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Parton gave a yelp of fear when he was woken by a huge, furry head prodding at his chest with his muzzle and staring at him with glowing eyes. Cull managed to look reproachful. It was hard to tell if Cull was truly offended by Parton's reaction or if his expression was meant in teasing.
"Sorry," Parton said, to be on the safe side. "You startled me."
Cull padded out of the cabin. Parton followed and climbed on Cull's back, bending low for the race through the forest. He knew what to expect this time, but it was still as terrifying as ever. Parton almost buried his face into the black fur of Cull's head, rather than looking up and risking having his eyes poked out by a low branch.
The run to Shrind didn't seem to take quite so long, and soon Cull came to a stop just within the treeline above the village. Below them, fields of nearly ripe wheat waved in the breeze. They were some distance from the village, but Parton could make out the shrine to the spirits between the buildings, so he would be able to see Corron begin the ceremony and the sound of the bells should reach them here.
As the horizon brightened, Parton sat down with his back to one of the trees to watch the waking village, but Cull started back into the trees.
"Where are you going?" Parton asked. Cull looked pointedly towards the horizon, where pale blue was showing above the trees. It would be dawn soon, the moment when Cull changed from monster to human.
"I don't mind seeing you transform," Parton said. Presumably Cull did mind, because he stalked away silently.
Parton turned his eyes back to the village, to the house he'd lived in. It was hard to tell what sort of state it was in, but it still stood, so no one had put a torch to it or anything like that. He wondered if there was anything left inside that had been his, but he didn't think he would ever dare risk going inside to find out. A few lessons from Cull on how to throw a punch wouldn't be enough to help him stand up to the whole village.
People started moving about as the day brightened, too far away from him to make out their faces and put names to them. He would know those names, every one of them. Some might take a little while to dredge up out of his memory, but they were in there somewhere. That stung like a field of nettles. People he had known all his life, continuing on without him as though he didn’t matter. The pain of the betrayal had faded slightly in the days with Cull, but seeing his former home again brought it all back.
He wanted to scream and rage at the world for treating him this way. He wanted to storm down the slope and demand justice. He wanted to break down and cry.
Parton knew that the tears would be as useless as his rage. If he tried to fight the whole village, he would get hurt again, possibly die this time, but he didn’t want to sit and weep either. He’d shown Cull enough of his misery. He wanted to appear strong, even if his insides were a twisted mess of grief and anger, and not break down in front of Cull again. He realised now how much it mattered to him that he had Cull’s respect, more than he might have expected given how brief their acquaintance had been, and it wasn’t just because Cull was now the only person in his life. Cull always seemed so strong, so sure of himself, and that was something Parton found he wished to emulate. So he blinked back his tears and held himself together by the slender threads of stubbornness and his desire for Cull’s good opinion.
The sun rose above the horizon in a show of pink and gold, but there were no bells from the shrine, no sign of a crowd gathering or Corron leading a service. It wasn't Bellday. It was strange how quickly he'd lost track of time, losing all sense of which days were supposed to be holy and which ordinary. He thought of that conversation with Cull, in which he'd declared that the spirits didn't make a damn of difference to his life. Parton was forced to admit that he didn't know the difference between a spirit-blessed day and every other day of the week without people like Corron to mark the distinction.
Parton slipped a little further into the trees, so that no one might look up from the village and catch a glimpse of him, but he waited close to where Cull had left him, not sure of the route to make the journey back alone. It seemed to take a long while before Cull emerged from the trees.
Parton wondered if his clothes transformed with him, or if he'd hidden his clothes somewhere in the forest so that he could find them when he changed back. Given Cull's habit of sleeping naked through the early morning, Parton guessed the latter was more likely.
"No bells," Parton said. Cull nodded and started leading the way back. He looked exhausted, even more than Parton felt. He probably hadn't slept at all last night, while Parton had only lost an hour or two of sleep. He no doubt wanted to just get back to the cabin and collapse for a few hours, but Parton kept thinking of all they needed to do before their trip to the market. There was still the big issue as to how they would transport the goods they wanted to sell.
"Are there any good sites for gathering rushes near here?" Parton asked.
Cull considered and then nodded, shifting their course slightly so that they veered to the right. He didn't complain about his tiredness, but Parton felt the need to apologise regardless. Cull just shrugged. He was as quiet and gloomy as he'd been when Parton had first met him, sinking back into old habits in his tiredness, and it made Parton realise just how much more Cull talked now in contrast. He still wasn't a talkative person by nature, but this awkward, one-sided conversation felt like a step backwards to the way they'd been before. Parton hoped it would go away once Cull had some sleep.
They reached a river in a wide, still part, with rushes growing in long, green leaves out of the water. Cull sat on the bank while Parton removed his boots and waded into the water to cut armfuls of the rushes. He cut enough that they both had to carry some on the walk back to the cabin, while Parton's feet felt uncomfortable and still slightly damp inside his boots. Parton waited for Cull to ask about the rushes, but no questions came. No other words. The walk seemed to drag on in the silence.
At last they came to the cabin. Cull dumped his cargo down by the door and walked inside, barely pausing to pull off his boots before he climbed into bed. Parton eyed up his own pillow and blanket, but tired as he was, he didn't think he'd be able to sleep if he tried now. So he stored the rushes inside the cabin where they might dry a little near the fireplace, and then he went back to his garden to tend the plants and prepare what they might be able to sell at the market.
