The sun faded behind the trees and Sahora stopped swinging the stick. “We are done.” She dropped the stick like it had personally offended her.
I breathed in sharply, sure I had giant bruises that were definitely going to take shape. But I knew that I needed to do this. The training was necessary, and this was just the beginning of what Sahora had endured to become the fighter she was.
“How did Master Fynar’s training compare to Gidion’s?” I asked her as we walked toward the group. Smoke curled into the sky from where we had set up camp. They must have gotten a fire started for dinner.
“Master Fynar’s training was gentle in comparison. We won’t be doing anything Gidion taught me.” She wouldn’t look at me, but the bond gave away secrets she wasn’t ready to share.
“Why?” I probably shouldn’t press her, but I wanted her to feel like she could tell me.
She stopped and sighed. Slowly, she dragged her hands down her face, her exhaustion leaking through the bond.
“Because what Gidion taught me isn’t something I will ever repeat with someone.” Her hands cut through the air while she talked. “Especially not you.” She stomped off toward the campsite.
I followed behind, my body protesting with every step. She wasn’t ready, and I shouldn’t have pushed her.
When I got to camp, the fire was burning with a soup in a small pot. We sat on logs with the group, Briar humming softly.
“We are only three days from Paesuna.” Cyrus’s nose was firmly planted in a map.
Ami looked out past the trees like she could already see the sand covering the ground.
“Any idea what we should expect?” Sahora asked.
Ami looked at her and shook her head. “I am not sure—I was a child when I was there. My memories are mostly of the sand and my parents.”
Sahora nodded, her shoulders slumping at the lack of information. “What do you know, Cyrus?” Her stormhound, whom she refused to name for some Banthys-forsaken reason, hovered near her.
Cyrus looked up from his map, shaking his head gently. “Nothing more that Ami, I have only been to Arinthe and Arynthia. We are in uncharted sands.”
Castor stood near the edge of camp, watching the treeline as if something could attack at any second.
The Hollowfang, whom I had taken to calling Gus, slumped over next to my log, letting out a low whine as he begged for food. I leaned over, my ribs aching with the movement, and grabbed a bone from the deer that made up our soup, handing it to Gus.
How Sahora had done this as a child, I didn’t understand.
Slowly, we all made our way to our tents, silence lingering over the camp with so much travel still ahead of us.
I walked inside the tent Sahora and I shared. She sat cross-legged on her bedroll, her eyes boring into me as I entered.
“You didn’t need to do that today,” she said simply, her shoulders tight.
I looked around the cramped tent, cluttered with our packs, and slowly sat down on my bedroll. Pain tugged at my muscles as I moved.
“I did need to, Sahora.” I shifted to face her, and she moved onto her knees. Those mismatched eyes stared directly into mine. “You handled so much so young, and I am here to make sure you never handle anything else alone again. If that means training as you trained, I’ll do it.”
She looked away, and through the bond I could feel her worry. She stared into the distance for a moment, her thoughts spiraling with uncertainty. I stayed silent, wanting her to be the one to speak when she was ready.
“I didn’t think anyone would ever want to do something like that for me,” she mumbled, almost reservedly.
I moved closer and gently took her hands. “Haven’t you noticed? I will do anything for you, Sahora.”
She met my eyes, Banthys, she always took my breath away. She leaned forward and pressed her lips to mine, and the bond flared like fire.
We pulled away after a long moment, the bond cooling to a steady warmth as we rested our foreheads together. Slowly, we lay down, and Sahora curled herself against my chest.
I breathed in the scent of her, night orchids and rain, and held her close. Letting the night take me wherever it leads.