“Possibly.” Mason didn’t sound convinced.
“Please, let’s go back to the village and eat, you need to get your strength back. I’m sure they will welcome us.” She grasped his hand and squeezed it, a small gesture of conciliation.
“It is getting dark,” he commented. “Come on, then.”
They walked hand in hand with Mason carrying the heavier pack and the three men leading the way. They understood, it seemed, where she and Mason wanted to go. The dusk was brief and by the time they reached the huts, it was nearly dark with just sufficient light to follow the path.
The chief offered them a hut, its platform raised on stilts. The children were being corralled into another hut and torches had been lit around the village, circling it with a protective ring of light.
The interior was basic with matting for a bed and blankets woven using the fibrous husks of nuts and other vegetation. Jade had seen similar things in museums back at home. A woman brought a pot of water and fruit in a bowl, bowed her head, and spoke a few words before retreating. Jade thought all the women to be very shy.
Mason peeled off his filthy vest, revealing a few bruises and several scratches. He lay on the matting and Jade bathed him, dabbing at the cuts until she’d washed the dried blood away.
“There,” she said, settling back. “You look so much better.”
“Thank you.” He propped himself up on an elbow and picked up a piece of fruit. When he bit into it, juice squirted out.
For a while, they ate in silence, eyeing each other without speaking and the lack of conversation was deafening to Jade. Was he so cross with her that he couldn’t speak?
She picked at the matting by her feet, waiting for him to finish. She wasn’t that hungry.
“You should sleep,” she suggested.
“I slept one night in that hole,” he said. “There was nothing else to do.”
“You look tired.”
“I was hungry and thirsty. I’m not any longer. At least I don’t need a drink. I still have a hunger.”
She tingled, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks. “I’m in trouble, aren’t I? I didn’t obey your directive.”
He put down the bowl of fruit; only a few pieces remained untouched.
“There lies the dilemma. How can I punish the person who saved my life? What does it say about me that I prize obedience above life? Yet again, you’ve amazed me with your ability to think your way out of situations. I called you a liability once; that was unfair. No, I’m not going to punish you, but I am going to reaffirm what you mean to me.”
Jade was stunned, unsure what to make of his decision. No punishment for disobedience? It didn’t seem like Mason to miss the opportunity to spank her. However, he’d acknowledged her opinions about freedom and choice, and what part they played in her decision. Part of her was incredibly relieved, another part was actually disappointed, as if it was important to know that he cared enough to punish her. How ridiculous! She opened her mouth to question him, but something caught his attention.
The hut creaked and the wooden slats of the floor shifted slightly as it bore the weight of another person.
They weren’t alone. One of the younger men had entered the hut. He gestured toward the door, waving at them.
Mason sighed. “I suppose we should go and be good guests. I need to find out about the hunters. We’ll deal with this later.” A promise, but not a threat.
The chief welcomed them into the largest structure, which seemed to serve as a communal room. There was more food and a ring of men sat around the bowls and dishes, eating and chatting. The hut went quiet as Mason and Jade entered.
Offered a place next to the chief, they sat and smiled, trying to show their appreciation.
“Do you think you can find a way to talk to them?” Mason asked.
“I need something to draw on.” She picked up a long spoon, turned it around, and circled the end on the floor in front of her feet.
The chief spoke to the man next to him, who left the room, then returned a few minutes later with a flat tray filled with a layer of sand.
Jade had never rated her abilities as an artist; however, she had drawn plenty of schematics and other designs. She applied those skills to drawing outlines in the sand. Mason instructed her, making suggestions and she crafted the figure of two men with guns.
The chief frowned and shook his head.
“Then they haven’t come this way,” Mason concluded. “It doesn’t mean anything. They could be approaching the river from a different direction.”