Chapter 30

                                    

                                          
We manage to get the tent up before nightfall. I lead the horse to a nearby stream to drink, and by the time I return, Tommy's hammered in the last of the pegs. He lights a camping lantern.
"Are we building a fire?" I ask.
"Fires create light, and smoke. Both attract attention." 
"Isn't it some sort of camping ritual?" I ask. "Aren't we meant to put sausages on twigs and cook them?"
Tommy sits on a log and glances at me. "Have you never camped before?"
I shake my head. "But I've read about it in books."
He runs a hand across his face, deliberating something for a moment. "We can't risk being seen," he finally says.
"Okay."
I expect him to drop it, but he's in deep thought for a moment then speaks again. "When all this is over, we'll go camping again. Somewhere nicer than this. Somewhere we can have a fire."
I look at him, expecting him to be joking or have something mocking to say. But he's perfectly serious. For some inextricable reason, the thought sends a handful of butterflies cascading through my stomach. 
I  can't think of what to say, and so I blurt out the first thing I can manage. "And the sausages?" 
He rolls his eyes. "Yes, and the bloody sausages."
Crisp leaves crunch beneath my boots as I walk across to sit beside him on the log. He pulls a drinking flask from his pocket and takes a sip, putting it right back when he's done.
"Aren't you going to offer me any?" I ask.
"No."
I scowl. "And you called me rude."
"Tonight's dangerous enough. I've half a mind to send you back to Small Heath already."
"Then why don't you?"
He looks at me, face lit only by the lantern in the darkness. "I haven't ruled it out yet."
"Fine. If you want me to leave so badly, I'll take the horse and be gone."
His fingers clasp around my wrist before I can stand to my feet. I turn to him expectantly, but he only falters for a moment, not saying anything. Finally, he sighs, and glances up at the sky. 
"Canis Major's bright tonight," he murmurs. "The largest hunting dog."
I squint at the specks of silver in the sky above us, unable to make out any patterns. "Which one's that again?"
"That group there. Looks like a dog."
I nod as though I can see it, but still can't make any sense of the stars. They all look the same to me.
Tommy bends down and clears the leaves from a patch of dirt before us. He picks up a stick and scratches into the ground, drawing the constellation in the lamplight.
"That's the one," he says. "It's just above that tree in the distance. See?"
I examine his drawing, the grooves and lines in the earth. When I look up again, above the tree he points out, I can see the pattern mirrored across the sky.
"I see it," I tell him, suddenly fascinated. "Why is it a dog?" 
"There's two of them." He draws into the earth again. "Canis Minor's the other, the smaller one. They follow Orion; they're his dogs."
I find the other dog in the sky. "Which one's orion?" I ask. "Is that those three stars, all in a row?"
"That's his belt."