Parton was sick of beans. The beanstalks were by far the most productive plants in the garden, which meant he and Cull had been eating beans with at least two meals each day. He would be happy to never eat beans again. The plum tree in their little orchard was also producing a ridiculous quantity, and plums wouldn't last over winter, so they had to eat them quickly. Even eating several plums a day, they weren't able to eat them as fast as they were ripening, but Parton couldn't bring himself to just let them fall.
They needed to go to a market, somewhere they could sell things they had a surplus of and acquire things that would get them through the winter. He couldn't consider going back to his village of Shrind, though, so he would need to go further afield. The next village over was Oakbeck, large enough to hold a market each week, but many of the people from Shrind would go to Oakbeck to sell their goods or if they wanted to buy something beyond what the village store could stock. Parton had been there often enough that he would be recognised, and word would get back to Corron that he was still nearby. The thought of anyone from his own village finding him in this little sanctuary still filled him with dread.
The other possibility was Barnbridge, a small town about half a day's walk beyond Oakbeck. That town had a larger market and shops with a specific purpose rather than the general produce of the village store. Parton had been to Barnbridge perhaps a dozen times in his life, and it was the hub for most of the nearby villages when it came to buying and selling goods. It would be much easier to slip through unnoticed, and he was more likely to find someone to purchase their goods. But they didn't have a cart or horse to transport anything.
"How far could you carry me in a single night?" he asked one evening, as he and Cull shared a meal that was largely beans and plums, flavoured with the stock from Cull's previous day's kill.
Cull frowned. "Why?"
Parton explained his thinking.
"Does this mean I can stop eating plums?" Cull asked.
"There will probably be some left for us to eat, but a lot fewer."
"I can carry you and a load of plums to Barnbridge." He sounded very definite about that. Clearly the desire to not eat his body weight in plums was worth any trouble.
"Transporting the plums will be a challenge," Parton said. Putting them into a blanket sack would not be an option, and he didn't like the idea of putting them in his one pack, concerned that it would be soaked in juice by the time they arrived. "We also need to work out what day the market is."
Barnbridge held their market once a week, each Moonday. Parton hadn't been counting his days in the forest, and without knowing the day, they had a one-in-seven chance of arriving on market day. They had equal chance of arriving on Bellday, when even the permanent shops would be shut. He mentioned this problem to Cull, who considered it in silence for a minute.
"We should listen for the bells of your village," he said at last.
Parton was instantly tense, anxiety surging through him. The whole point of going to Barnbridge was to avoid ever going near Shrind.
"We don't have to go into the village," Cull said, obviously seeing his reluctance. "I can wake you up before dawn and carry you near to your village at night, and then you listen for the dawn bells. Once it's full daylight, we walk back here before anyone can see us. We might have to do it a few times, but once we know it's Bellday, we can count the days to Moonday."
Parton knew that the plan made sense and was a lot more reasonable than risking the journey to Barnbridge without knowing the day, but the thought of going back there after all they'd done was difficult. He didn't have any valid objection, though, not with the way Cull had presented it.
Cull set aside his bowl and said, "Come with me."
Curious and a little confused, Parton followed Cull from the cabin, growing even more confused when Cull paused on the way to grab Parton's pillow. They stopped just outside the cabin door in the warm evening, and Cull told him, "Make a fist."
Still confused, Parton did so, holding his hand up in a fist for Cull to see.
"You'll break your thumb if you hit someone with it sticking out like that. Tuck it under." Cull demonstrated, and Parton copied. Then Cull held up the pillow in both hands, bracing himself. "Punch."
Parton threw a punch at the pillow, then another, swinging his fist and making contact with the softness and feeling Cull's hands behind.
"You're not following through," Cull told him. "You're aiming for the pillow, which means you start slowing down. You need to aim behind the person you're hitting so your strength goes into them. Aim for my chest."
Parton tried again. Cull soon stopped him again and then again, always having advice to offer, whether about the way his elbow flapped around or about the way he stood. Parton wondered where it was Cull had learned this, who had taught him. He didn't have to wonder why; with Cull's curse, he must have had to defend himself on many occasions.
At last, Cull called a halt to their activities, saying that Parton should sleep, especially if they were to wake before dawn to listen for the bells. Parton was glad to stop, heaving in grateful lungfuls of air, his shirt clinging to his chest with sweat. He felt more confident now that if circumstances called for it, he'd be able to hit someone and actually hurt them, but he still felt that his best option for fighting was to try to avoid anyone who might hurt him. Fighting had never been something he'd learned or practiced, not even the rough-housing play of other boys.
"My grandmother would be furious if she knew I was learning to fight," Parton commented.
"I'm sure she would be glad you could stay safe," Cull answered.
He was probably right. His grandmother had always cared about his safety, and her dislike of fighting had probably been as much to do with that as anything else. Parton thought of her arms around him, holding him close, as though she could shield him from all the evil in the world. They had been all each other had, and he felt the emptiness around him where her arms had been.
"I miss her," Parton said.
Cull nodded. "I miss my parents."
Curious as he was, Parton didn't ask what had happened to them. This wasn't a time for asking questions. This was a time for sharing, for knowing that there was another person in the world who understood, who had felt the ache of that open wound that would never completely heal. It didn't hurt any less to know that Cull also grieved, but somehow it made the hurt easier to bear. They shared the grief between them, and a load was always easier to carry when there were two joined together in the task.