Chapter 10: The Bloody Hero and the Camp Wench

I found Ellen with Diane, the two of them making a stew over a small open fire (made from gods knows what). She was dressed in a simple version of the homespun dress, a cloth on her head holding her hair back and looking like a pretty little washerwoman. Diane had toned-down her own sex appeal but whether this in deference to Ellen, myself, or because she was still sore from Little Billy I couldn’t say.

“I made stew! and look at this amazing fire!” Ellen beamed.

I smiled in response, and had to realign the familial feelings I was having. My head eventually said she was my wife, and Diane was an old flame, but my instantaneous thought had placed Diane as the wife, and Ellen as the child we were teaching. It was odd to realize this.

I silently passed over a bowl, and watched as Ellen carefully filled it, adding maybe a bit too much to easily carry it. I thanked her, smiled again and ate some of the mixture. She (or more likely Diane) had a deftly salted and seasoned this stew with some simple and easy to find flavours. I particularly liked the liberal use of early evergreen tips but knew that not everyone would have agreed with me.

I made appreciative noises and finished my bowl while asking questions about what else they’d been doing during the last few hours. When Ellen ran out of topics, she turned the question around at me. “I went to the training room, stretched, went through a number of forms, and damn near killed the Hero.” I said nonchalantly “I left the Caretaker and the other three boys to clean up the mess.”

Diane stood. “I’d better go have a look, Julie is more of a political figure than a medical one.” she said as she left.

“Knock a few inches off of him while you’re at it, he has trouble walking as it is!” I called after her, only half joking.

Ellen sat back once she was gone, still looking pleased with herself. “I can do this...” she said with some conviction. I recognized the look, I wore it more than a few times myself when I had learned something new.

“Good, think of it as a part to play. Student, then camp cook, then lady of the Keep.” I replied, scraping the last of my stew from the bowl. “Do you want to learn how to use any weapons?” I asked, passing her the bowl back.

She looked up from the bowl, startled. “Father forbade it!” she squealed.