if she could turn in anybody she might find.
“We have to help them look,” he said. His eyes were understanding but resolute.
She closed hers and bowed her head. No getting out of it. Time to grit her teeth and bear it. She’d help who she could and if she couldn’t- well, that could be a matter for a later time.
He waited as she dismounted. For the first time since that first night, after her conscription into Fallon’s army, her legs were unsteady and unsure they wanted to hold her. She carefully laid her horse’s reins over its head before turning and trudging after Buck.
They passed several of the mud huts, Buck leading, Shea in the middle and Eamon bringing up the rear. It felt strange not to be in front.
From the sounds coming from the huts, the Trateri were being thorough in their search and not at all gentle. There was a woman’s sharp cry and a triumphant shout. At least one had found success in their hunt.
“Shane,” Buck said.
Shea pulled her attention away from the direction of the shouts to find Buck standing in front of a hut.
“In here,” he said.
She nodded.
He drew the short sword from a sheath at his waist.
Ah, yes. Of course. Only made sense to take precautions. These people almost certainly regarded the Trateri and by extension, Shea, as enemies. They might act accordingly.
Shea fumbled for her own short sword. A calloused hand stopped her before she could draw it.
“We’d prefer if you left that sheathed for now,” Eamon told her with a wry smile.
Shea stared dumbly at him, not understanding. Then suddenly she got it.
She snorted and let go of the blade’s hilt. He had a point. She was still a new entity to the team, and these were her supposed people. A person might think her willingness to help in the field would undergo a drastic change when her fellow Lowlanders’ lives were in danger.
Hell, they probably thought she was going to turn on them in a blaze of misguided fury.
She held up her hands to signal her compliance. Eamon removed his hand and stepped back, giving her a chin tilt of approval.
“So are we going to do this or just stand around outside all day,” Shea said, looking between the two of them. “I’m good either way.”
Eamon raised an eyebrow and looked at Buck. “The lad says he’s good.”
Buck smirked back. “Guess I’ll lead on then.”
Shea didn’t know what she expected, but it wasn’t to see Buck turn to the door and give it a solid kick, sending it flying inwards.
“A little dramatic, but points for flair,” Shea muttered following after him.
The interior of the one room hut was dim. There were no windows to provide extra light. No doubt as a deterrent to beast attack. A window would have only provided another avenue for entry into the small home. They probably also lacked the skill to create openings in the walls without also creating severe weakness in the structure.
It was so stuffy and dark in the building. Shea didn’t know how they could bear to spend much time in it. She’d go crazy inside of a week. The walls already felt like they were closing in on her,
“It stinks. How do they live like this?” Buck asked, covering his nose.
It did stink. The pungent smell of the morning’s meal still lingered in the air. It also smelled of unwashed bodies, mold, and earth.
The floor was dirt and covered in dead grass.
“No windows means no ventilation,” Shea commented as she passed a small wooden table. “Smells get trapped.”
Two bowls rested on it. One was half filled with empty bean shells, the other with the unshelled beans. The woman was probably preparing for that night’s meal. Shea hoped she got the chance to make it.
Buck shook his head in disgust and started opening and shutting what few cupboards there were. Eamon looked under the only bed. There were no other places to search.
Shea was drawn to a baby’s crib in the corner. What would the Trateri do with the children? Would they face the same fate as their parents?
She ran her hands along the smooth, hand carved edge. It was simple but finely made. The feel against her fingers wasn’t right. She rubbed them together, noticing the slight grainy texture that lingered.
There wasn’t enough light to tell what she’d touched so she stepped closer to the door. The grayish film on her fingers was easily identifiable as dust.
Her forehead wrinkled. That couldn’t be