2. Chapter 2
Chapter 2
Elessan
E lessan Svialto ducked into the room he’d rented from the human downstairs. He brandished his sword and squinted. The chamber was dim with the window shutters fastened—it was twilight, after all. But he saw better in the dark than most; it was the only benefit to being one of the few remaining mountain elves.
He threw back his hood, exposing his pointed ears.
The space was empty. No assassins crouched in the shadows; no surprises awaited him. It looked like his contact in Lions Grove had been competent. This time.
The last few months had been more challenging than normal when it came to sorting accurate intel from the superstitions and rumors that plagued the human peasants. Almost like someone was intentionally spreading misinformation to trip him up.
Not that he was egotistical enough to think it had anything to do with him personally. Likely, it was just another cog in the Cerel propaganda machine, designed to feed public support for the war while simultaneously making his job more difficult.
He shoved his blade into the sheath at his hip and let his backpack slip from his shoulder. It dropped to the floor beside the door with a thunk. His cloak followed. The elven bow and quiver of arrows he took care to gently set on top of the crumpled fabric. Kneeling, he undid the intricate knot that tied his pack closed and pulled out two wedge-shaped rocks and a polished cabochon blue moonstone. He banged the wedges together until the flint and steel caught on the wick of the lone candle sitting on the writing desk. A bit of light peeked through the shuttered window, but that would soon fade.
He removed a parchment tube from his bag and unrolled it. The flint and steel made excellent paperweights in addition to the glossy gem to keep the edges from curling in. He set a mirror of silvered glass twice the size of his fist over the fourth corner.
He wasn’t due to scry with Princess Tsara, his contact with the sun elves, for several days, but the unexpected hubbub in town might warrant an exception. From the colors of the banners hanging throughout the streets, someone high in the nobility was getting married. And the elven royals liked to be kept apprised of important happenings in the human realm in case they could be used to their advantage.
Biting his lower lip, he peered at the scrying mirror.
He ran his fingers over the markings on the parchment, a map of the enemy realm with all the information he’d been able to gather over the last several months. Supply lines, weapons and provisions, even garrison stations. He tapped his finger over Lions Grove as he frowned at the orange flame symbol next to the name. There was a mage somewhere in the human’s capital. At least, according to the faintest of rumors, and not just any magic user, but one among the nobility.
Which was unlikely, given the monarch’s tendency to murder any and all mages he could get his hands on. If there was such a magic user, they’d have to be very cunning to avoid detection, living in close proximity to King Malkov.
And Elessan was going to meet them if it was the last thing he did. If they were in the crown’s inner circle, they’d be a great asset to the elves if they could be persuaded to help overthrow the murderous despot.
He wrapped his hand around his sword hilt. He’d either convince the unknown magic user to join their cause, or they would need to die. The sun elf king would demand nothing less, and Elessan tried to not question his orders. Most of the time, anyway.
The scrying mirror pulled his attention again. Today was his mother’s name-day. If Princess Tsara wasn’t busy, perhaps she’d allow them to speak, given the occasion. He brushed his fingers over the quartz frame, activating it.
The crystal glowed a rich purple as the silvered glass cleared, revealing a writing table and a plush chair upholstered in velvet.
“Tsara?” He waited several heartbeats in case the princess was in her study, just out of view. “Tsara, are you there?”
Silence.
With a sigh, he rubbed his palm over the mirror again, deactivating it. She was a busy person, with many demands on her schedule. It was unreasonable to expect her to be sitting at her desk, patiently awaiting his unexpected scry.
But it would have been nice to talk to another elf. Especially his mother. It had been so long since they’d spoken.
He sat back in his chair and pulled an oilcloth from his pocket, absentmindedly running it over his blade as he studied the map. The cloth traced the etchings along the edges as his mind lost itself in daydreams of home. He sighed. The booming voice below vibrated the floorboards. He rolled his eyes. Drunk humans.
The door latch released with a click , and the hinges creaked.
He bounded across the room in two leaps and slammed his foot behind the opening door, stopping it a hand-width from the frame. Blocking the intruder’s view with his torso, he shoved his sword against their throat with a growl.
The human couldn’t have been more than twelve. He stared at Elessan wide-eyed as the weapon pressed into his neck. The tray of food in his hands clattered as he shook. “I—I’m sorry, sir,” the boy stammered. “I brought you the dinner you requested.” He took a step back.
Elessan flashed his fangs and slid his weapon into its scabbard with more force than necessary. He must truly be wound too tightly to nearly kill a child for the mere crime of delivering his meal. “Don’t they teach you to knock?” he growled.
