11. Mira
MIRA
L ate afternoon in the forest was beautiful. Light spilled through the trees, turning the damp earth gold. My stomach growled as I sat near the cave mouth, watching Gorran test the edge of his newly sharpened knife. We hadn’t eaten since yesterday’s pitiful stew.
“You need to rest,” I said, nodding toward his arm. The bandages I’d tied were already stained with blood.
“I’m fine,” he replied, voice nonchalant.
“You’re bleeding.”
“It’s healing.” He looked up, and I noticed the gash along his bicep wasn’t as raw as it had been this morning. Orcs healed fast. Scarily fast.
He sheathed the knife and stood, casting a long shadow over me. “We need meat. You’re coming.”
“Excuse me?”
“I can’t leave you here. Not after the wolves.” He looked at me like that was the end of the discussion.
I crossed my arms. “I can stay here just fine. I’m not some child who needs?—”
“It’s too dangerous for you to stay here alone.” He turned and started toward the forest. “Don’t argue, Mira. Just come.”
I swore under my breath, snatched up the spare blanket, wrapped it around myself, and followed, trying to ignore the warm, fuzzy feeling that coursed through me when he’d said my name like that.