Dreamwalker's Bride - Chapter 317

Chapter 317: Whittling
For several more days, the group traversed the forest. The weather grew cooler, despite summer being in full swing.

Mia and Ford avoided serious conversation, both falling into an unspoken status quo.

He didn’t like the lack of communication between them, but there wasn’t much he could do about it.

Seeing in her eyes that she worried about his increasingly tired state, he just smiled and assured her he was fine. They were almost out of the forest. On one or two more occasions, the ‘changers’ had watched them from a distance but not interacted with the humans.

Those made Ford nervous, but Daniel was convinced the creatures weren’t dangerous.

Ford had expanded on his theory that the changers were different kinds of wights, confusing the boy but giving him enough to think about that the child didn’t stop chattering for a couple of days after that.

No one seemed to resent the boy’s constant talk, even welcoming the social reprieve of not having to hold up another end of a conversation.

Ford still bore Grandpa’s questioning gaze every night when watches were decided.

The man always spent his shift holding Mia’s hand so that she could rest, and never woke the next person for their shift until he was certain he would fall asleep and give himself away.

She was obviously aware of his nighttime activities, but other than commenting on how he needed more rest, she didn’t chastise him. Sometimes she even seemed aware of him in the night, pulling his hand closer or sleepily laying it against her cheek.

That did things to his heart that he couldn’t quite explain.

Mia was right, though, about his need for rest. His eyelids were heavier each day than the day before.

But she was sleeping well, refreshed and leading the group with confidence. The reprieve from magical danger was a welcome one, but no one entirely let their guard down. The fact that this was the safest route did not mean that it was without peril.

Ford felt that his responsibilities to keep her functioning outweighed his need for complete rest. He was doing well enough. Some days he rode beside her, other days at the back with Grandpa.

The older man gave him advice on his whittling, which Ford used to keep himself awake in the saddle, despite the danger of either cutting himself with the small knife or damaging his creation.

Grandpa made no further attempts to convince Ford to come clean, and the younger man wondered whether simply telling Mia had been enough to satisfy the patriarch’s advice, or whether telling the rest of the family about it was necessary.

Seth, for certain, would be very interested in knowing the information, but Ford never could bring himself to say anything about the matter out loud.

Mia hadn’t shared the information either, probably leaving it to him to decide what should be revealed and when.

It wasn’t a ridiculous stance for her to take, and Ford wishing for her to make the call was a bit on the cowardly side. If she could somehow gently break the news to her father, Ford could disappear for a few hours… or days… until the man calmed down again.

Per Grandpa’s advice, the manly thing to do would be to take responsibility for himself and just say it all out loud, man to man.

Apparently Ford wasn’t quite that much of a man just yet.

He sighed, earning a curious glance from Grandpa.

“You seem tired, Ford.” The man lifted a bushy eyebrow.

“Yes,” He answered simply. “How long does it usually take to whittle something?”

“Depends on what you’re making,” The old man replied, changing subjects easily as if he didn’t care to probe into the reason behind Ford’s exhaustion. Maybe he did know more than he let on.

Ford held the little statuette up. It had started out as a woman, but Seth’s suspicious glances had made Ford switch course and make it into something of a self-portrait. Of course carving Mia would not only be impossible to get right, but would get everyone’s attention.

“Does it look like me yet?” He asked, tongue in cheek.

“A little,” Grandpa nodded. “Try erring on the side of making the head too big. You can always carve it down once you’re happy with the shape.”

Ford accepted the advice and continued working, though a chittering sound up in the trees made him nervous. It had slowly become familiar and distinct from the sound of squirrels.

“If those are wood wights, do you think they’re mad about me carving up a piece of wood?” He asked.

“They haven’t objected to our fires at night,” Grandpa shrugged. “Maybe they’re interested, not mad.”

Ford looked at the man for a moment, and held his little statue up again for inspection. It was loosely the shape of a man, though he’d been working on the lower part of the body first since that involved less detail.

The chittering noise sounded again from somewhere above.

“Definitely interested.” Grandpa decided. “Keep at it, maybe you’ll make some friends.”

“Or enemies, if it winds up looking awful,” Ford groused. It really didn’t seem fair that his first attempts at whittling could potentially be judged by creatures like these. If he were more experienced, more talented, he would feel more confident about his abilities to befriend them.

“They seemed nice enough to me.” Grandpa encouraged. “Keep at it. It’s better to try and fail than never to try at all.”

“Doesn’t that depend on how badly you fail?” Ford’s face scrunched in disagreement.

“Could be, could be,” The old man nodded slowly, “but maybe you won’t fail at all, and then how silly would the man who never tried feel?”

“I don’t understand the question,” Ford shook his head. “I’m too tired for riddles.”

“Hm. Maybe you’d best get some good rest instead of making sure others sleep well.” Grandpa suggested, sending Ford’s mind into a mild panic again.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” He lowered his voice.

“I mean, wake others for their shifts instead of staying up…. Doing whatever it is you’re doing.” Grandpa’s voice was quiet as well. “Don’t get yourself into trouble.”

“I’ll… do my best,” Ford heaved a sigh, but knew he couldn’t promise too much.