The child’s gulp was audible. He dropped his face, but kept his eyes fixed fully on Elessan. “It won’t happen again, sir.”
Elessan bit back a laugh. Based on the boy’s pallid skin and shallow breathing, they were both lucky the child hadn’t soiled himself.
Elessan. Master spy and assassin. Terrorizer of small human children. His mother would be so proud.
He shook his head. “I’m sorry I scared you. Leave it on the floor. I’ll set it back out when I’m done.”
The boy crouched to put the tray down, keeping a wary eye on Elessan. He stood and slid it forward with the toe of his boot and scampered away.
Elessan waited until the human’s footsteps faded into the din below before he pulled the dishes inside. He nudged the door closed with his foot and smelled the stew. It stank of water and brine. He winced.
Another downside to the human realm—all the cheap inns seemed to use more salt than actual food in their meals.
He removed two of the paperweights from his map, allowing it to roll to the side to clear space for the tray. Frowning, he studied the flint and steel in his hand, and glanced at the door. It was simple enough to jam the wedge-shaped rocks under the door and kick them into place. No one else would be opening that door without his permission.
Sitting back at the table, he pushed the slop aside, letting it congeal on the platter. If all went well, the Cerels’ kingdom would fall and this whole affair would be over soon. Then he could go home once and for all.
The din grew louder downstairs. The intense smell of sour ale and human body odor that seemed to have permanently soaked into the inn’s wood suddenly flooded his nostrils. By staying so far outside of the capital, he’d hoped to avoid most of the stench. Reaching to the window, he flicked the latch and swung the shutters open. A faint breeze that smelled of mountains and lilacs blew through the room, clearing the offensive reek. The candle flame danced, casting flickering shadows on the wall.
He pulled his second blade from its sheath and wiped it down with the oil cloth until it shone like its companion. There was nothing more to be done today. Tomorrow, he would sneak into the capital disguised as a human and see what information he could bribe out of the locals.
A loud voice from downstairs yelled, “Aliya Larimar!”
Elessan blinked. What were the Larimars doing so far south? It looked like tonight would be interesting after all. He carefully rolled the map up and pushed it back into its protective leather tube. Then the whole package went into his backpack. With a well-practiced flick of his wrists, he thrust the blades into their sheaths and grabbed his bow and cloak, tucking the hood into place. As he grasped the door handle, a bone-rattling explosion sounded from outside. He slammed his hands over his ears.
Valek. What in God’s Teeth was that?
As the noise subsided, he strode to the window. The smell of pine needles drifted on the spring breeze, followed by the faint stench of sulfur and fire. It still smelled better than the humans downstairs.
At first, he saw nothing. After several heartbeats, four guards dressed in the colors of House Larimar appeared, dragging a struggling woman in a fancy cape down the road. Her wrists were bound in front of her like a common criminal. The fringe of one of the soldier’s cloaks smoldered, giving off tendrils of smoke in the fading evening light. A man in black, bearing the Cerel crest on his shoulder led the procession. A stone clenched in his hand glowed, casting a maroon glow across the ground.
Interesting. Would the fates finally take pity on him and drop the very mage he sought in his lap?
The lady—Aliya?—fought against her captors’ mistreatment. Her hood fell back, revealing cascades of blonde hair—exactly like her mother’s, the late Baroness Larimar.
His heart skipped a beat. What trick of the gods’ was this?
He frowned. Five on one seemed hardly fair. He climbed out the window and scaled the wall to the roof. Jumping from rooftop to rooftop, he followed the group. He pulled several arrows from his quiver. There! One of the guards stepped away from the woman, a clear shot. Elessan closed one eye and aimed; the arrow sank home.
Soon all the soldiers’ cloaks were pinned to the ground by shafts fletched with bright orange feathers. Two tripped and ended up falling into each other. Elessan smiled. His teachers would be glad to know he hadn’t lost his touch. He leapt to a lower portion of the roof, keeping his attention on the scuffle below.
The woman threw her shoulder into one remaining guard and kneed the second in the groin. Once free, she spared a quick glance around. He crouched farther out of her sight. She turned and fled into the surrounding forest.
He smiled. At least she wasn’t one to waste an opportunity cowering and whining like most human noblewomen. Of course, he’d expect nothing less from a Larimar.
Aliya ducked behind a tree, pulled a dagger from her waist and, bracing it between her knees, cut through the wrist bindings. Then she ran as fast as she could.
