Текст книги "Roks captive"

Автор книги: A.G. Wilde

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 24 страниц)

Chapter 16

OceanofPDF.com

THIS IS WHERE THE HERO USUALLY GETS A POWER BALLAD

OceanofPDF.com

JUSTINE

He staggers as he walks.

Each step seems to cost him more than the last, his movements jerky and uneven where before they were fluid and sure. But he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t falter. Just keeps pushing forward, one foot in front of the other, his arms still cradling me against his chest as if I’m something precious.

I can’t take my eyes off him. Off the firm line of his jaw, clenched tight against pain. Off the unwavering focus in his gaze. This miraculous, impossible creature who found me in the sand and has somehow, against all logic, decided that I’m worth protecting.

Worth bleeding for.

And he is bleeding—his dark, shimmering blood has soaked into my clothes, staining the fabric in patterns that might be beautiful if they weren’t so terrifying. But I don’t care about the stains. I only care that each drop means he’s losing more strength, moving closer to a threshold I don’t want him to cross.

The gratitude and pain twisting in my chest is so intense it leaves me speechless. What do you say to someone who’s willing to die for you? Especially when they can’t understand a word you say?

“Thank you” feels woefully inadequate. “You’re an idiot for carrying me when you’re injured” seems ungrateful. “I don’t know what I’ll do if you leave me here” is too raw, too revealing of the fear clawing at my throat.

So I say nothing. Just watch his face, memorizing each alien feature, each mark, each line. Trying to capture the way his eyes had looked at me in the cave, the raw hunger in them mixed with something…softer. Something that made my breath catch and my heart pound even now, despite the exhaustion and fear dragging me down.

I have no idea where he’s taking me, but I find I no longer have the urge to ask, to challenge, to question his decisions. All he’s done since finding me is protect me. Apart from that one strange incident where he sniffed my underwear—which, in retrospect, was probably just him trying to understand what I was—he’s been nothing but…good to me.

My fingers curl gently around the edge of his shoulder, careful to avoid the worst of his injuries. I hate that he’s bleeding and still carrying me, but somehow I know with absolute certainty that he won’t put me down. Won’t let me walk beside him. It’s there in the set of his shoulders, in the way his arms tighten almost imperceptibly whenever I shift my weight.

For whatever reason, carrying me is important to him. So I let him, even though it goes against every independent bone in my body.

We walk for what feels like hours. The sun climbs higher, its heat bearing down with an intensity that seems to press the very air from my lungs. I hadn’t realized just how much protection the emergency blanket had offered. How much it had shielded me from the worst of the sun’s wrath. Now, without it, the rays beat against my skin like a dom with a whip, drawing the moisture from my body, the strength from my limbs.

And I’m not even the one doing the walking.

“You need to rest,” I murmur, knowing he won’t understand but needing to say it anyway. “You’re losing too much blood.”

He doesn’t respond, of course. Just keeps moving forward, his gaze fixed on the horizon, his breathing becoming more labored with each passing step.

Despite my exhaustion, I force myself to remain vigilant, scanning our surroundings for any signs of those shadow creatures. The memory of them is too fresh, too terrifying to allow even a moment of complacency. And there are other dangers here too—like whatever made that tunnel I fell into. This planet has things. Hidden things. Waiting things.

I wonder briefly if Jacqui and the others are facing similar horrors, or if they’ve somehow managed to avoid the worst of what this alien desert has to offer. I hope they’re okay. I hope they’re doing better than we are.

After what feels like an eternity, a dark shape appears on the horizon. As we draw closer, it solidifies into a rock formation—not the one I’d been aiming for when I first set out from that bus, and something that must be my heart drops. I push away the feeling, eyes cast on the formation ahead. It’s a flat, mesa-like structure rising from the endless sand, its surface weathered and pitted by whatever passes for erosion on this planet.

Rok’s pace changes slightly, becoming more determined, more focused, and I realize this must be our destination. This must be where he’s been struggling to reach all this time.

For a moment, hope flares in my chest. Maybe this is where his people are. Maybe he’s been taking me to his tribe, his family, others who can help him, heal him and also help me, Jacqui, all the others. My heart skips a beat. The thought of more beings like Rok is both thrilling and terrifying, but right now, I’d welcome any help we can get.

As we draw closer, though, I see it’s not a settlement or village. Just a cave entrance, dark and forbidding against the brown stone.

