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I wish I hadn't posted Chapter Fourteen so precipitously. I could edit it, of course, but I could just post this as Chapter Fifteen and not worry about it until I go back and do major re-writes when I'm done with the whole story.
Finally, most of the scratches were cleaned to Ethan's satisfaction, though he paused long over one on Tom's face. Dabbing at the thorn's mark, he licked his full lips and the slightest crease appeared in his forehead, and moved a bit closer as he investigated it. Tom felt the queerest urge, as though he should do something, and he wasn't sure what.
"It's okay."
"Yes?" The hint of crease between Ethan's brows disappeared, though now he looked almost scared.
"My eye is really okay, it's fine."
"Oh! Yes, yes of course. It seems to be." The other boy looked down. "Sorry, I... well. Should... should we consider dinner? The Whistlers here have some thoughts about local plants we might be able to eat, and um, we've already got the fire... In fact, I think I should see if I can't catch a fish."
"I'm almost sick to death of fish."
"I agree! Still, I guess there's not much for it." And with a slightly manic grin Ethan began to speak quickly to Drizzle and his friends. After an exchange he turned back to Tom for a moment, saying, "They wonder if we ever sit still. I said no! Not unless we're dead!" And with that he set off in the direction of the raft.
Tom donned his clothes, feeling terribly awkward and foolish. Ethan seemed to like him, it was true, but they would return to civilization soon enough, he was sure. He imagined Ethan at the school in Abernetty, meeting new friends, and Tom glared into the fire. If he and Ethan even encountered each other again after that it would be as master and servant.
In the moments that it had taken for this to pass through his mind the tribe had gathered around him, and now one ventured to ask if Tom had any story-songs he could share with them. He attempted a smile and forced his mind to other things - he was being a poor guest. He had an acceptable voice which had mostly given up squeaking at inopportune moments, and, although he could not speak their language well enough to translate a song while he was singing it, he might give it to them in the original and then translate the gist of it. In this manner they all passed an enjoyable time as they waited for Phipps to return, and by the time he did, with several small edible fish and both bedrolls slung over his shoulder, Tom had started more water simmering with some herbs the Whistlers had pointed out to him, and had most of the tribe gathered close around, and several little ones sitting on him. As usual, several had vied for his shoulders and the one who got it insisted on licking his ears.
"They love you," Ethan commented, grinning, as he set the fish to cook on sticks by the fire. "You're a Pied Piper of Whistlers. Ah, but I should not be surprised, everyone does, as soon as they see you."
Tom's mood had lightened, but at this he couldn't help thinking of the first time Ethan had been aware of his existence, which brought back a shadow of that dark mood. "That's not true," (He tried to say it lightly, but it didn't come out quite right, and he almost winced from the edge of his own voice.) "Not everyone. You didn't."
Ethan frowned and only made a slight noise in the back of his throat as though he were trying to recall, and scooped a mug of the herbal tea out of the pot, handing it to Tom.
"You didn't," Tom continued, "I only looked at you and you seemed put out with me about it."
"No. You misinterpreted."
"How could I misinterpret that? You glared." Tom knew he should stop himself and not say any more, but somehow the thought that they had been strangers and that Ethan had disliked him, and that they would someday again need to be strangers, that this friendship which seemed so strong and so right just at this moment would soon be negated after they found the Walking Hills, all this seemed to pull him down into some spiritual morass from which he was unable to escape.
"It's not true," said Phipps, an edge of despair in his voice. "I, I did like you. It was only that I hated the way you looked at me."
"I? There was something wrong with the way I looked at you?"
Ethan nodded and met his eyes. "As though you were sorry for me. As though I were pathetic."
"I certainly never meant -"
"No, no, don't say you're sorry. It was true. I WAS pathetic, I realize that, now. And I liked you enough, without even knowing you, that I didn't want you feeling sorry for me! But now I know you, and I know that you can't help the fact that you pitied me, because you're kind hearted. You may be the kindest person I've ever met, and you certainly shouldn't apologize for that!" Ethan's voice quavered a bit as he finished, and he clamped his mouth tight shut.