Her breath hitched, but she pressed on. She squeezed her side, trying to relieve the sharp ache. The unfamiliar sounds of the forest at night twisted in her mind, becoming phantom footsteps chasing her.
As she lurched into a clearing, and its promise of a break from the oppressive woods, the moon slid behind a cloud, dropping the entire area into darkness. She tripped into a pile of boulders. The physical pain blended with the emotional as the blood pulsed in her ears.
Couldn’t something go her way for once? By the mages, was this day over yet?
It wasn’t just Malkov who had a way to detect magic users, apparently that ability extended to his guards, as well. At least, the one guard with the glowing stone.
She was doomed. Even her shapeshifting couldn’t hide her.
On her side, trying to catch her breath, she brought her traitorous ankle up to rub it. The area was swollen…no doubt the Larimar family physician would tell her to cover it with ice and elevate it for a few days. She bit back a chuckle that faded into a sob.
Lying amidst the dirt and leaves, the evening chill pricked her skin. She pushed into a sitting position, rubbed the last of the tear tracks from her face and pulled the thin material tight.
The cold sliced through the fabric, raising goosebumps on her arms. “Cursed useless cloak,” she muttered. What a waste of money.
Swallowing hard, she stared into the surrounding darkness. Shadows of trees loomed overhead, lighter black against the gloom of the woods. People slept outside all the time, right? It wouldn’t kill her.
Unlike her new husband.
She tucked her knees up under her chin. Wrapping her arms around her shins, she dropped her forehead to her knees as she rocked back and forth.
“What in the name of the mages was I thinking?” She didn’t stand half a chance on her own in the real world. If Malkov figured out where she was going, even the Mage College wouldn’t be safe.
She sniffled and grabbed the pendant she wore, rubbing it between her fingers. Her mother never would’ve condoned this.
A breeze danced through the clearing, driving little icy needles through her cloak. Her body convulsed in a particularly strong shiver. If she didn’t want to freeze to death, she’d have to build a campfire.
The last fire she’d set in the woods had burned half her father’s estate.
Another gust of wind ripped at her cape.
Chewing her lower lip, she rubbed the goosebumps on her arms. She’d have to risk it.
How did one light a campfire without magic? Flames needed things to burn, like sticks and kindling. She gulped.
Standing, she slowly put weight on her injured ankle. Even swollen and throbbing, if she watched herself, it would hold. She circled the edge of the clearing.
Several minutes later, she returned to her campsite with two fistfuls of pine needles and a handful of small branches. She didn’t dare anything bigger, lest she get trapped in another wildfire.
Piling her bounty haphazardly a few feet from a boulder, she limped back to collapse against the rocks. With a flick of her fingers toward the kindling, she sent a portion of her magic toward it. The twigs fizzled, smoked, and then...nothing.
“Come on, come on,” she chanted, shooting wave after wave of flame at the tiny tinder pile. “Please light.”
By the sixth, or maybe the twentieth attempt, a tiny spark caught. A slight curl of smoke wafted up to the sky. She scooted a little closer to take advantage of the fire’s meager warmth.
Elessan perched in one of the trees overlooking the clearing, watching Aliya. He leaned back against the tree branch, at ease in the dark. He sighed as she scurried around, gathering her pitiful excuse for firewood, favoring her right ankle. For now, she seemed content to sit with her knees tucked up under her chin and a thin cloak stretched over her shoulders. She rubbed her arms as she hunched over the paltry fire that offered more smoke than heat. Really, some people were accidents waiting to happen.
Her pursuers wouldn’t find her—he made sure to mask her trail. She wouldn’t know, of course, but she didn’t need to. They were in the middle of nowhere and Aliya’s pathetic sparks wouldn’t reveal her. The night was mild for early spring if one dressed appropriately. But in his experience, humans, especially nobles, were rarely appropriate about anything. Including their clothes. She appeared to be no exception.
He dropped from his tree, careful to stay outside the fire’s light.
“You’re more likely to end up as smoked ham than warm with a fire like that.”
Aliya screamed and jumped, flinging herself back against the boulders.
A warmth spread through his chest at making her jump. He bit back a wicked smile.
She flicked her hand and a lightning bolt exploded at him.
Valek!
He dove aside as it sizzled overhead. His hood dropped back, exposing his head and face. Seared ozone filled his nostrils. That was what he got for acting rashly. His teachers would be disappointed in him. He crouched low as Aliya brandished a dagger at the darkness beyond her fire.
