"Let me up," he said.
I got up and kicked the fallen skean toward him. "Put that away. What in
hell were you doing, trying to bring the catmen down on us?"
For a moment he looked taken aback, then his fierce face closed down
again and he said wrathfully, "Can't a man walk away from the camp
without being half strangled?"
I glared at him, but realized I really had nothing to go by. He might
have been answering a call of nature, and the movement of the lantern
accidental. And if someone had jumped me from behind, I might have
pulled a knife on him myself. So I only said, "Don't do it again. We're
all too jumpy."
There were no other incidents that night, or the next. The night after,
while I lay huddled in my shirtcloak and blanket by the fire, I saw
Cuinn slip out of his bedroll and steal away. A moment later there was a
gleam in the darkness, but before I could summon the resolve to get up
and face it out with him, he returned, looked cautiously at the snoring
men, and crawled back into his blankets.
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