The cubs were restless, and they and the rest of the tribe watched this with increasing signs of worry, so Tom reached to touch Ethan's hand, to calm him, and suddenly found Ethan up against his side, and his arm wrapped around the boy's shoulders. This was not quite what he had intended, but he smoothed the boy's back and made soothing noises. He ran back over the conversation in his mind, wondering at his own anger (Or was it sadness? He wasn't quite sure.) and at what had caused the agitation Phipps was feeling. His life before meeting Ethan had been dominated by work; the last few days (or had it been weeks?) had been the most rest and fun he had ever had, with little to do besides keep a fire going and cook for the two of them. He knew that he had a certain knack for understanding emotions, for giving a reaction that seemed to make other people and animals feel better or happier or more trusting of him, but he had never had time for anything much more complicated in the way of trying to determine the whys of emotions than looking for what was scaring the mules. His family and friends had been reasonably straightforward people, also with little time for complexities. Ethan seemed to have whole worlds of things that happened inside him. Was it because of reading a lot of books? It both confused and interested Tom, and seemed to have sparked something similar within his own mind.
Finally he murmured, "I'm not sure I understand all of what's going on. Do you want to explain?" He was careful to put the emphasis on the word "want" to make it plain he would not intrude if that intrusion were not welcome, but that he was happy to listen.
Ethan slanted a look up at him from the corner of his eye, took a deep breath and exhaled in a silent sigh. "You're so smart about some things. With others you can be... endearingly naive. No, I shouldn't try to explain this to you."
"You act like you're my elder, trying to protect me from something."
"I might be your elder. In experience if not in actual years, although you are younger than I thought when I first saw you. And I am older than I appear. I don't want to admit that, because I can't help but enjoy how well you've taken care of me. I like feeling protected by you."
"I'm pretty much an adult. I have a job. How much longer do you have to go to school?"
"You do understand that I'm expected to accomplish different things from school than you were? I have to pass certain levels of proficiency in Latin and boring things like that. When there's so many more interesting things I could be studying! Why, we might easily be the same age."
Tom only nodded, pushing back the brief desire to snap at the boy. Of course he understood that their schooling had different goals. Tom had been encouraged by his family to learn to read comfortably and do enough maths to balance books, which was more support for learning than many of his friends had from their families. But the point of school was to make it possible for him to work, and learn what the employer wanted him to learn, and it was done as soon as he had been hired.
"Tell me, now that you have a job, does a sweetheart and marriage follow soon after? Or is that just an impression I have?"
"Maybe, for some. I suppose it would depend upon the person."
"What about you? When you get back, when you get your job back - I know you will, I'm sure Brackenstall will be delighted to see you - do you think you'll try to find a girl and get married?"
"I don't know." He didn't want to go back to thinking about how much he did not want their friendship to end; he certainly couldn't seem to think about a hypothetical wife at the moment. "There's no hurry. Our pastor always said kissing girls leads to more mouths to feed, and right now there's enough little ones, with my younger siblings and nieces and nephews. I think I should contribute to the family for a while longer before I do that."
"You do know, don't you, that kissing is not the immediate and direct cause of pregnancy?
The crinkle around his eyes told Tom that Ethan was far from thinking that he had any such impression, so, "No," he said, "Of course not. It's just a saying, like 'a pint's a pound the world around.' Who ever heard of any pubkeep charging that much for a drink?" He nudged Ethan's shoulder and was rewarded with an elbow poked into his ribs and a grin.
Somehow the rest of the evening was spent in comfortable camaraderie, having their dinner, singing songs for the Whistlers and chatting about this and that, until they could no longer keep their eyes open. They took their boots off and rolled up in their blankets before the dying embers, and, true to his habit, but without pretending in the least about it, Ethan rolled until his back was against Tom's stomach, and Tom wrapped his arm protectively around the smaller boy as though it were almost becoming normal. Ethan had admitted he liked it, and that made Tom feel happy in a way that was new to him. He knew he should not hope that he never got back home - he did miss his family, and he was sure that they must be having a slightly harder time without the money he had earned - but he was very content at the moment and wanted to hold onto this for a little while longer.
It would be only two days later when they finally saw the Walking Hills for the first time, and both boys felt tremendously foolish that they had not already realized what sort of creatures the Whistlers would be introducing them to.
***
Yes, I'm being a wimp again! Can I blame it on Ethan?? I don't seem to quite want him to have the cahones to initiate a kiss, with plenty of justification going on in his head about how sweet and innocent Tom is and if they have to get along he can't risk alienating Tom, etc, etc. But how did the subject get changed in the middle of the conversation and suddenly we're back to a normal evening? Do I need to do something about this?
Also, do you like or hate draft-horse!Tom getting introspective? Someone told me that in chapter one he should have been more introspective, but I don't think that would be natural to a kid who's sixteen and mostly his life has been full of hard work. He hadn't lain awake nights thinking about things - at least up until now - he'd always fallen asleep because he was exhausted.
