blanket and gripped it around her shoulders with clenched fists.
'What was that for? For being a self-righteous stuck-up prig!' she shouted. Balkind clucked anxiously. Samara whirled on him 'and you can shut up too!' She spun back to Neb: 'you think griffin, talk griffin, and for all I know, dream about the blessed animals!' her eyes glittered dangerously. Neb shifted his weight a couple of times, opened and closed his mouth, then turned to walk away. Balkind crouched at his approach. Before vaulting onto his back, Neb paused and scratched the griffin's sweet spot, between his horns.
Griffins were uncomplicated and weren't kissing your lips one second, only to slap your face for no reason whatsoever the next.
Astride Balkind, he stroked at the griffin's main flight veins, feeling confidence flow through him again. He grinned briefly, glanced over to Samara and called, 'Hurry, else you'll be walking home!'