15
“Of course you can’t fucking swim,” a voice says above me as I seize, then promptly empty the limited contents of my stomach. “Of course you take a fucking gulp of water in shock. Like an idiot.”
That gulp of water burns my throat as I retch it up.
When I’m done, I look at him through my dripping eyelashes, wondering what I’m going to do with two massive swords when I murder him.
He doesn’t move an inch. All he says is, “Of course, mere hours into working together, you almost get us both killed. Over an illusion.” He shakes his head and curses.
My eyes prickle, remembering that illusion. My throat is raw from the retching. “You … you are a bastard. Do you know that?”
He tilts his head. His hood moves with it. Now, though, it’s firmly in place. I remember the sliver mask, though. I remember gray eyes. “What an interesting way to thank me for saving your pathetic life.”
“Thank you?” I laugh, then cough some more. My ribs ache. My skin is ice-cold. “We both know you would let me drown in an instant if you didn’t
need the map.”
He doesn’t deny it.
The water was freezing. I shiver in spite of myself, my teeth chattering.
He doesn’t give a damn. Of course he doesn’t.
He doesn’t seem cold at all. He’s prepared. He must have layers on beneath that armor.
I lean forward, nails sinking into the ground for purchase as another wave of nausea rocks through me. At the sound of gentle lapping, I look to my right. We’re on a tiny island, right in the middle of the lake.
And we are surrounded. Every inch of shoreline is covered by rancid, flesh-rotted demons. Waiting. Watching. I grab my sword.
Raker’s voice is grating. “Don’t waste what little energy you possess.
They cannot cross. They’ll be gone when the sun rises.” I look over at him, sitting, his sword dug into the dirt in front of him.
He isn’t worried in the slightest that I might take it. I probably can’t, I think, after having seen so many people try to take my own.
Could he move mine? He’s Harlan Raker. Maybe he’s capable of moving
any sword.
I don’t plan on finding out.
I have every intention of staying awake. My heart is beating wildly, the panic still pounding through my blood. But I’m worn out from the retching.
My energy fades quickly.
I fall asleep curled around my sword in its scabbard, to the memory of furious gray eyes.
Sunlight rains down, its heat like a blanket. I groan, luxuriating in its warmth, before it’s ripped away completely.
My eyes slowly blink open, only to find a hooded figure blocking the sunlight like an incessant shadow. I’m still curved around my scabbard, my legs and arms wrapped around it.
His voice is emotionless. “You weren’t moving. I thought you might have died.”
I glare up at him. “Sorry to disappoint.”
He walks away, murmuring something that sounds like a curse against me. I’m sure he’s regretting saving me. I’m sure he thinks even the map isn’t worth it.
As long as he keeps working with me, I don’t give a shit. And even though I would be dead without his interference, I can’t summon even a shred of gratitude. Because I know the truth about him. I know he doesn’t have feelings, or mercy, or anything resembling a heart beneath that spotless armor.
The demons. I jolt, turning toward the shore where they watched us sleep all night.
They’re gone. Just like Raker said they would be.
His deep voice cuts through the morning. “The next part of the map.
Draw it.” He points at the dirt.
There he is again, ordering me to do something. My pride rises, but I snuff it out. He’s already proven useful.
I begin drawing with a stick. I’m not stupid enough to draw the entire length for him. I’ll just show the closest part to us.
There are several mountain ranges. A few roads. Forests. I draw all of them in proximity to where we are, grateful for all those nights spent strengthening my memory.
Finally—“The Prism Pass. Land of rainbows was written beneath it.” I wait for a reaction that never arrives.
These mountains seem separated, full of steep drop-offs and deep valleys.
And … waterfalls. I draw from memory and perk up. “This is perfect— because … because of the water.” I draw at least a dozen of them that were marked.
I put the stick down and marvel at my work.
Raker studies my drawing for a moment.
