Dawn Always Takes First Watch
DAWN
Young Clover came to Gateway town,
Said she’d never been astride.
The wrangler perked right up to help—
By morning, gods, that girl could ride.
DRINKING SONG, VALTA, ORIGIN UNKNOWN
Dawn let the crew sleep in. After the night they’d had, they needed it. The sun was already climbing when they broke camp. They rode till the rocky ground gave way to grassy prairie. Nothing to trip on but a rotting fence post or two under the open sky.
Dawn rode ahead of the others, letting the quiet do what it could for her head. In a group like this, she always rode point. Riven always took flank, kept an eye on her blind spot, watched for trouble coming sideways.
Now her right side felt wrong. She kept glancing back that way and feeling a flash of panic in her chest. She knew he wasn’t there, but she couldn’t stop looking.
The wind shifted, and voices caught up with her. The kids were arguing again. Dawn didn’t mean to, but she smiled.
“—cultural memory,” Talia was saying, bright and certain. “Fables and faerie stories carry history we’d have lost without them.”
Holloway snorted. “History is history. You just wanted to study bedtime stories at the Lyceum and call it a degree.”
“You haven’t read an original faerie story, then, if that’s what you believe.”
“I haven’t read one? Don’t insult me. You’ve told me every faerie story that exists, Tally. And a few you made up.”
“Were you ever listening? I seem to recall—”
The wind shifted away. Dawn slowed Brimstone, let the distance close until she could hear them again. She breathed easier listening to them argue. It sounded normal. Healthy.
“You talk real serious, professor,” Dawn cut in when Holloway’s gelding, Ash, pulled even with her. “But tell me, are you reading page by page? Or do you skip to the parts where the fae warrior finally pins the girl down with this—” She made a crude gesture.
Talia sputtered. Holloway bit his fist as he fought to hold in a laugh. Talia punched his shoulder, and Dawn winked at him. The wind carried their laughter on ahead. She rode into it feeling a little less alone.
They made slower time with Talia and Holloway riding double. Ash was blowing hard by lowsun, and the mountains ahead might have been pinned to the sky. Seemed no closer than they’d been that morning. When they stumbled onto a small slip of a creek cutting through the grasslands, Dawn called it.
“We’re stopping here,” she said, swinging down. Her knees creaked when she hit the ground. “Before the light quits.”
Setting up camp was a disaster. Talia tried to dismount and fell instead. When she tugged at a strap, the grain sack thumped open and spilled in wet sand. Dawn crouched and started scooping it up. Her hands moved automatically. Salvage what you can, forget the rest.
Talia made a strangled noise. Tried to help, just made it worse. This wasn’t fair to the girl. She’d gone from scholar to rebel-in-exile, just one day to another. Riven should be here to help her.
Holloway led the horses to the creek, voice low and steady. The beasts calmed under his hands, ears flicking forward. Boy knew his way around animals. She hadn’t expected that. He was a good addition to the crew, to be honest.
Lore put in the work too. He lay out bedrolls, stacked firewood. Dawn hated how her shoulders eased watching him make order from chaos. For her part, Dawn built a firepit with stones pulled from the creek. She had flint ready when Lore eased down and pulled a flux crystal from his coat.
“Your hands stop working?” Dawn asked, eyeing the crystal. Damn waste of magic, using that for one fire.
Lore didn’t look up. Just breathed light through the crystal. The spark jumped too eager, flames catching fast. Kindling snapped and spat.
“There are plenty more crystals waiting in the caravan,” he said, unbothered. “This won’t give off smoke.”
Dawn’s jaw tightened. Lore didn’t often show his hand, but this was telling. Burning a crystal was a reckless flex, even if it helped them lay low. Whatever. She had her own reserves. She wouldn’t run out of fuel.
Talia leaned in, eyes bright. “How does it work? The crystal?”
Lore’s posture shifted. Oh good, he’s ready to preach.
“Flux is just energy,” he said. “You can store it in crystals like these, then draw from them later. Here, try.”
He placed a smaller shard in Talia’s palm and covered her fingers with his. The light bloomed and flickered, and Talia’s face lit up.
She tied the shard with twine and hung it from one of the trees. Then she did another.
It was a wild risk to burn crystals this early. But Talia was smiling ear to ear. Was that enough for Lore, or did he have another angle? Dawn didn’t trust it, and it must have showed on her face.
“It’s fine, Dawn,” Lore said. “We’ll meet up with the caravan tomorrow and resupply. Let her have some magic.”
