Chapter 6 Ayden #2
I let myself fall back onto my bedroll and stare up through the canopy at the smattering of stars. What was I even doing? Why was I swimming into deeper and deeper waters, where Declan could easily shove my head under and drown me without a second thought?
Maybe he was right. My analogies are terrible.
That made me snicker.
“Private joke?” he asked.
“No, sorry. Anyway. You are just different. I saw it in how you led your team, how you worked with that boy. You care about them, and not just as cadets to shepherd through the process, but as individuals. You see them for who they are and who they want to be.
They look at you differently than other cadets see their leaders, differently than they look at Geros or even Whitman. That is special, Declan.”
A moment passed, then another.
I began to wonder if Declan had drifted off, then he spoke, his voice halting and barely rising above a whisper.
“Thanks.” He paused again. “That may be the nicest thing anyone has said to me in all my time here. Maybe ever. I don’t know . . . I don’t know if I deserve it, but . . . it means a lot.”
He sounded like he was fighting each word, like they sliced into him as he spoke, yet he said them, and I knew he meant each one.
The forest floor grew suddenly warm, and I kicked off my blanket.
“I’m exhausted,” he said. “Sleep well, little lordling.”
My cheeks hurt from smiling, and I was suddenly glad for the darkness.
We rose with the sun. Declan was intent on using every moment we had in our search, so we packed up quickly and made our way toward the stream.
Everywhere we walked, deer scattered. It was as though the word had spread that we were in the area. The herds were both curious and wary, gathering to see the strangers in their midst, but cautious to sprint away the moment we approached.
We never spotted a single flash of yellow.
The sun was a quarter of the way to her crest when Declan stopped and lowered his head.
“We need to turn toward Grove’s Pass. From here, we should have just enough time to make it before the bell.”
He sounded resigned, like a small boy who had failed and dreaded the disappointment he knew he would soon find in his father’s eyes.
My heart ached to touch him, to comfort him, to have him comfort me.
I would also face failure, a bitter taste my tongue barely knew yet still dreaded, but I found myself more concerned for him.
“We could find one on the way back,” I said, not believing my own words.
He nodded, but didn’t look up or speak.
We strode in silence.
Unlike our march up the mountain, Declan took no care for silence, stomping loudly over twigs and brush alike, as though punishing the forest floor for our defeat. I almost spoke, begged him to remain hopeful, but something held my tongue in place.
We followed the stream down. It was the easiest path. When we stood roughly a quarter hour from the forest’s edge, Declan stopped and let his pack fall.
“I need more water,” he said, kneeling with his canteen in hand. I had never heard a more despondent voice.
“I guess you are stuck with me for another year,” I said in a weak attempt to lighten the mood.
His eyes remained fixed on the passing water. “If they keep us.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m sure you’re safe, being who you are and all. They might turn me out, though. Failure isn’t exactly tolerated in Whitman’s army.”
“You don’t think—?” Movement beyond the brook drew me up short.
“Declan,” I hissed.
He didn’t answer or move.
“Declan, look up now, slowly.”
His head rose, and I could feel the tension as his muscles flexed.
Staring at us through the brush, only his head visible, was a majestic buck whose crown towered above his head and marked him as regal as any king.
“That’s him,” Declan whispered. “That’s the buck I saw. See that chipped antler? It has to be him.”
The buck stared directly at Declan as he set his canteen on a rock and rose to his full height.
With the stream between us, we posed little threat, and the deer knew it.
They stared at each other for what felt like a fortnight, neither moving, no one speaking, even the forest quieting for the moment.
Then something incredible happened.
The deer stepped through the brush and up to the edge of the stream.
He was, as Declan had said, massive. His chest was broad and rippling with muscle, but it was his crown of antlers that stole my breath. I had little experience with creatures of the woods, but even I saw the majesty in this beast.
“Don’t move,” Declan whispered.
There was no fear in that. I was paralyzed.
Then Declan stepped forward, placing a boot into the trickling brook.
The buck watched.
Another step.
Still, the buck remained a statue.
When Declan stood only a pace away, the buck stepped forward.
Declan looked as though he wanted to recoil, to step back, but he held his ground.
The buck sniffed the air only hands from Declan’s face, then lowered himself onto his front knees and bowed his head, his antlers mere fingers from Declan’s legs.
My breath caught.
My heart stilled.
The buck kneeled before him.
Declan dared not move.
When the buck rose, his eyes stilled again on Declan’s. He opened his mouth and let out a keening that echoed through the trees. A moment later, a young fawn who could have been no older than a few months strode through the trees and to his side.
A yellow ribbon was tied securely about its neck.
Slowly, Declan reached out his hand, palm down.
The fawn tottered forward and pressed its nose into Declan’s skin.
With his other hand, Declan reached out and untied the ribbon, freeing the deer from its bond. The fawn stepped back, lowered its head, then sprung away toward the cover of the forest.
The buck stepped backward until he stood only a pace from the cover from which he had emerged. Declan, seeming to sense some spiritual moment, inclined his head. The buck mirrored his gesture, then turned and bounded away.
PART II
Keelan