Humors, those mysterious potencies in the blood, were ever out of balance in Aica's veins.  If only her physician was here he could put the ivory box with its tiny spinning saws powered by springs and near painlessly open them, bled him and take out Aica's blood until his phlegmatic and sanguine, his choleric and melancholic were back in balance as the gods and nature intended.  If only she knew how to tell the difference, to see at a glance which was which like the physicians did, she'd plunge her arm into any of the small ponds until a leech attached then winkle it loose and onto his arm while he slept and watched as it swelled and drained him of the poisons.  It was the humors, she prayed, not him that made Aica strike her then caress her tenderly, apologizing in his way with the gentleness he was capable of.  The whirlwind of his love for her as much as her oath kept her from ever leaving him, no matter how much she threatened it.  It was only to provoke him, to try and drive him to reason and safety that she became shrewish.  Surely he saw that too?<br/><br/>Wordlessly she enjoyed his brief embrace, her eyes shut in what small pleasure it gave her seeming magnified by their condition, and longed for more when he left.<br/><br/>"I'll gather it."  Her eyes were as hungry as her belly, watching briefly as he started to butcher the rabbit, mouth salivating at the thought of how it would taste.  Once she'd have been disgusted to watch it, now she could do it herself if not as well as him.  What they needed was a bowl or a pot, so they could make a soup of it and boil the marrow and its fat and vitamins out of the bones.<br/><br/>It was going dark already, the gloomy forest giving over to night, and she hurried.  All of the wood nearby was either damp or too big for her to carry but up ahead, just out of sight of their camp, she saw a nice fall of it, partially sheltered by a thick needled pine that would have kept it dry.  Vesta began to gather it, right hand stacking it in her left arm and not caring about the scratchy itch of it, that meant it was dry and well seasoned - Aica would be pleased.  She was just about to turn and walk back when...<br/><br/>Wood clattered to the ground and she fled back to the camp site, seizing Aica's arm.  "A fire," she hissed, worried and excited by equal parts.  "There's someone else with a fire," she said and pointed.