Page 36 of Bridget & Gabe Are Not Okay

Unlikesomepeople.

How was it that Bridget had gone away to prove herself, and had instead returned, scattered and confused, to find thatGwenwas the one more herself than ever?

She looked damned good on a horse. The lush green of her gold-edged traveling cloak draped over her shoulders, the silk of her dress rippling across her legs, the cold wind pinkening her freckled cheeks. There was something very enchanting about seeing her framed by all the pastoral scenery. With a view like this, it was almost possible to believe in the unnatural beauty of the fae.

Not quite enough to convince Bridget of magical beasts roving the countryside, however. The road they were following became less defined, the country more wooded, until they pulled off to gather and receive instruction.

“We’re meeting John, one of the men who witnessed the Beast, and he’s going to lead us to the place,” Gwen said, taking charge, as she did so often these days. “And I’m sure this doesn’t have to be said, but just in case—nobody is to laugh. It doesn’t matter what he says he saw, or how ridiculous you think it might be. If he saw a Beast, he saw a Beast. Arthur, I hope you’re listening, because I’m talking to you.”

Arthur had been muttering to Sir Florian, their heads very close together, and shot Gwen a brief flash of a smile. “OfcourseI’m listening, my darling dove.”

Gwen mirrored his smile right back at him. “If it turns out to be a boar or a bear, please let’s exercise the appropriateamount of caution. Except Arthur. Arthur, if it’s a boar or a bear, feel free to investigate.”

“Well, I know you’re being horrid,” Arthur said, “but I will actually. I like boars and bears.”

It was a short ride to the small village; once they were there, they found not just John and his dog ready to guide them into the woods, but the entire village dressed for an outing, from the very elderly right down to the women with babes in arms. It wasn’t very practical—especially if the Beast was shy—but Bridget supposed that the opportunity to hunt for a legendary creature with the King of England was probably somewhat of a one-off for woodbound villagers.

They were nervous and shuffling at first, the children wiping their noses on their sleeves and glancing at each other askance, unsure what they were supposed to do in the presence of nobility, but then a gray-haired woman carrying a fire skewer came up to Bridget, held out her weapon to check the length against Bridget’s sheathed sword, then nodded with apparent satisfaction and went back to her friend. It broke the tension somewhat, and everybody started chattering.

“Thank you for joining us,” Gwen said, raising her voice to be heard over the increasing volume of the crowd. “We would be grateful if you could, er… circle the perimeter of the woods, to ensure that the Beast stays within. If you see it running toward you, encourage it to turn around. Peaceful encouragement,” she added quickly, watching two boys with sharpened sticks practice stabbing at the air. “We want to capture the Beast alive.”

“Alive?” said one young man, so appalled by this that the very idea seemed to have knocked his hat halfway off his head. “But it eats the pigs!”

“Does it eat the pigs?” Gwen asked the leather-skinned John, who was of stern eye and middling height.

“Oh, yes,” he said. “Or something does, anyhow. Takes big bites.”

“How big?” said Arthur, now paying uncharacteristically close attention.

John held up his hands and approximated a hole the circumference of his middle fingers and thumbs joined in a circle, then considered, and expanded slightly. “Large turnip,” he said. “Small gourd.”

Arthur grimaced. “There are many parts of my body I hold very dear to me that are roughly the size of a large turnip.”

“Yes, like your brain,” Gwen hissed, clearly forgetting herself for a second before clearing her throat. “Sorry, yes, thank you… John. Still, we will endeavor to capture the Beast alive, as it might be a very important specimen.” This was not met with much enthusiasm, so she added, “And we can ensure that it has no parent or progeny that might continue to bother your pigs.”

“What if it’s of the devil?” another man said, clutching his pitchfork fearfully. “Nothing godly would haunt us so.”

“Ah,” said Master Buchanan, stepping forward, the people eyeing his cultist robe with interest. “I’m glad you asked. I think it’s not quite so simple as all that. Is a lion of the devil, simply because it hunts? Can you damn a creature for behaving according to his nature?”

“I think I can speak to this,” cut in Cardinal Richards. “If itisof the devil, then our mastery over it today will only further prove that the king acts with the hand of God guiding him, to smite all those creatures who—”

“Smite?” said Master Buchanan. “I think we’re a little more civilized than that, archbishop.”

“More civilized thanGod?”

“We’ll capture the Beast first,” Gwen interjected, “and then we can ascertain its godliness, or otherwise. Rest assured, we will look into it.”

This seemed to placate people well enough, and encourage them to disperse in the direction of the perimeters. John mounted his horse and led the party, complete with a few additional, sensible locals, farther into the wood, with Gwen at his side. They were talking together seriously, and Bridget was struck again by Gwen’s poise and bearing.

Bridget was reluctantly used to people wanting to be seenwith herby now. It had been a hard adjustment from tourney pariah to trophy knight, but she’d caught on pretty fast when people had started choosing to sit next to her in the feasting tents and conveniently ending up next to her at sign-up tables, striking up conversations.

It meant something, now, to be seen in the vicinity of the knight who’d slain the traitor Willard with the (replica) sword Excalibur. Usually just that Bridget hadn’t been fast enough to realize that someone was attempting to ride on her cloaktail and hurry away.

She’d never understood the urge to position oneself next to greatness until right now, watching Gwen’s face in profile as she talked with authority to a stranger, as the party trotted onward after her into the wood. Bridget wanted to belong by her side.

“Now, the forest is big,” said John, once he’d drawn them to a stop. “And, no offense meant, but you’re quite… loud, all together. Best we split up, each follow one of these game trails, or we’ll be searching all day and night, and the Beast will’ve heard us a mile off and gone to ground.”

“Does it live under the ground?” Sir Leonard asked. “Like a mole?”