"If you ever tell anyone of this . . ." Gavril warned as he worked on the second braid.
"Is that a threat, Kitsune?"
"Yes." He tightened the braid. "Yes, it is."
She'd attempted to do her hair herself, and thought she was doing a fine job, but apparently, it hadn't been to his standards. After several fruitless attempts to correct her technique, he'd taken over.
"Given that I promised not to tell anyone you're a sorcerer--or that you admitted fear in battle--I'm certainly not going to tell anyone you braided my hair. And truly, can you imagine any conversation in which the subject would arise?"
He tugged a braid and grumbled under his breath, but it was a
good-natured grumble--or as close to good-natured as Gavril seemed capable of. They'd had to trek out of the storm-struck area to find dry wood for fire, and he hadn't said an unkind word in all that time. He was still prickly, of course, and argumentative and difficult, but that was to be expected.
When he finished, he pulled back the braids and surveyed his work. "Now we need to find something to tie it with. You had a band . . ."
"Which came out when the thunder hawk decided to restyle my hair. I can pull a strip of fabric off my other tunic--"
"No, it'll unravel." He took one of his own braids and pulled off the band.
As he fastened it in her hair, she asked, "Why don't you have beads, like other warriors? Is it a family custom?"
"No. I don't see the need. Colored beads are for show. Like a peacock's plumage."
"Like those?" She gestured at his tattooed forearms.
A scowl, more mock angry than serious. "That's not the same, Keeper. Those are--"
"Ancestral devotion markings for high-born warriors," she said. "I know. I'm only teasing." She shifted for a better look. As long as the subject was being discussed, it gave her the excuse. "I've heard it's done with needles and ink. Is that true?"
"Yes."
"When I asked Orbec about them, he said it doesn't hurt."
"He lied."
She laughed softly and looked up. "Truly?"
"Very truly. I am extremely glad they only do one section at a time, with many moons between."
She smiled and shifted onto her stomach, her feet over Daigo. Gavril was sitting, leaning back on his elbow, letting her examine the tattoo on his left arm. His eyes were almost closed, as if basking in the fire's heat. He looked more at peace than she'd ever seen him.
"When do you get the upper arms done?" she asked.
"Soon. They were supposed to be done on the eighteenth anniversary of my birth, but winter is hardly the time for travel in the Wastes."
"Are you glad for the delay?"
He paused. "Not particularly. Getting inked is hardly pleasant, but . . ." He shrugged. "It means something that's important to me."
"It's beautiful work."
He hesitated. Then, "Thank you." Another pause. "I'll remember that when they're doing the inking, and I'm trying very hard not to cry out."
She laughed. "If you fell from a thunder hawk without so much as a gasp, I think you can handle inked needles."
She rolled onto her back, staring up at the dark sky, feeling the fire's heat against the top of her head. Gavril reached forward and she felt a faint tug on her hair. She tilted her head back to see him moving her hair away from the fire pit.
"Before it catches alight," he said.