Dinner was campfire rabbit stew. One of three things Dawn could cook. Holloway finished eating first, wiped his hands, and drew a small harp from his pack. He tuned it with the kind of care that had Dawn staring at his hands.
The first notes were slow and sad. Something hooked in her chest that she wasn’t ready to feel.
Then the melody shifted—same bones but faster—and Holloway rolled the tune into a rowdy drinking song.
His voice was clear and shameless. Lore surprised her by joining in with a smooth baritone.
Talia tried to follow, stumbled over the bawdy bits, laughed and kept going.
Dawn hesitated, then she gave in. She couldn’t sing worth shit, so she hollered.
Holloway grinned at her over the harp strings and kicked the tempo faster.
They chased it together, voices tangling and splitting.
The last verse collapsed into laughter. The silence that followed felt different than before.
Dawn looked around the fire. Holloway’s dimples showed, his hands still cradling the harp. Talia’s face was flushed, eyes brighter than they had been. Even Lore had eased.
A total mess. Off-key and wounded and held together by spit and blood oaths. But they were alive. The fire crackled. An owl called from the darkness. Laughter still hung in the air.
Later, as the fire burned low, Lore pulled a map from his saddlebag. Dawn leaned in, watching his finger as it traced the road.
“The Queen’s Way runs direct from Gateway to Valrotala,” he said. “But we are a fair bit west of there. Tomorrow, we hit Pickler’s Junction, meet the supply caravan, and cut east with the wagons until we hit the road. Less direct, but we’ll travel faster from there out.”
Dawn looked over at the half-empty grain sack. At the disaster of a campsite. The exhaustion sitting heavy on Holloway’s shoulders. The sooner they met up with that caravan, the better. Safety in numbers, fresh provisions, some extra hands.
“How long to Valrotala after we reach the Queen’s Way?” Talia asked.
“Two weeks, at least,” Lore said. “Maybe three.”
Faster to cut diagonal, but we couldn’t take the wagons that way. Dawn kept her thoughts to herself.
“Get some sleep,” she said. “We ride at firstlight. No more sleeping in.”
After a time, the camp went quiet. Horses shifted on their picket lines. Snores hummed from crooked tents. The creek flashed silver under the waxing moon.
Dawn sat first watch, propping herself under a tree at the edge of camp. In the dark, one of Talia’s crystals blinked out. Then another. Then a third dimmed to nothing, light bleeding away into the dark.
“Well, that didn’t last long,” Dawn muttered.
“Nothing does.” Lore’s voice cut through the dark. She didn’t realize he was still sitting beside the dying fire.
Dawn scoffed. She was over his gloomy prophet act.
“You always this inspiring? Or is it just for me?”
Lore seemed to think about that. The fire crackled. Another crystal died. “You don’t trust me,” he said finally.
“True.” Dawn reached for her knife. The leather grip had worn away many times, but the blade kept doing its job. It felt good in her hand.
“I wouldn’t either.” She couldn’t see his expression. Was he joking?
“That warrant for Talia. That was you.” It was an educated guess, but Lore’s chuckle confirmed it.
“I recall saying she’d have a choice,” he replied, unshaken. “And she did.” Stars, he didn’t even feel bad.
“And that blood oath you slapped on Holloway is a nasty piece of work.”
“He would have turned on us the moment his enforcer friends showed up,” Lore said. “This simply prevents that.”
“Right, so you’re an asshole twice over. Why should I help you drag those kids deeper into danger?”
Lore watched her, gold-flecked eyes flashing in the dark. “Because you want to reconnect with your mate. And I need all of you to reach Valrotala alive.”
Dawn stilled. She hated that he knew more than she did about Ehrue. Every few weeks he’d drop one more detail, just enough to keep her around. She wanted to grab him by the throat and shake the whole story out of him, but she knew he’d just die laughing at her. Then she’d never know.
She forced her voice steady. “And when one of those things stops being true?”
“Then we deal with it.” He poked the fading fire, sending up a cloud of sparks. “We can always kill each other later. For now, we’re all going the same way.”
Dawn wanted to argue, but he was right. Out here, you worked with what you had. Survive first. Settle accounts after. She sat back against the tree, knife at hand.
Tomorrow they’d meet the caravan. Get supplies, reinforcements, maybe even a decent meal. Tonight, she’d make sure they lived to see it. She watched grimly as the last of the crystals guttered out and went dark.