Caracara's Hunt 9 New Tastes

"Hey, I didn't do anything!" the boy exclaimed and glared back at him. "I can't help it if you're a baby. The water's not even that hot."

'Not that hot?' Arawn glanced back at the steaming water. 'Why is it all about to raise into the air then?'

He didn't voice it though and tried putting his hand inside. It burned with the unfamiliar sensation, but after a while he got used to the heat and pushed more of the arm inside.

Feeling daring, he also tried another hand. And jumped back with his hand looking as red as if he'd slept on it for the whole night.

"Can you stop splashing water everywhere?" Eliot asked with crossed arms. He was standing a few steps away in his underclothes, ready to scrub Arawn clean once he finally managed to enter the bathtub.

It was seeming to be more of a challenge than either of them had expected though. Arawn had lived most of his life in the freezing dungeon, so heat was an unfamiliar sensation to him. He barely had an idea of what that word meant. Of course, that was being changed at that moment.

With a shake of his head, Eliot left the room and came back with a bucket of cold water which he poured into the bathtub. Steam rushed into the air, basking them in hot vapor. Eliot tried the water with his fingers and frowned. "It's barely lukewarm now. Maybe I—"

No longer held back by the heat, Arawn tried it as well. It was just perfect, giving him a pleasant sensation, and he jumped in. Water rose in waves to the sides, drenching Eliot and the ground all around them.

"Why did you do that!" the youth screeched, his expression thunderous. He seemed ready to kill.

Arawn tensed, his excitement evaporating. He reached for the magic, knowing that it would be better if he used it himself instead of it lashing out upon him getting hurt.

Yet Eliot didn't advance on him. Instead, the boy ordered through gritted teeth for him to lie down and soak himself well before they could try removing the layers of dirt on his skin.

Thrown off, Arawn did as told and watched the boy with only his eyes above water. What had that expression been for then? Did he or did he not want to kill him?

After watching him for a while, Eliot frowned. "Stay there. I'll bring more water."

A look down told Arawn what had made the other unhappy. The water around him was dark brown and thick, mud more than anything. Not a part of him could be seen through it.

They changed water twice before it became sufficiently clean for Eliot to consider it a real bath. He then scrubbed Arawn until his skin was red, and washed his hair a dozen times until it looked like hair for the first time and not strands of dirt.

The ministrations made Arawn feel awkward at first; he'd rarely had people so close to him that they could touch. Yet Eliot worked tirelessly without saying a complaint, so he could only accept it and shut up.

Once they finished, Eliot showed him to a neat pile of clothes and explained him how to put them on. Arawn didn't think it was necessary since he'd worn clothes before, but that soon showed up to be a silly thought. Pants were easy, but the layering of upper clothes were a mystery to him.

Why would there be rules for that? Yet for some reason there were, and Eliot was furious at him the moment he pulled on the shirt or jacket to make them fall more comfortably.

"You can't do that! The shirt cannot be seen from under the jacket. It's a sign of bad style. Don't play with the b.u.t.tons! What if you pull them out? Leave the cufflinks alone! Just get your hands off your clothes, period! Can you manage that at least?"

The youth was red from all the complaining, and there was a deep crease on his forehead. He looked at least five years older like that. His hands were balled into fists as he glared at Arawn.

"The moment Master returns, I hope he throws you out," he said with anger, then led Arawn to the sitting room.

The place was the size of the Gutter, but most of it was taken up by a large table in the middle. The circular, wooden monstrosity was surrounded by ten high-backed chairs. There was a couch on the side, and Eliot pointed at it.

Arawn obediently went to it and sat down. Then jumped right back up, looking down where he'd sat. Why had it been so soft? He'd sunk right in!

Eliot snickered on the side, then sat down on the opposite side of the couch. He sank in only a little. Arawn watched him for a moment, making sure he didn't disappear. When nothing changed after a while, he also sat down.

Apparently he really couldn't sink right to the ground. Yet he couldn't understand why anyone would want to sit on such a thing when there was plenty of ground around. It was steady and comfortable, unlike this weird softness.