Her eyes darted from side to side, searching. “Who are you? What do you want?”
He took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders to allow the tension to drain from his muscles before stepping into the firelight. “That wasn’t very considerate, Aliya Larimar.”
Her gaze brushed over his angular features and froze, reaching his pointed ears. The blood drained from her face. He thought about smiling and flashing his fangs but stopped himself. She was jumpy enough, and he didn’t want to spend the whole evening dodging lightning bolts. Eventually, she’d get lucky, even with her poor aim.
After a moment, she blinked and her attention moved downward, finishing her survey. Constant exercise had made his body lean and fit. His traveling clothes were dark blue and violet. Her eyebrows pulled together.
He knew what she was thinking, like every other human he encountered. An elf? In their realm? She was probably expecting him to try to kill her and eat her eyeballs to gain insight into his enemy, or whichever idiotic superstition this generation of humans subscribed to.
He bit back a sneer. They had no idea the wrath he would visit on their realm before the end. But scaring her would do him no good right now.
Setting the lower edge of his longbow on the ground, he tilted his head. “Are you planning to kill me?”
“That depends on who you are, and what you want.” Her eyes narrowed. “Anyone who lands in a stranger’s campsite without announcing themselves deserves whatever they get.” Her gaze darted to the quiver of bright orange feathers peeking above his left shoulder. “The only reason you haven’t got a hole through your gut is because I recognized the colored fletching on your arrows.”
He held back a smile. There was the Larimar spirit he’d heard so much about. Though he wasn’t aware there was magic in their bloodline. At least he’d found the noble mage he’d come searching for.
“Tell me who you are, and what you want. I won’t ask again.”
He chortled. “You have a strange way of showing gratitude.”
Her grip tightened on the dagger. “I don’t have any coin on me. If you’re hoping for some reward from my father, allow me to rid you of that notion. He’d execute you before he gave anything to an elf.”
Would he, now? Even one who saved his daughter? Interesting. He tilted his head and studied her. What did you do, Aliya? Why are you running? From what he’d seen, no mage unfortunate enough to catch King Malkov’s attention had been able to escape. For a human, she must be exceptionally clever.
She flashed her blade at him. “Trying to decide if you want to play those odds?”
He blinked.
She’d spoken in Elven. It had been a century since he’d met a human who spoke his native language.
She dropped her knife and held her hands out. Fire burst forth from her palms.
An expression flickered across her face too quickly for him to identify.
She swallowed. “Forget my father. How about the chances of taking me alive at all?”
This was the same girl who’d struggled to start a campfire?
If she could be brazen, then so could he. Bracing one hand on his hip, he leaned his weight to one side. “I could have left you, but that didn’t seem right.” His Elvish sounded harsh, sharper than her more proper pronunciation. “Judging from how many tries it took you to light those pine needles, I wouldn’t be hard-pressed to survive your assassination attempt.”
The corners of her lips tightened as she glared at him. The flames in her hands flared, its heat grazing his skin.
He sighed. This wasn’t working. Time to change tactics before she set something else on fire. Like him. Or the forest. Sliding his bow over his shoulder, he secured it in its binding. “My name is Elessan. And no, I don’t intend to return you to your father. It’s not my place to do so. I suppose everyone has a reason to run from something. Are you going to keep threatening me with your magic and small blade? Your fire’s going out, and the night’s chilly. You’ll need appropriate firewood if you want to stay warm.” He could practically see her racing pulse in the large artery on the side of her neck. Her nostrils flared as her ribs rose and fell with her rapid, shallow breaths.
She glared at him for a few more moments before she shook her head. “The minute I drop my guard, you’ll kidnap me to the elven realm so you can torture me for information. I hate to break it to you, but I don’t know anything important to the war effort. It’ll do you no good, so you may as well save us both the trouble and leave.”
By Abaddon… The last thing the elves needed was an influx of humans in their territory, consuming resources, perpetuating violence and bringing down his people’s quality of life. He’d never willingly bring a human across the border.
Exhaling, he brushed his hand over the top of his head, pulling his hair away from his face. “I’m not here to hurt you, Aliya. I’m trying to help.” He met her gaze for several heartbeats. “I suggest you calm down before you hyperventilate and faint.” Crossing his legs, he sat opposite her.
She glared at him for several more breaths before her flames disappeared. Bending over, she picked up and sheathed her dagger. Sagging against the boulder, she dropped into a sitting position. “Just because I don’t know how to build a proper fire doesn’t mean I can’t defend myself. Believe it or not, I’ve had a really long day, and I’m not up for a verbal jousting match with some elf who’s stalking me through the forest.” She waved at him. “You may leave.”
