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Mordred grunts, his eyes fluttering open after a few seconds and he smiles. “Good morning” he mutters, moving into a sitting position “you didn’t have to.”
It’s a silly use of fabric, but again she doesn’t bother to argue with him, just cuts off a chunk with her dagger and passes it over. She eats in silence, neatly, and drops the bones in the fire when she’s done. Then she untangles one of the blankets from her shoulders and drapes it over Mordred, cuddling into his side. “I don’t know what we’ll find tomorrow,” she says softly.
“Neither do I,” he tells her, kissing the side of her head before he chews into the meat. “But we shall find out when it comes.”
Summer wraps herself up in a couple of blankets and curls over, drowsing. Dawn seems to come, somehow, too soon and too late, and it’s achingly hard to unwind herself from the warmth of Mordred’s body. It’s a small comfort that all she has to do is lift a finger for the fire to blaze back up.