Work Text:
Leaving Barnaby’s shack in the afternoon, Henry decided to explore the Kopanina forests before it gets dark. The herbalist told him about some thugs hiding in the area, so he knew to be careful. And who knows, the gang may be the real culprit behind the poaching that Varel the gamekeeper attributes to the mysterious Ghost. Henry already had the dubious honor of dealing with such a band recently. And on top of that, the way both gamekeepers talked about this lone enigmatic poacher sounded way overblown. He rode Pebbles quietly along a sandy trail between the pines, examining the surroundings, and gestured at Mutt to stay silent. If he were to make a poaching camp around here, where would it be? Nearby one of these sandstone rocks, he thinks. That way at least one side is covered from prying eyes. His eyes immediately fall on a faint trail leading alongside just such a rock, right next to the main path through the forest.
He sneaked closer, and surely, soon he found one of the thugs. So much for cunning criminals. Truly, the ineptitude of the local poachers is only surpassed by the gamekeepers’ laziness, Henry thought. The hooded man’s back was turned to Henry as he was scraping a deer hide with a knife. He was humming a melody that Henry found familiar, but couldn't place at first. Henry’s heart skipped a beat. Could it be? No, everything reminded him of Hans lately. Hensel at the mill, most of all, Henry chastised himself bitterly. He listened and watched for a full minute before he was sure.
“Well well well, if it isn’t the Ghost of Kopanina?”
“Henry! What are you doing here?” Hans pulled off his green hood.
Henry explained to his lord, as best as he could, that the poaching had to stop. That if Hans were found out, they could both hang. How easy it was to find this camp. He even quoted the Nebakov gamekeeper on the shoddiness of Hans’s knife work, hoping to discourage him. This, of course, only seemed to aggravate Hans further. While they argued, evening came by, casting a dark cloak over the forest as fireflies emerged. Hans, still cold and standoffish, gestured towards the pot over the firepit, offering Henry his stew, while Mutt was already feasting on offal a few feet away.
“You cooked that?” Henry asked, sitting next to the fire with a full mouth.
“It’s not much, but as you see, I can take care of myself,” traces of Hans’s familiar bluster were making a return. Good, Henry thought.
“Let me tell you, it’s way better than the slop Betty serves in Troskowitz,” Henry remarked, hoping to brighten his lord’s mood.
“It’s nothing compared to what I could do if I had at least a bit of pepper and nutmeg,” Hans bit. “Or some wine,” he sighed mournfully.
“You know me, I don’t need anything fancy,” Henry said. “Though a pinch of caraway wouldn’t hurt.” He rummaged in his bag, pulling out a jug of mead Barnaby gave him, and offered Hans a taste. Hans frowned.
“You’ve fed me, it’s only fair,” persuaded Henry. Hans caved and they shared the mead in silence, looking into the flames.
They didn’t discuss anything more, but Hans let Henry sleep on a hide next to his fire. Henry hadn’t fully realized how troubled and desperate he really was in those past days, now that the weight has dropped off him after he found his friend unharmed. Hans is clearly still angry with him after their horrible row at the pillory, but with a bit of persistence they can mend this. In the morning, he might talk Hans into heading for Zhelejov and they can jump into a bath, Henry smiles. That would certainly lift his spirits. He can afford to keep his lord in a tub until the wedding. Now that Henry felt more hopeful about the future, all the exhaustion he kept pushing off caught up with him, and he fell into a deep slumber.
In the morning, birdsong awoke him. It was already way past sunrise. Henry realized he’s covered with something warm, that something being a deer hide - tough, partly dried, badly scraped and with a few holes where the knife slipped through. Hans probably couldn’t sell it, he chuckled. “Hans?” Henry stood up.
The camp was cleared out, save for Mutt, who played with a newly carved wooden toy. Next to the fire, Hans had left a leather roll containing his poaching gear. He was gone.
Henry sat by the cold firepit and cried.