Chapter 5 #3
The landscape around us shifted gradually, drawing my attention away from the broad set of Nansar's shoulders and the confident way he moved through the terrain.
The wooded section we'd been traveling through grew denser with each step, transforming into something almost jungle-like.
Thick-trunked trees towered above us, their canopies intertwining overhead to create a perpetual twilight that felt oddly intimate.
Vines hung like silk curtains between the branches, and the undergrowth was so lush it seemed to pulse with life beneath my boots.
The air here wrapped around us, humid and heavy with the scent of rich soil and something sweet I couldn't identify—almost intoxicating.
But something about it felt wrong. Because just beyond this pocket of verdant growth, I could glimpse the landscape transforming back into arid, desert-like terrain.
Rust-colored sand and scattered rock formations stretched to the horizon, broken only by the occasional hardy scrub brush clinging to existence.
It was like someone had dropped a piece of rainforest into the middle of a wasteland and forgotten to blend the edges.
We pushed deeper into the thick vegetation, Nansar moving with an easy grace that made me acutely aware of my own clumsiness.
I struggled to keep vines from slapping me in the face, the undergrowth grabbing at my boots with every step.
Low-hanging branches seemed determined to catch in my hair, and I had to duck and weave to avoid them.
"How much farther?" I asked, slightly breathless as I swatted away something that looked disturbingly like a massive centipede reaching for my arm.
"Just ahead," Nansar said, glancing back at me with what might have been amusement flickering in those bright eyes. "There's a clearing."
He wasn't wrong. A few more steps and the dense foliage suddenly opened up into a small circular space where light filtered down in pale, golden shafts through the canopy above.
The ground here was carpeted in something that looked like moss but had a faint purple tinge, soft and inviting beneath my feet.
And standing next to a massive tree at the far edge of the clearing was a creature that stole the breath from my lungs.
I stopped short, my heart stuttering in my chest.
At first glance, it resembled a horse—the same powerful body, the elegant arch of neck, the four strong legs.
But this was no Earth animal. This was something born of alien dreams and starlight.
The creature's coat shimmered like liquid mercury, an iridescent pewter that rippled with undertones of emerald and amethyst as it moved.
Its eyes—impossibly large and luminous—were the blue of deep ocean waters, with vertical pupils that contracted and expanded like a cat's, watching us with an intelligence that sent a shiver down my spine.
When it exhaled, twin plumes of steam rose from flared nostrils, and I caught a glimpse of something glowing faintly within, like embers banked in a forge.
But it was the mane that truly captivated me.
Thick, rope-like strands fell along its neck, each one moving independently—writhing, reaching, tasting the air with a sentience all their own.
The creature's proportions were just slightly wrong, legs a touch too long, joints bending at angles that shouldn't be possible, movements too fluid, too graceful.
It was beautiful and unsettling in equal measure—a living contradiction that made my pulse quicken with something between fear and fascination.
"What is that?" I breathed, unable to tear my eyes away.
"That is my kuda," Nansar said, and the warmth in his voice drew my attention back to him. He moved toward the creature with the easy confidence of a man approaching a beloved companion. "Her name is Starfield."
The animal's head swiveled toward us, and she made a sound—low and melodic, like wind chimes in a storm—that resonated in my chest. Those rope-like strands of mane lifted and swayed, reaching toward Nansar as if greeting him.
I stayed rooted to the spot, my fingers curling into my palms. "You've got to be kidding me."
The corner of Nansar's mouth lifted in a smile that transformed his face, softening the sharp angles and making him look almost boyish.
"I assure you, I am not. Starfield is the fastest kuda on this planet.
" He ran his hand along the creature's neck in a gesture so tender it made something in my chest ache.
Those living strands of mane curled toward his touch like curious fingers seeking warmth.
"She is also strong enough to carry both of us without difficulty. "
"Both of us," I repeated, my voice coming out flat despite the sudden acceleration of my heartbeat.
"The terrain ahead is unforgiving. We will make better time riding." His eyes found mine, and there was something in that gaze—a challenge, yes, but also understanding. "Unless you would prefer to walk?"