Elessan tilted his head and raised an eyebrow. He wasn’t going anywhere.
She sighed and ran a hand down her face.
“You’re a skilled archer. You were smart to not kill my father’s guards.” Pulling her knees to her chest, she wrapped her cloak tight and leaned her head against the rock behind her. She closed her eyelids halfway but kept a wary eye on him. “And thank you for helping me escape.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, pulling his pack from his shoulders and putting it down.
She glared at his backpack, sitting innocuously on the ground.
He studied the campsite, such as it was. “I’ll be back.” Putting one arm through his bow, he stood and strode into the night.
Dry firewood wasn’t as plentiful in the spring as in high summer, but anyone with an ounce of woodcraft knowledge still knew where to find some. His mother owed Aliya’s…he paused, mentally counting off human generations…great-great-grandfather a life debt from the beginning of the Human War. He’d stumbled upon a chance to repay the century-old favor, then he could get on with what he’d been sent to do, and get the elven royals off his back. He added another branch to the bundle he carried.
He’d kill to know what his mother would make of her old friend’s great-great-granddaughter. Aliya was an intriguing paradox—clearly she didn’t have the same elven sympathies as her ancestor, yet she’d still gone to the effort to become fluent in his language.
Perhaps there was hope for her, yet.
He shook his head. How would the sun elves react if he allowed himself to be delayed? Princess Tsara’s temper, and lack of patience, were legendary. He was lucky she had a soft spot for him. Invasion plans and war strategy, however, would not be so easily swayed. Even for a potential high-placed informant.
He frowned as he made his way back to “camp.”
Aliya’s eyes bored into him as he put down the armful of firewood and started building the fire into something that would keep them both warm tonight.
He smiled as he pretended to ignore Aliya’s covert surveillance. He focused on the flames. This time, when he peeked from the corner of his eye, she was staring at his hands, watching him stack the wood.
“I saw the symbol on your pack. The one with the mountain and swords etched into it. What does the design mean?” Her voice was hesitant. She still didn’t trust him, and likely never would.
That was probably wise, considering their races had been at war for nearly two centuries. Elessan paused his work and turned his attention to the medallion she indicated. His family crest. “What do you think it means?”
She licked her lips and reached under her cloak, pulling out a matching emblem on a silver chain around her neck. “My mother told me it meant friendship.”
He bit his tongue to hold back his grin as his mother’s old necklace dangled from her fingers. That explained her sudden lack of hostility.
“And so it does.” At least, for the Larimars. “Shouldn’t that pendant belong to your father?”
Her expression blanked as she shook her head. “The Larimar title goes through my mother’s line. Father’s always been,” she paused, “upwardly mobile. His parents were fishmongers. Somehow, he convinced my mother to marry him, and he became Baron.”
Elessan frowned as he chewed the inside of his cheek and made a mental note. Aliya’s father was someone the elves should be watching more closely.
Her throat bobbed. “Can I ask you something? Not to sound ungrateful, but…why are you helping me? I told you I can’t offer any reward. I don’t have access to my family’s coffers.” She crossed her arms. “Not to mention we’ve been at war for centuries.”
Finished with the fire, Elessan lay back and stared up at the stars. He remained silent for a long moment as he formulated his response. “I know what it’s like to run from one’s home. As a mage, perhaps you have ample reason to flee yours, too, if those guards were willing to go through what they did.”
Aliya flinched. “Do you think they’re all right? I didn’t…I’ve never done a spell like that before. I panicked, and the magic just spilled out.” She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “My father’s men are good people. I didn’t mean to hurt them, just to get away.”
Elessan frowned, resisting the urge to scoot away. “Can you not control your power?” That didn’t bode well, for her, or anyone in her proximity.
She winced, like she’d been struck. “No. Not always.”
He forced a chuckle and made a deliberate show of relaxing. “I best not upset you then. Magecraft isn’t my strong suit, so I have no right to judge.”
Her shoulders dropped, though she still watched him with suspicion. Chewing the inside of her cheek, she asked, “Can you, maybe, teach me how to light a fire?”
Sitting up, he eyed her, arching an eyebrow and accepted the olive branch for what it was. “I suppose I could.”
She looked up, finally meeting his eyes. He didn’t notice before, but the color in her gray irises moved, like smoke trapped under glass. Perhaps some aspect of her magic.