Talk to me?
Finally, most of the scratches were cleaned to Ethan's satisfaction, though he paused long over one on Tom's face. Dabbing at the thorn's mark, he licked his full lips and the slightest crease appeared in his forehead, and moved a bit closer as he investigated it. Tom felt the queerest urge, as though he should do something, and he wasn't sure what.
"It's okay."
"Yes?" The hint of crease between Ethan's brows disappeared, though now he looked almost scared.
"My eye is really okay, it's fine."
"Oh! Yes, yes of course. It seems to be." The other boy looked down. "Sorry, I... well. Should... should we consider dinner? The Whistlers here have some thoughts about local plants we might be able to eat, and um, we've already got the fire... In fact, I think I should see if I can't catch a fish."
"I'm almost sick to death of fish."
"I agree! Still, I guess there's not much for it." And with a slightly manic grin Ethan began to speak quickly to Drizzle and his friends. After an exchange he turned back to Tom for a moment, saying, "They wonder if we ever sit still. I said no! Not unless we're dead!" And with that he set off in the direction of the raft.
Tom donned his clothes, feeling terribly awkward and foolish. Ethan seemed to like him, it was true, but they would return to civilization soon enough, he was sure. He imagined Ethan at the school in Abernetty, meeting new friends, and Tom glared into the fire. If he and Ethan even encountered each other again after that it would be as master and servant.
In the moments that it had taken for this to pass through his mind the tribe had gathered around him, and now one ventured to ask if Tom had any story-songs he could share with them. He attempted a smile and forced his mind to other things - he was being a poor guest. He had an acceptable voice which had mostly given up squeaking at inopportune moments, and, although he could not speak their language well enough to translate a song while he was singing it, he might give it to them in the original and then translate the gist of it. In this manner they all passed an enjoyable time as they waited for Phipps to return, and by the time he did, with several small edible fish and both bedrolls slung over his shoulder, Tom had started more water simmering with some herbs the Whistlers had pointed out to him, and had most of the tribe gathered close around, and several little ones sitting on him. As usual, several had vied for his shoulders and the one who got it insisted on licking his ears.
"They love you," Ethan commented, grinning, as he set the fish to cook on sticks by the fire. "You're a Pied Piper of Whistlers. Ah, but I should not be surprised, everyone does, as soon as they see you."
Tom's mood had lightened, but at this he couldn't help thinking of the first time Ethan had been aware of his existence, which brought back a shadow of that dark mood. "That's not true," (He tried to say it lightly, but it didn't come out quite right, and he almost winced from the edge of his own voice.) "Not everyone. You didn't."
Ethan frowned and only made a slight noise in the back of his throat as though he were trying to recall, and scooped a mug of the herbal tea out of the pot, handing it to Tom.
"You didn't," Tom continued, "I only looked at you and you seemed put out with me about it."
"No. You misinterpreted."
"How could I misinterpret that? You glared." Tom knew he should stop himself and not say any more, but somehow the thought that they had been strangers and that Ethan had disliked him, and that they would someday again need to be strangers, that this friendship which seemed so strong and so right just at this moment would soon be negated after they found the Walking Hills, all this seemed to pull him down into some spiritual morass from which he was unable to escape.
"It's not true," said Phipps, an edge of despair in his voice. "I, I did like you. It was only that I hated the way you looked at me."
"I? There was something wrong with the way I looked at you?"
Ethan nodded and met his eyes. "As though you were sorry for me. As though I were pathetic."
"I certainly never meant -"
"No, no, don't say you're sorry. It was true. I WAS pathetic, I realize that, now. And I liked you enough, without even knowing you, that I didn't want you feeling sorry for me! But now I know you, and I know that you can't help the fact that you pitied me, because you're kind hearted. You may be the kindest person I've ever met, and you certainly shouldn't apologize for that!" Ethan's voice quavered a bit as he finished, and he clamped his mouth tight shut.
