The Lost Elixir

Chapter Thirteen

The Fae were resourceful people, that much Rayne could admit.

She'd caught Jarrah a few times, weaving leaves and branches together to make clothes for himself, and making fish traps alongside miniature baskets to hold them. Even before the fire broke out, she watched him weave as they walked through the forest, making bow and arrows out of hardwood and hickory. Though her pack was used to farming and gathering their own food, it was different to watch him. He treated every weapon with care, every dead animal with appreciation, and every plant with consideration. He never took more than he needed to, and he thanked their Creator considerably.

The Creator was a being the wolves believed in as well, though the Fae had a deeper bond from what she could tell. She was The Great Spirit, the mother of their earth and all things living or plentiful. The moon goddess, on the other hand, granted wolves their ability to shift and gave them the choice to pick their mates. A big difference, but both were equally respected.

Rayne watched Jarrah curiously a few hours after Jarrah told her about Zephyr. The sun was well into the afternoon, and they had both gone their separate ways to enjoy their last hour of freedom. She watched him work excessively for a few minutes after she shifted back into her human form, and curiously took in his focused form as he sat hunched over on a log, his back facing her.

Jarrah was complicated, and from what she recently learned, he had a complicated past. She didn't excuse his words or his behaviors, but it helped in trying to understand as much of him as he'd allow. Watching his soul bleed into the heavy tone behind his words had her aching to comfort him. It wasn't unnatural for shifters—especially in wolf form—to comfort another in their pack. Open affection was welcomed.

So imagine her surprise when Jarrah welcomed it himself. He could have pushed her away and she would have understood, but he took comfort in her instead. He even sat closely with her for a while, telling her stories about Zephyr or Terryn when they were younger. It wasn't until he started to mention his obligation to the marriage that he awkwardly cut himself off, cleared his throat, and moved away to tend to the task he was doing then.

She frowned at the time, not understanding why he viewed the marriage as an obligation rather than something he actively wanted to take part in. But it wasn't her business to ask. 

Jarrah's soft, customary hum drew Rayne out of her thoughts. Before she could talk herself out of it, and scold herself for being so nosy, she climbed out of her makeshift bed of grass and walked over to him. He didn't look back, but she was sure he heard her anyway with her feet crunching against sticks and leaves. He barely glanced at her when she sat down beside him as he continued to weave leaves together with a small sharpened animal bone and sinew thread made out of the deer they had eaten the other day. No part of the animal was ever left unused if he could help it.

Sinew was a traditional method to use before the invention of thread. They were long tissue fibers that united muscle to bone or bone to bone on an animal. Most people used sinew from elk or deer, which one could then pulled the fibers apart.

Jarrah's humming ceased, and Rayne fidgeted.

"How did you learn how to sew like that?" she finally asked, her voice low and soft to match the calm of the morning. Any louder and she'd wake the forest.

He glanced at her. "It's something all Fae have to learn. We owe our life to the forest and everything it has to offer.

"Is that why you're sewing so . . ."

A small smile tugged at Jarrah's lips. "Traditionally? Yeah. Do wolves not sew with sinew?"

She shook her head. "No, not anymore. We use imitation sinew or thread now."