She licked her lips. “I’m sorry for any problems I’ve caused you.”
“It is no large inconvenience to me. It would pain my mother to no end if I were to leave a damsel in distress to be eaten by wild animals or starve to death.” If said damsel was a Larimar. “I’ll show you a few things, like how to hunt for your own food.” He’d just have to convince the sun elves’ royals his delay was unavoidable and curse the consequences.
“Hunting,” Aliya said, half to herself, blinking as if he’d just hit her on the back of the head with a wooden beam. “Yes, I think I could learn that.”
He smiled. “How are you with a bow?”
She shook her head, frowning. “I don’t know. I’ve never tried one before.”
“Maybe we can add a lesson or two in archery.”
Her eyes widened as she admired his longbow. “Really? You’d teach me?”
He nodded, holding back a grin.
She shifted her weight from side to side. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Now, show me your ankle.”
“What? I’m fine.” She pulled her legs closer and to the side, away from him.
Ugh. Nobles. “The one that’s injured. Let’s look at it.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
He fixed her with an annoyed glare. That pride would get her into trouble. “No games now. You were hopping around like a three-legged dog earlier. Let me see to it before it gets any worse.”
The silence hung heavily between them until Aliya thrust her foot onto his hand with a loud sigh. He gently rotated the joint. She winced but didn’t scream. Not broken, then, just a bad sprain. Her skin felt silky smooth and smelled of lilacs.
Taking a deep breath, he massaged the area. The weight of her stare pulled his eyes to hers, breaking the spell. What was he doing? He cleared his throat and looked away.
Reaching into his pack, he took out a set of bandages. “The injury isn't severe, but it will heal faster and feel better if we wrap it.” He went to apply the bandage.
“Wait, what? No.” She yanked her foot from his grip.
He blinked at her. “Why not? Let me dress it. Unless you want to be stuck with a limp for the next week?”
She bit her lip and looked away.
He held back a groan. Women. Why were they always so headstrong and stubborn over the stupidest things? He met her gaze as her eyes searched his face.
Come on, Aliya. Trust me.
Tension stretched between them until she sighed and put her ankle back in his hand.
He paused, waiting to receive her nod of assent before he applied the bandages.
“We can take them off in a few days, and you should be right as rain.” He tied off the wrap and sat back.
As he released her, she rearranged her skirt.
“How do you know what to do for injuries? Are you a physician?”
He chuckled. “No.” Quite the opposite. “Growing up, I had to learn how to make healing salves and other treatments from the lands I traveled in. The knowledge has been handy to have, as my magic leaves…something to be desired, I believe.” The last bit faded into a mumble. His vision blurred and he turned away, blinking hard.
Her quiet words raised the fine hairs on his arms. “You’re not at all what I expected elves to be like.”
He took a deep breath, steering the conversation back into safer waters. “You have many decisions to make about what you’ll do, but they can wait until tomorrow.”
Staring back into the fire, she whispered, “If I can make it through today, things will definitely be easier.” Turning her attention back to him, she said, “And trust me, magic is not all that. By the way, thank you. For my ankle.” She fought back a yawn.
“You’re welcome. Time for sleep, I think.”
She nodded, looked down at the dirt, and frowned. She laid down next to the rocks she’d sat against all evening.
He tried not to stare as she rested on her side for several minutes, propping her arm under her head as a pillow. When that wasn’t comfortable, she flopped onto her back for a few moments before exhaling in frustration. Sitting up, she pulled her knees tight to her chin. Wrapping her arms around her shins and putting her forehead down, she closed her eyes. She subtly rocked back and forth.
Did she intend to sleep that way? That position guaranteed uneasy rest and a sore neck the following morning. He got his bedroll out and sat it beside her. “Here. Use mine.”
She studied the bundle as the silence stretched between them. “Thank you,” she murmured. Unpacking the sleeping bag and holding it up to the light, she rotated the material in several different orientations as though she had no idea how it worked. After a few minutes, she laid it down and climbed inside.
He tried to hide his grin as she struggled with the bedroll. With her determination, she’d be okay, if he could teach her some basic life skills. Then he could get back to his mission for the sun elves.
He laid down with his back against the rocks. For a moment, he listened to the rustling of leaves as he let his thoughts wander. He was much better at masking his curiosity than she was, but he still had questions. What made her so desperate she ran into the wild with no preparation? She likely wouldn’t answer if he asked outright. He wouldn’t, if their situations were reversed.
Eventually, he closed his own eyes and fell asleep.