The cubs were restless, and they and the rest of the tribe watched this with increasing signs of worry, so Tom reached to touch Ethan's hand, to calm him, and suddenly found Ethan up against his side, and his arm wrapped around the boy's shoulders. This was not quite what he had intended, but he smoothed the boy's back and made soothing noises. He ran back over the conversation in his mind, wondering at his own anger (Or was it sadness? He wasn't quite sure.) and at what had caused the agitation Phipps was feeling. His life before meeting Ethan had been dominated by work; the last few days (or had it been weeks?) had been the most rest and fun he had ever had, with little to do besides keep a fire going and cook for the two of them. He knew that he had a certain knack for understanding emotions, for giving a reaction that seemed to make other people and animals feel better or happier or more trusting of him, but he had never had time for anything much more complicated in the way of trying to determine the whys of emotions than looking for what was scaring the mules. His family and friends had been reasonably straightforward people, also with little time for complexities. Ethan seemed to have whole worlds of things that happened inside him. Was it because of reading a lot of books? It both confused and interested Tom, and seemed to have sparked something similar within his own mind.
Finally he murmured, "I'm not sure I understand all of what's going on. Do you want to explain?" He was careful to put the emphasis on the word "want" to make it plain he would not intrude if that intrusion were not welcome, but that he was happy to listen.
Ethan slanted a look up at him from the corner of his eye, took a deep breath and exhaled in a silent sigh. "You're so smart about some things. With others you can be... endearingly naive. No, I shouldn't try to explain this to you."
"You act like you're my elder, trying to protect me from something."
"I might be your elder. In experience if not in actual years, although you are younger than I thought when I first saw you. And I am older than I appear. I don't want to admit that, because I can't help but enjoy how well you've taken care of me. I like feeling protected by you."
"I'm pretty much an adult. I have a job. How much longer do you have to go to school?"
"You do understand that I'm expected to accomplish different things from school than you were? I have to pass certain levels of proficiency in Latin and boring things like that. When there's so many more interesting things I could be studying! Why, we might easily be the same age."
Tom only nodded, pushing back the brief desire to snap at the boy. Of course he understood that their schooling had different goals. Tom had been encouraged by his family to learn to read comfortably and do enough maths to balance books, which was more support for learning than many of his friends had from their families. But the point of school was to make it possible for him to work, and learn what the employer wanted him to learn, and it was done as soon as he had been hired.
"Tell me, now that you have a job, does a sweetheart and marriage follow soon after? Or is that just an impression I have?"
"Maybe, for some. I suppose it would depend upon the person."
"What about you? When you get back, when you get your job back - I know you will, I'm sure Brackenstall will be delighted to see you - do you think you'll try to find a girl and get married?"
"I don't know." He didn't want to go back to thinking about how much he did not want their friendship to end; he certainly couldn't seem to think about a hypothetical wife at the moment. "There's no hurry. Our pastor always said kissing girls leads to more mouths to feed, and right now there's enough little ones, with my younger siblings and nieces and nephews. I think I should contribute to the family for a while longer before I do that."
"You do know, don't you, that kissing is not the immediate and direct cause of pregnancy?
The crinkle around his eyes told Tom that Ethan was far from thinking that he had any such impression, so, "No," he said, "Of course not. It's just a saying, like 'a pint's a pound the world around.' Who ever heard of any pubkeep charging that much for a drink?" He nudged Ethan's shoulder and was rewarded with an elbow poked into his ribs and a grin.
Somehow the rest of the evening was spent in comfortable camaraderie, having their dinner, singing songs for the Whistlers and chatting about this and that, until they could no longer keep their eyes open. They took their boots off and rolled up in their blankets before the dying embers, and, true to his habit, but without pretending in the least about it, Ethan rolled until his back was against Tom's stomach, and Tom wrapped his arm protectively around the smaller boy as though it were almost becoming normal. Ethan had admitted he liked it, and that made Tom feel happy in a way that was new to him. He knew he should not hope that he never got back home - he did miss his family, and he was sure that they must be having a slightly harder time without the money he had earned - but he was very content at the moment and wanted to hold onto this for a little while longer.
It would be only two days later when they finally saw the Walking Hills for the first time, and both boys felt tremendously foolish that they had not already realized what sort of creatures the Whistlers would be introducing them to.
***
Yes, I'm being a wimp again! Can I blame it on Ethan?? I don't seem to quite want him to have the cahones to initiate a kiss, with plenty of justification going on in his head about how sweet and innocent Tom is and if they have to get along he can't risk alienating Tom, etc, etc. But how did the subject get changed in the middle of the conversation and suddenly we're back to a normal evening? Do I need to do something about this?
Also, do you like or hate draft-horse!Tom getting introspective? Someone told me that in chapter one he should have been more introspective, but I don't think that would be natural to a kid who's sixteen and mostly his life has been full of hard work. He hadn't lain awake nights thinking about things - at least up until now - he'd always fallen asleep because he was exhausted.
Talk to me?