Shredder XXVIII
“Well, thank the gods for that,” replied the naked woman, relinquishing her threatening stance, “I thought you were going to curl up in a ball there for a minute.”
The woman shivered and turned her back on Gerard, retrieving the meager length of crumpled blanket. Wrapping the fabric around her robust frame, she barely succeeded in securing it upon itself under one armpit. “This is the best you could do for clothing?” she quipped over her shoulder as she returned to the fire and tossed a pair of logs onto the dwindling warmth.
Gerard watched the volatile stranger pass her nose over the stew and settle her bulk in front of the fire before he deigned to respond. She had been testing him, pushing him, in some vaulted attempt to assess how much of a threat he might be. Games. He chuckled. Practicality and his solitary life allowed him little time for such interpersonal fencing. Gerard preferred direct communication and simple action. The shadow play of intrigue was an unpleasantness he avoided whenever he was able.
“The blanket was all I could immediately spare,” he responded, “The fire and stew are yours. I have already eaten.”
The woman flipped eyes at him.
“Though I’ll happily have some stew to assuage any concerns you may have over its content,” he conceded with a roll-eyed shrug.
The woman smiled and nodded and followed the gesture with another shiver. She warmed her fingers at the fire for a moment, and then Gerard saw her hands move with practiced ease to pull back the hair atop her head. Except she was utterly hairless. So the ensuing shriek which pierced the night did not entirely surprise the ranger.
A puzzle indeed, Gerard thought.