CHAPTER NINE HE CAME BACK
ROWAN
I had a way out. That deserves to be stated clearly. North ridge. Old canopy ladder.
Fifty meters. Two western guardians less than an hour behind us. I could leave. Shaarr had disappeared into the ravine. The Rootmaws were below.
Every piece of survival training I possessed gave me the same answer. Go. I looked north. Then down.
"Shit."
I went after him. The descent was less climbing than controlled falling. I bruised my hip. Lost one glove.
Nearly dropped the med pack. At the bottom, I found Shaarr pinned beneath a collapsed root. One leg twisted under him. Blood along his head plate.
His chest signal burned brighter than I'd ever seen.
"Shaarr."
Nothing. I checked the ravine. No visible Rootmaw. Which meant nothing useful.
I reached him. One primary eye opened.
"Go."
"No."
"Rowan."
"Save your energy."
"Creature."
"I know."
I scanned the root. Too heavy. Cutting tool? No.
Heat risk. Resin. He had already warned me.
"Lever."
The word came rough from him. I found a broken branch and wedged it beneath the root. Too weak. Another.
Better.
"Push when I tell you."
"You cannot lift this."
"Your bedside manner needs work."
His jaw plates moved. He was laughing. Half conscious. Pinned.
Still annoying.
"Now."
We pushed. Nothing.
"Again."
The root shifted. Barely. Enough for his trapped leg to move. Then the ravine vibrated.
Close. Really close.
"Again."
We forced the root higher. Shaarr twisted out. The opposite wall exploded. Rootmaw.
I grabbed his arm. We ran. He limped hard enough that every step looked wrong. The creature followed.
Ahead, a split-root passage narrowed to human width.
"Left."
Shaarr shoved me first. We crawled. The Rootmaw hit the entrance. Its jaws could not fit.
For once, human size became an advantage. We kept going until the vibrations weakened. Then Shaarr collapsed against the wall. Not dramatic.
His legs simply stopped negotiating. I caught him before his head hit stone.
"Stay with me."
No response. I opened the med pack. Concussion. Blood loss.
Neural overload. The receptor reading made me swear. Too high. Wild.
My diagnostic suggested proximity stabilization. I stared at it. No. Absolutely not.
I was not medicine. Then Shaarr's breathing shortened. Proximity was not bonding. Touch was not consent to completion. I could sit closer without turning either of us into something we had not chosen. So I did.
The receptor reading dropped slightly. One step closer. Another reduction. I hated the data.
I moved within arm's reach. His breathing eased.
"Do not get smug about this."
He was unconscious. Safer audience. I put one hand against his forearm. Specific contact.
Medical purpose. His pulse slowed. That was all. It had to be all.
Time passed strangely underground. An hour. Maybe two. Shaarr's eyes opened.
The first thing he saw was my hand. Then me.
"You came back."
"Apparently."
"I told you to leave."
"I've been told I have authority issues."
"You had a route."
"Yes."
"Why?"
Because I am a medic. Easy answer. Incomplete. I looked at him.
"Because you were down here."
His chest light changed. Not brighter. Deeper.
"That is not enough."
"It was enough for me."
He stared until I wanted to look away. I didn't. Finally he tried to stand. His leg failed.
I caught his shoulder.
"No."
"I can move."
"You can fall."
"There is shelter north."
"How far?"
"One ridge."
"Can you make it?"
He looked at me.
"Yes."
Lie. I decided not to challenge the word. Instead I got under his arm. He immediately tried to shift away.
"Don't."
"I carry my own weight."
"Most of it."
That he allowed. The abandoned western nest sat inside a massive root arch. One entrance. Dry.
Old sleeping platform. No active nursery marks. Perfect. I sealed the outer screen.
Shaarr lowered himself onto the platform. Then looked at me again.
"You returned."
"Stop saying it like you're documenting migration behavior."
"You returned."
"Yes."
"After I told you to go."
"Yes."
His receptor pulsed. Mine answered under my ribs. Not destiny. Not proof.
Just something both bodies had started doing. I sat opposite him.
"Don't make this romantic."
"I was not."
"What were you making it?"
His answer came after a long moment.
"Choice."
That was worse.