My hope flickers but doesn’t die. Maybe his people live inside, hidden from the sun’s relentless glare. Maybe there’s a whole community in there, just out of sight.

But a nagging doubt whispers otherwise. What if he is alone? But…he can’t be. Where did he come from then? How has he survived out here, in this harsh, unforgiving landscape?

Rok carries me to the cave entrance, his steps becoming more unsteady the closer we get. By the time we cross the threshold, stepping from blinding sunlight into cool shadow, he’s trembling with exertion, his breathing ragged and shallow.

The entrance reveals nothing but sand and stone, no signs of habitation, no indications that anything has ever lived here. My heart sinks further. But Rok continues deeper, past a curve in the rock wall that hides whatever lies beyond from immediate view.

And then the world opens up.

The narrow passage widens suddenly into a chamber that takes my breath away. It’s enormous, far larger than it appeared possible from outside, with walls that curve upward to form a dome. Directly above, a circular opening in the rock reveals a perfect circle of yellow sky, letting in just enough light to illuminate the space without the harshness of direct sun.

And there’s foliage. Sparse, but foliage nonetheless in tiny patches scattered across the otherwise barren floor. Small plants, nothing like the lush vegetation of Earth, but vegetation nonetheless—spiky, resilient-looking things with thick leaves and stems that seem designed to conserve every drop of moisture.

There’s no visible water source, at least none that I can see, but the air feels different in here. Cooler, yes, but also somehow…damper. As if the very rock exhales moisture into the chamber.

The relief of being out of the sun, in this small oasis of relative comfort, is so intense it makes me dizzy. Or maybe that’s the exhaustion, the dehydration, the emotional toll of everything that’s happened in the past twenty-four hours.

Rok’s arms relax, and for a moment I think he’s going to keep holding me, but then he carefully, gently, sets me on my feet. His hands linger at my waist, steadying me, making sure I’m stable before he lets go completely.

I turn to thank him, words finally forming on my lips, but they never make it out. Because the moment his hands leave my waist, Rok crumples to the ground.

“No!” I drop to my knees beside him, hands hovering over his body, afraid to touch him, afraid to make his injuries worse. “Rok? ROK!”

His eyes are closed, his breathing shallow and rapid. And there is no glow beneath his skin. I’ve come to think of it as normal, that the fact it’s not there has anxiety spiking within me.

“No.” I finally reach out to touch his face. “Don’t you dare die on me. Not after all this. Not after everything.”

He doesn’t respond. Doesn’t move. Just lies there, each breath a visible struggle.

Panic rises in my throat, threatening to choke me, but I force it down. Panic won’t help him. Nothing will help him if I can’t figure out what to do.

I look up, gaze flicking around the chamber, searching for something—anything—that might help. There’s…nothing. Plants, yes, but I’m no herbalist. All that’s here is, well, me…my handbag.

With trembling hands, I dump its contents out again, eyes shifting over my cell phone, the emergency biscuits, the crumpled dollar bills, my water sachet, and the sanitary napkin.

I stare at the pad for a long moment. It’s not much, but it’s the only absorbent material I have. And Rok is still bleeding.

“Better than nothing,” I mutter, tearing open the plastic wrapper.

My breaths come hard and fast as I work, my gaze shifting to Rok every few seconds. He’s still lying there, unmoving, only his chest rising and falling with pressured breaths.

“Come on, Justine. Come on.”

Swallowing hard, I peel back the adhesive strips and separate the pad into its layers, exposing the ultra-absorbent core. It’s not sterile, not by a long shot, but it’s the best I can do.

I shift closer to Rok, getting a better look at his wounds in the soft, diffused light of the cave. What I see gives me a small measure of hope—the smaller cuts and gashes have already started clotting, the bleeding slowing to a trickle. His physiology must be different from humans, his blood clotting faster, his healing more efficient.

But the deeper wounds—particularly a nasty gash across his ribs and another on his upper arm—are still oozing that strange, dark, shimmering blood.

I tear the absorbent pad into strips and press the first one against the worst of the wounds, watching his face for a reaction.

“Does it hurt?” No reaction. No response.

Swallowing down the lump in my throat once more, I apply gentle but firm pressure. The material turns dark almost immediately, soaking up the blood with an efficiency that would be impressive if my heart wasn’t beating so hard.