Then he wordlessly turns around. His sword glistens as he pulls it out of the dirt and slides it back against his spine. He grabs his pack.
I blink. “That’s it? You aren’t going to tell me where we’re going? You aren’t going to consult me at all?”
“Your voice is irritating,” he says, reaching his hand into the darkness of his hood. Is he … pinching his nose over the mask? I think about all those rumors about him being a monster beneath there. Maybe he is. All I saw were eyes. The rest could be anything. “Speak to me as little as possible.”
“You do not order me,” I say, getting to my feet, because fucking enough.
“That’s where you’re wrong.” He takes a step forward. “You asked to work with me. Those are my conditions. Listen. And don’t speak.”
My hands clench into fists. I did ask him to work with me. I practically begged him to. And even though he’s proven himself to be more of a bastard than I anticipated, I’m alive. I’m closer to the gods. That’s all that
matters.
“Fine,” I say through my teeth.
He turns away, toward the water. That’s when I realize we’ll have to
cross it.
“I can’t—”
“Fucking swim, I know,” he barks. He sighs, the movement raking through his entire mountainous form. He really is absurdly huge. A foot and a half taller than me, and ridiculously muscled … but not so big that his size
would slow him down. The exact form I would expect from the most feared warrior on Stormside.
He lingers, looking over at me, hesitating.
For a moment, I think he might offer his hand. He might take me in his arms, the way he must have last night to drag me from the depths of the lake and onto this isle. But that’s stupid of me, because in the end, he seems to think better of it as he shakes his head and growls, “Figure it out.”
He steps into the lake and is gone in a moment. He swims effortlessly, even in his armor. I open my mouth. Close it.
Will he leave me? Will he decide the map isn’t worth this?
I won’t wait to find out. I look around, searching for anything to help me get across. That’s when I see a few trees. Some bark is hanging off. Bark is buoyant. I know that from the time it rained when I was five, and my father used a rare slice of it to make two small boats we raced in a puddle.
My hands grip its edges, sharp pieces digging into my skin, and I pull.
It’s thick and tough. My teeth slide together, my shoes digging into the dirt as I tug, and tug, muscles straining. Slowly, it begins to come apart. I wince, my fingers slipping in my own blood as sharp wood pieces dig into them, but I don’t stop, the sound of the water diminishing as he gets farther and farther away. He could leave me. Especially now that I’ve given him the surrounding area of the map.
I take my sword, force it up with a groan, and hastily slice off the rest of the bark, then sprint toward the water, hands bleeding. Everything in me screams to stay on land, my lungs burning as if remembering how they filled with water, but I can’t hesitate. Not anymore.
I fling myself into the lake, the thick bark beneath me. And it floats. I kick wildly, eyes on the shore. The water is freezing, just like it was last night.
Last night. I remember the burn of my chest, the constricting. My body both fighting to stay alive and resigning itself to death.
He might be the most miserable person I’ve ever met, but Raker is right.
My weaknesses will seal my fate during this journey. I have no choice but to overcome them. That’s the only way I’ll make it to the end of this.
Starting with getting to the other side of this lake.
If I slip off the bark, I’m dead. Raker won’t save me a second time. I don’t even hear him swimming anymore. No, the only thing cutting through
the morning is my ragged breathing, my kicking legs, and the water sputtering around me.
If he left … I’ll be alone again. No dragon. No Kira and Zane.
I didn’t expect to have allies on my quest, and only now do I see how stupid that was. Did I really think I could make it across Starside alone?
Yes. I did. I thought this rage in my chest and the years of training with Stellan would be enough to carry me through.
Now I understand why Stellan was so against me going. Now I understand why he was so afraid.
Find Vander Evren, he’d said. Who is that? And how am I supposed to find an immortal in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by challengers and immortals alike who would kill me for this sword on my back?
I kick harder, and the bark dips low, sending water spilling into my mouth. I spit it out, hoping Raker didn’t leave. Being with him is better than being alone.
