I guessed this meant we were in it for the long haul.
When he was done with his chores, he crouched by the fire probably for the same reason I stood by it, in order to get warm and use it to dry his clothes.
What he didn’t do was speak to me.
What he also didn’t do was rotisserie the rabbits. He didn’t turn the handle that was at one end of the iron rods at all. That meant one side would get roasted and the other wouldn’t. Furthermore, even though they were rabbits, which freaked me out, all their juices were falling into the fire. If they were captured and used to baste the darned things, they would end up more succulent and flavorful.
I decided not to share this culinary expertise with him either. Instead, I got out from under the hides, went to get the frying pan and then moved to the handle by the fire. I gathered as much of my nightgown as I could in my hand (which was a lot, seriously, there was a huge amount of material covering me), used it to shield my skin against the heat of the rod and squatted as ladylike as I could by the fire while using the handle and holding the pan under the rabbits to collect their juices.
I did this for awhile feeling his eyes on me before he spoke.
“By the gods, what are you doing?”
I didn’t look at him as I replied, “Rotisserie. You cook them like you were, one side will get charred, the other won’t cook. And everyone knows you need to baste meat.”
This was met with silence.
I kept turning then when I gathered enough juices I lifted the pan and poured them over the meat. Then I held the pan under again as I kept turning the handle.
Truth be told, the actions were tedious, the pan was heavy and my arms were beginning to ache. But at least I had something to do.
After awhile, he called, “Cora.”
“Yep,” I answered, lifted the pan, basted the meat then returned it under the carcasses, all the while turning the handle.
“Cora,” he repeated.
“I said, yep,” I replied.
“Look at me, woman,” he ordered.
I lifted my eyes to him. His face was blank but his eyes were alert and working and they were fastened on me.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“I told you,” I reminded him.
“What are you doing?” he repeated and I felt my brows draw together.
“Dude, I told you,” I returned.
His face turned cold. “Do not call me this name,” he commanded. “I do not like it.”
I stared at him. Then I sighed. Then I looked back to the fire and muttered, “Whatever.”
“Cora,” he called again and my gaze cut back to his face.
“What?” I snapped.
“Explain yourself,” he demanded.
“I already did.”
“When did you learn this?” he growled, tipping his dark head to my movements.
Uh-oh.
Lazy Cora of this world clearly did not know how to baste nor would she trouble herself to do it.