“Hold on,” I murmur, not sure if he can hear me but needing to fill the silence anyway. “Just hold on. You’re going to be okay.”

After a few minutes, I carefully lift one corner of the makeshift bandage to check underneath. The bleeding seems to have slowed, but not stopped entirely. I press the strip back down, wishing I had more, wishing I had actual medical supplies, wishing I had any idea what I was doing.

My gaze shifts to the water sachet lying on the floor beside me. It’s small—probably like 500 ml—and it’s the last one I have. My last source of hydration in this alien desert.

I stare at it for a long time, biting my lip so hard it hurts. I should save it. I know I should save it. For myself, at the very least—I’m already dehydrated, and without water, I’ll die out here.

But Rok is dying in front of me. Right now. Because he saved me. Because he chose to fight those monsters rather than run.

And he could have run. He’s done it before. He’s fast enough. He could have left me and run.

He didn’t.

And maybe I shouldn’t run now either.

“Fuck it,” I whisper, snatching up the water sachet. “You’re not dying on my watch.”

I pop the little cap off and carefully, gently, tilt Rok’s head back. His lips are surprisingly supple, fuller than I’d noticed before, with a tempting curve that makes me pause for a heartbeat too long—definitely not the thoughts I should be having while he’s literally bleeding out. I dribble a tiny amount of water between them, watching anxiously to see if he’ll swallow.

For a moment, nothing happens. Then his throat works, and the water disappears. Encouraged, I pour a little more, and then a little more.

Suddenly, his whole body convulses. His eyes fly open, golden irises blazing in the dim light, and he chokes, water spraying from his mouth as he gasps and heaves.

“No!” I cry, but it’s too late. In one violent movement, his arm lashes out, knocking the water sachet from my hand. It flies across the cave, its precious contents spilling onto the stone floor, soaking into the cracks, disappearing forever.

“Noooo!” I scramble after it, hands scraping at the stone, as if I can somehow take it back, force it back into the sachet. But there’s nothing to salvage. Not a drop left.

“Shit,” I whisper, pressing my hands against my face, trying to keep my panic in check. That was it. The last of the water.

And now it’s gone. My chest rises and falls in uneven gasps. No water. No way forward.

I should be angry. Furious, even. But all I feel is fear.

I turn back to Rok, just in time to see him collapse back onto the floor, his brief moment of consciousness already gone. His breathing is still labored, but now there’s a wet, rattling quality to it that terrifies me.

I crawl back to his side, tears streaming down my face. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, brushing my fingertips across his forehead. “I was trying to help. I didn’t think…”

Gone. Our only water, gone. And for what? For a few seconds of consciousness that seemed to hurt him more than help?

Hopelessness crashes over me like a wave, dragging me under. I’ve done everything I can think of, and none of it seems to be working. I have no more supplies, no more ideas, no more hope to offer.

I curl up beside him, pressing my forehead against his shoulder, feeling the faint warmth of his skin against mine.

“Please,” I whisper, the word barely audible even to my own ears. “Please don’t leave me alone here. Please live.”

But there’s no response. Just the shallow rise and fall of his chest, the soft, pained sound of his breathing, and the crushing weight of my own helplessness.

OceanofPDF.com

Chapter 17

OceanofPDF.com

THE DESERT GIVES. THE DESERT TAKES. I KEEP

OceanofPDF.com

ROK

I wake to a weight against my side and the scent of her in my nose.

Sweet. Strange. Unfamiliar and yet, somehow, more familiar to me than my own breath.

For a moment, I do not move, letting my senses catalog my surroundings. The cool stone beneath me. The faint rustling of the fire bloom plants that grow in the cracks of the stone.

And her. Jus-teen. Curled against me like a young hunter during his first stormy season, seeking warmth.

She stayed.

The realization settles into me slowly, like dust after the winds. She could have left when I collapsed. Could have fled into the dust. She had no obligation to remain at my side.

Yet here she is. Her small, strange body pressed against mine, her breath soft and even in sleep.

I test my strength, flexing my arm, and wince at the sharp pain that lances through me. The shadowmaws took their toll. More than they should have. But I am alive, and so is she, and that is what matters.

The shadowmaws. They should not have been hunting in the open dust while Ain still shone. They are creatures of darkness, of shadow, emerging from their dens only when Ain sleeps and the three moons rise. To find them stalking the dust while there is light…

It is not right. It is not the way of things.