Despite every instinct screaming at me to keep my distance, I found myself drawn forward.
Starfield's coat shimmered in the dappled light, and up close, I could see the subtle dance of colors beneath the surface—like oil on water, or the aurora borealis captured in living flesh.
She was magnificent. Otherworldly. The kind of beautiful that made your chest tight and your breath shallow.
"She's beautiful," I whispered, the admission slipping past my defenses before I could stop it.
Something shifted in Nansar's expression—a softening around his eyes, a warmth that hadn't been there before. "She is." He extended his hand toward me, palm up, an invitation rather than a demand. "Come. I will help you mount."
The reality of what he was suggesting crashed over me like a wave.
Both of us. Riding together. On that creature.
My mind conjured the image unbidden—my back pressed flush against the solid wall of his chest, or worse, facing him with our legs tangled together, his thighs bracketing mine.
His arms would have to come around me to hold the reins.
Every shift of Starfield's powerful body would press us closer, closer, until there was no space left between us at all.
Heat flooded my face even as my stomach twisted. "I don't—" The words caught in my throat. I took a step back, then another. "I don't like to be touched."
Nansar's hand lowered slowly, deliberately. Those luminous eyes studied me with an magnitude that made my skin prickle, and I steeled myself for what always came next. The arguments. The dismissal. The inevitable frustration.
It's not a big deal.
Don't be so difficult.
Just deal with it.
"Starfield is large," he said, his voice careful, measured, "but if we ride together, we will touch. It is inevitable."
Inevitable. The word hung between us like a verdict.
I'd seen horses before, watched riders double up in movies and shows.
There was no pretending otherwise—no way to share that space without bodies pressed together, without feeling every breath, every movement.
I looked at Starfield again, her magnificent form somehow both promise and threat, then at the unforgiving landscape stretching endlessly ahead.
Logic warred with instinct. The practical choice was obvious.
But my body had already made its decision, muscles coiling tight, heart hammering against my ribs.
"I'd rather walk," I said, forcing my chin up even as my voice wavered.
The silence that followed felt eternal. I waited for the inevitable pushback, for him to catalog all the reasons I was being unreasonable. For the exasperated sigh, the thinly veiled irritation, the lecture about how we didn't have time for my issues.
Instead, Nansar tilted his head, studying me with that same intense focus he'd given the landscape earlier. But there was no frustration in his gaze. No judgment. Just... curiosity. Like I was a mystery he genuinely wanted to understand rather than an obstacle to overcome.
"Then we walk," he said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.
My breath caught. "What?"
"We walk." He turned to Starfield, running his hand along the creature's neck with obvious affection.
"The terrain will grow more difficult ahead—steep climbs, narrow paths.
We will save Starfield's strength for when we truly need it.
" His gaze found mine again, steady and sure.
"For now, we both have legs. We use them. "
No argument. No lecture about efficiency or wasted time. No heavy sigh of masculine martyrdom. Just... acceptance.
The knot in my chest loosened, unraveling thread by thread.
"You're sure?" The question escaped before I could stop it, and I hated how small I sounded, how uncertain.
Something flickered across Nansar's face—his expression softening in a way that transformed his features from merely striking to devastatingly beautiful.
He gathered Starfield's reins loosely in one hand.
"Come. The day grows long, and we have distance to cover.
" A shadow crossed his face as he glanced over his shoulder, tension returning to his jaw. "We need to move swift and silent."
He started walking, leading Starfield with easy confidence, not looking back to check if I'd follow. Not making a production of his accommodation. Not making me feel like my boundary was some burden he was nobly shouldering.
I stood frozen, watching the play of muscles beneath his vest as he moved, the way he navigated the uneven ground with that preternatural grace. Wind caught his platinum hair, and Starfield's hooves struck a steady rhythm against the rocky soil.
He was nothing—absolutely nothing—like what I'd expected to find on a prison planet.
My feet moved before my mind caught up, closing the distance between us until I fell into step a few paces behind. Close enough to follow his lead. Far enough to remember how to breathe.