Soon, Corwal returned with a few people in tow. They carried plates and covered the whole table with them. Once finished, they received some shiny metal things and exited the house.

"Is that him?" Corwal asked Eliot upon taking notice of Arawn. "You sure you didn't exchange him for another guy?"

"I wish. That would have made my life much easier," Eliot murmured, his head lowered.

Corwal laughed and went to Arawn. "Stand up, I want to see if I can still recognize you." Arawn did so, and Corwal walked around him, shaking his head repeatedly. "Who knew your hair is actually ash blonde? And your skin ain't black as I had been certain it was. What whiteness, all the n.o.ble ladies would envy you."

"Why?" Arawn asked. Was there anything special about white skin?

"Nothing." Corwal waved his hand in dismissal. "Just thinking out loud. It's a fad among the n.o.bles right now to look as white as cheese. It's silly if you ask me, but who am I to judge."

He stopped to think for a moment then, and Eliot took that moment to raise to his feet. "May I ask where did you find him, and why did you bring him here?"

"Worried he'll steal your position?" Corwal asked with a teasing smile. Eliot blushed, and Corwal patted his shoulder. "How could I replace someone as talented as you? I'd be lost here without you."

"So why?" Eliot didn't seem like he was planning to let it go.

In reality, he wasn't the only one who wanted to know that. Arawn wondered about it too; he just didn't want to ask it in case Corwal realized how strange he was acting and change his mind.

"Because I owe him," Corwal said with a shrug. "He saved my life, and then brought me out of h.e.l.l. Not everyone does that for a stranger."

Eliot looked suspiciously at Arawn, who was feeling weird at that moment. He frowned and looked Corwal straight in the eyes. "You know that's not what happened. You used my authority against others and so survived."

"Did I?" Corwal shrugged again, then turned to go to the table. "Maybe, but don't act like you did nothing. I heard when you threatened to kill them all if Feist took another step."

"You were awake?" Arawn asked in horror.

His insides dropped to the ground. So Corwal had known that he was more than an innocent victim, a boy with too much power, but someone nasty enough to threaten others with it and still helped him?

"I'm a light sleeper, and be happy for that. Now I know that I owe my life to you. You're the only reason I'm still talking and can taste this delicious chicken." He picked a chicken leg and tore a piece from it with his teeth and chewed with satisfaction. "Come you two, eat before everything gets even colder."

While Arawn hesitated, still not feeling okay about being known to be able to abuse his situation, Eliot jumped to his feet and rushed to the table. His eyes shined as he also grabbed a chicken leg.

On the third bite, he glanced at Corwal. "Master, will you even remember how to eat with manners after living freely like this?"

"I'll remember," Corwal answered between bites. "And if not, I'll visit my old tutor. He'll be overjoyed to beat the knowledge into my head for the second time."

Arawn hesitated for a moment more, then advanced to the table. It was filled with fancy dishes, none of which he recognized. With that being the case, he picked a random something and pushed it into his mouth.

It tasted weird, but felt strangely filling, and he took another piece.

"You like fish?" Eliot asked, then pointed at five other plates. "You should try these. You'll eat your fingers with them."

The sudden change in the boy's behavior surprised Arawn. He looked questioningly at him, but Eliot was already back to examining the table in search of what to pick next. He chose a dark piece of meat with small red dots on it and swallowed it almost whole.

"Haa!" He breathed heavily, waving at his mouth. "They sure didn't hold back on the spices."

Corwal nodded, but didn't take it. He was more interested in finishing the chicken with which he'd started.

Somewhat lost, Arawn just picked what Eliot had pointed out for him. The fish was soft and aromatic, melting in his mouth. It was a strange feeling, but he soon fell in love with it and finished the whole plate by himself.

No one seemed to mind, and he picked other things to taste. They were alien, with weird textures or so hot they burned his mouth, but it fascinated him. How could there be so many ways to prepare food? All he'd ever seen before were various watery broths and hard bread.

When they were all so full that they could no longer move, Corwal called for attention. "Today we sleep," he said. "And tomorrow we're gonna find whoever sent me to that beautiful place we've met. We'll have a lot of work to do, so rest well."