If I had known they were skulking about the open sands, I would not have taken the female that way. Would have risked the Ridge of Shrieking Winds as she wished, despite the dangers there. Better the known peril than the unexpected ambush.

Instead, I almost lost her. This female, first of her kind, sent by Ain herself. Mine that I found. Mine to protect. Mine to keep safe.

I stretch carefully, assessing the damage. The worst of the wounds have already begun to heal, my body doing what it has always done—mending itself, erasing weakness, returning to strength. I have not been unconscious for long. Ain has yet to reach her zenith in the sky. It is still early in the sol, which is good. We have time and many solmarks of light.

My gaze drifts back to her sleeping form. So small. So fragile. Her hide-coverings are torn and stained with my blood, yet even in sleep, there is something fierce about her. Something unyielding.

I reach out, carefully brushing a strand of her strange head-fur from her face. It is softer than anything I have ever touched, softer even than the belly fur of a newborn sand pup. The color of it reminds me of fire blooms in their fullest glory, when they burst open under the light of all three moons.

She stirs slightly at my touch, but does not wake. Her skin is cool now. The dangerous fire that had threatened to consume her has not returned. Perhaps the poison in her was only temporary.

Speaking of poison.

My gaze falls to the strange waterskin lying empty on the stone nearby. Not a waterskin. The shape is all wrong. It is more like a pouch. Her water pouch. Filled with poison water. She had tried to give me her poison—her water. I stare at the pouch, turning the fact over in my head.

In the dust, there is no greater gift, no deeper sign of care, than to offer one’s water to another. It is life itself, precious beyond measure, never to be wasted or given lightly. Even among kin, among clan, water is shared only in the direst need, only to save a life that would otherwise be lost.

She gave me hers freely, desperately, despite her own need. Despite knowing, surely, that she had no way to replace it.

Her poison burned in my throat, seared my lungs, but her intent was clear: this female did not want me to perish. Just as I had told her—or tried to tell her, through the barrier between our minds—that I would not let her perish when she fell into the sand serpent’s tunnel.

The memory of that moment—of seeing her disappear beneath the sand, swallowed by the dust as if she had never been—strikes me anew with a fear so profound it feels like physical pain. It was more than fear for her safety, more than concern for a creature under my protection. It was as if I was about to lose an essential part of myself I hadn’t known existed until that moment.

As if, should she die, some part of me would perish with her.

The feeling is unfamiliar, unsettling. I am a hunter, a protector. I have guarded my tribe, my brothers, my territory. I have fought for them, bled for them, would die for them if needed. But this…this is different. Deeper.

Somehow, so much deeper. I can feel it. Feel it in my very bones. But explain it, I cannot.

It reminds me of the ancient stories, the legends told around the warming stones when the cold season comes and the dust storms are too fierce to hunt. Tales of how the first Drakav came to Xiraxis, of how Ain chose our people to guard her daughters, to protect them from the dangers of the dust.

I need to return to the clan. By now, Kol will have noticed my absence. As clan leader, my older brother is not one to let even a minor deviation from routine go unquestioned. They will likely send a hunting party to search for me soon, if they have not already.

I should go back. Kol and the other older brothers would know more about the ancient legends of the daughters of Ain. They would better understand what is happening here, where Jus-teen has come from, why I feel this way toward her. This strange, overwhelming sense of…possession. Of connection I cannot explain.

A connection that grows stronger with each passing moment, like now, as I find myself reluctant to untangle from her grasp despite knowing I should rise, should gather the fire bloom plants to speed my healing and to refresh her when she wakes.

These are not sensations I have known before. Not urges I have felt. Even in the hunting season, when the call of blood grows strong, I have never felt this…fixation. This need to keep one specific being safe above all others.

I need to understand. Need to know why my people worshipped the daughters of Ain. Need to know why I feel this urgent, overwhelming drive to worship her. Not with words or offerings, as we worship Ain herself, but with protection, with care, with my very life, if needed.

What I did in the dust—facing a pack of shadowmaws alone—is not something even the most foolhardy hunter would attempt. I knew they would follow wherever I fled, knew they would hunt her down, and the thought of her in one of their jaws…

I couldn’t allow it. Had to face them. Had to end them.

She shifts against me again, a small sound escaping her throat, and I know she is close to waking. As carefully as I can, I disentangle myself from her and rise to my feet.

The movement sends fresh pain through my wounds, but I grit my teeth against it. I do not want to rouse her. She needs rest. Despite being a daughter of Ain, she is clearly not adapted to the harsh conditions of the dust. While carrying her, I noticed how she tucked her face against my chest, how she tried to shield her eyes from Ain’s glare.

I understand now that the hides she wears—the strange coverings I initially thought might be trophies from her kills—are not decorative. They are protective, meant to shield her delicate skin from Ain’s light and heat. And I made her lose one of them. The one that shone in the light. The one she seems to need the most.

So I will protect her now. Will find a way to keep her safe from Ain’s heat until we can return to the clan, where the deep caverns offer cool respite even in the hottest part of the sol cycle.

“Rok?”

Her voice, still thick with sleep, draws my attention back to her. She’s sitting up, rubbing at her eyes, her gaze darting around the cave before settling on me.

“You’re awake,” she says, the relief in her voice unmistakable even if her words are beyond my understanding.

Then her eyes widen. I almost reach for her, fearing they will pop out of her skull. She scrambles to her feet so quickly she nearly stumbles, rushing toward me with such urgent concern that something warm unfurls in my chest. Her hands hover over my wounds, not quite touching, but close enough that I can feel the heat of her skin.

“What are you doing standing? You shouldn’t be up!” Her voice rises with worry, her hands gesturing for me to sit. “You were practically dead a few hours ago. Please, sit down. Rest. Tell me what you need, and I’ll—” She stops abruptly, pressing her lips together and shaking her head. “God, I’m an idiot. You can’t tell me anything, can you?”

Her meaning is clear in every line of her body—the creased brow, the gentle hands that want to help but don’t know how, the frustrated care in her eyes. She’s concerned. For me.

Her gaze shifts to the small patches of orange, the fire blooms growing from the cracks in the stone.

“Are these plants medicinal?” she asks, miming something with her hands, rubbing them together as if grinding something. “Herbal remedies? Is that how you healed so fast?”

I watch her gestures, tilting my head slightly. Her meaning eludes me, though I can tell she’s asking about something. Her attention keeps darting between me and the fire blooms. She points to her wounds, then to mine, then to the plants. Is she asking if they hurt me? If they’re dangerous?

I move to the nearest fire bloom, a small but healthy specimen growing from a deep crack in the stone. The plant’s thick, fleshy leaves are a deep blue-orange, tapering to sharp points tipped with tiny spines that glow faintly in the dim light of the cave. Its roots reach deep, seeking the hidden water that flows beneath this part of the dust, kept secret from all but those who know where to look.

Carefully, I pluck several of the largest leaves, making sure to leave the roots and the smaller growth intact so the plant can regenerate. The fire blooms are resilient, adapted to survive in the harsh conditions of the dust, but they are not inexhaustible. A hunter must always ensure the continuation of what sustains him.

“Are you going to crush that?” Jus-teen asks, making a grinding motion with her hands again. “Like you did with the other plant before?”

I understand her meaning, but that is not what fire blooms are for. At least, not immediately.

Instead, I pop one of the leaves into my mouth and begin to chew, feeling the familiar, bitter juice coat my tongue. The taste is harsh, astringent, but the healing properties are worth the discomfort.

Jus-teen stares at me, her eyes widening again as I take another leaf and do the same. The juice of the fire bloom will speed my healing from within, will cleanse the shadowmaw venom from my blood, and will restore the strength I lost in the battle.

When I’ve chewed several leaves, I offer one to her, extending my hand toward her mouth. She hesitates, her gaze darting between the leaf and my face, uncertainty clear in her expression.

“You want me to eat that?” she asks, pointing to the leaf and then to her mouth. “Is it safe for humans? I mean…for me? Will it make me sick?” She looks at the leaf again. “Fuck, how are you even supposed to know that?”

I continue to hold the leaf out to her, waiting patiently. I cannot explain in vocalizations she would understand, but the fire bloom will help her as well, will renew her, will provide some of the moisture her kind seems to need so desperately.

She reaches toward it cautiously, then pulls her hand back with a small sound when one of the tiny spines pricks her fingertip. A bead of red appears—so different from my own blood—and she puts the finger to her mouth.

I freeze, suddenly aware of my oversight. Her skin is so much softer than mine, more vulnerable to the fire bloom’s defenses. How could I have missed something so obvious? The thought of causing her pain, even accidentally, sends an uncomfortable ripple through my chest.

Quickly, I withdraw the leaf and use my claws to carefully strip away the spines from its edges, working meticulously until it’s completely safe for her. Only then do I offer it again, holding it flat on my palm to show her it won’t harm her now.

She studies my actions, a strange look in her eyes. Finally, she takes the leaf, her fingers brushing against mine in a touch that sends an unexpected jolt through my skin. She examines it for a moment, turning it over in her hands, before cautiously placing it in her mouth. She does a single chew.

“Ugh. That is awful.” She glares at me as if I’ve personally offended her. “Are you sure this won’t kill me?”

I do not need mindspeak to know she is pouting at the leaf.

I huff a soft breath, amusement curling in my chest. She is strange. So very strange.

And yet, I do not think I could let her go.

I do not think I want to.

To my surprise, she puts the leaf in her mouth again. I watch her reaction, my eyes traveling over her face as she begins to chew. The juice from the plant turns her mouth a deep, rich brown, almost red—a concerning color against her pale skin, but one I know is temporary. She chews slowly, her brow furrowed, before swallowing with a slight grimace.

“That’s…bitter,” she says, making a face. “But not terrible. Kind of like really strong, unsweetened tea. Is it medicine? Food? Both?”

I tilt my head. She does not seem irritated by it. The fire bloom is sustenance in times of need, medicine for the wounded, a source of moisture when water cannot be found. It is one of the dust’s few gifts, one of the treasures known only to the Drakav and a few other dust-dwelling creatures.

With the remaining leaves, I begin to prepare poultices for my wounds. I crush them between my palms, releasing more of the bitter juice, then press the resulting paste directly onto the deepest gashes—the one across my ribs, another on my upper arm, and several smaller but still significant wounds on my legs and torso.

The paste stings on contact, a burning sensation that quickly gives way to numbness as the fire bloom’s properties begin to work. The bleeding, already slowed by my body’s natural healing, stops completely. Soon, the edges of the wounds will draw together, the skin knitting itself closed with the fire blooms’ help.

I continue methodically treating each wound, even the minor scrapes and scratches, not wanting to waste any of the healing properties of the precious plant. There are a few injuries in other places as well—a nasty gash on my inner thigh, dangerously close to more vulnerable areas, where one of the shadowmaws managed to rake me with its claw before I tore its head from its body.

As I tend to this particular wound, I become aware of Jus-teen’s gaze, fixed on a point between my legs. When her eyes lift to meet mine, her face suddenly blooms with color, a deep, rich red spreading across her cheeks and down her neck.

For a moment, I’m alarmed. Is it the fire starting beneath her skin again? That cursed burning that nearly consumed her before? I drop the remains of the fire bloom and lunge toward her, pressing her back into the cool sand of the cave floor, my face close to hers as I inhale deeply, trying to detect the scent of this dust-cursed sickness.

She sputters in surprise, her hands coming up to push against my chest, but her efforts are weak, uncoordinated.

“What are you doing?” she gasps, her voice higher than usual. “Rok, what⁠—”

But I’m focused on my task, sniffing at her face, her neck, trying to determine if the fire has returned to consume her from within. Her skin isn’t unnaturally hot, though, not like before. And the scent is different—still her unique, sweet smell, but with an undertone of something new. Something I haven’t detected from her before.

I pause, confused, and look down at her. She’s gone completely still beneath me, her eyes wide and fixed on mine, her breathing rapid but not labored. There’s a strange look in those eyes, something I haven’t seen before—a mixture of what looks like fear, but isn’t quite fear, and something else entirely. Something that makes the glow beneath my skin suddenly pulse to life with no input from me at all.

A rumble vibrates low in my chest as I try to understand what is happening, why she’s reacting this way. My eyes travel over her more carefully now, noticing for the first time the small cuts and scrapes across her body—not bleeding, but evident on her soft skin, nonetheless. Harm from when she fell in the dust serpent’s tunnel.

I remain positioned over her, keeping her between my thighs as I crouch above her. Her eyes follow my movements as I reach for another fire bloom leaf, crushing it between my palms until the healing paste forms.

I try to send mind-speech to her again, projecting the concepts of healing and protection as clearly as I can. Nothing. No recognition in her eyes, no response. After so many attempts, I am certain now—she cannot hear the thoughts I send.