It’s only halfway across that I see him, leaning against the cliffside, watching me struggle. His posture says unimpressed.
I grit my teeth and kick, eyes locked on him, refusing to let him see me fail, letting my stubbornness overpower my muscle cramps, until I wash roughly up on the shoreline. The rocks cut my fingers again, but pride fills
me.
I made it. I figured it out.
Raker doesn’t seem too pleased about that fact as he turns around, like he wishes he could have watched me die.
We don’t speak. All I do is follow as Raker walks at a pace that means I have to half jog. His legs are far longer than mine. I race to keep up, already exhausted from crossing the water.
My sword is heavy on my back, but he carries his as if it’s almost weightless. The same with his armor. That is, I suppose, his training.
The king’s guard has unmatched training outposts and resources. They know how to build muscle and keep it. Stellan taught me everything he could, but my own instruction was nothing compared to Raker’s. My nails dig into my palms, remembering the one time I tried to get access to that training and where that got me.
My hatred of him has had years to simmer. How many nights have I fallen asleep, dreaming of gutting him with his own blade? Of being strong enough to hurt him at all?
I glare at his back, imagining a dozen swords buried in it.
That’s how I pass the time. Imagining the various ways I could kill him. I picture a thousand sparkling knives going through that armor. An ax chopping away that hood. A lance going into his chest.
My sword hums on my back, almost with approval. It makes me smile.
I’m definitely not smiling hours later when my legs feel like they’ve been reduced to clay, and my feet feel like they’ve decided to merge with my boots. Maybe working with Raker wasn’t the best idea.
He doesn’t take breaks. He never slows. His posture never slips. I might be impressed if I wasn’t in so much fucking pain.
I nearly whimper with relief when the sun dips toward the horizon and Raker begins to deviate from the path, toward the faint sound of rushing water. Finally.
As we get closer, that whispering water turns into a roaring. Then the forest clears, revealing a riverbank with white, foaming crests, streams of water hastily moving in various directions. There’s a small strip of land at the center of it.
I clench my jaw, remembering how quickly a similar river swept Kira away, and how rocks just like these, sticking out of the water like fangs, shredded her leg.
Surely, Raker doesn’t mean to camp here.
Without a single glance at me, he steps into the rushing current and walks straight through it, his armored form cutting across the thrashing water like a blade. He steps onto the bit of land as if it was no trouble at all. He puts
his stuff down. His back is to me.
Figure it out.
Figuring it out means me making camp at the edge of the river, hoping my proximity to the water will keep me safe.
A moment later, I hear a sharp click, followed by a roaring. I turn to see Raker has made a fire. In less than a minute.
It was a skill I taught myself, before coming to the Centennial. But even in the best conditions—not next to a sputtering river—it took me several tries and over ten minutes. I watch him slip something back into his pack.
A flint rock. I scowl. Of course, a king’s guard would have one. They’re rare and expensive.
It’s not even that cold out. But as Raker stalks to the edge of the piece of land and peers into the water, I see the fire isn’t for warmth. He slides the
sword from his spine. Lowers it in front of him.
With a speed that makes me jolt, he stabs it into the river.
I almost laugh that he would actually think that would work. That he would think he would be fast enough to— That laugh dies in my throat as he turns around, and I see the large, pink-
scaled fish impaled on his blade.
Well, fuck.
He expertly descales it. Cuts it. Then begins to cook it on the fire. Of course, he doesn’t offer any to me. Not that I would take it. I’ve never had fish before. Best not to test my gut when I’m not even that hungry.
My traitorous stomach grumbles at the smell anyway. I turn away from him and his roasting food, toward my bed for the night.
It doesn’t matter that it’s dirt and a few patches of grass. The moment I’m off my feet, my entire body melts into the ground. Not even the river, roaring in my ears, nor the stars glimmering brightly overhead, nor the danger lurking nearby can dull the pull to sleep. I tell myself I should stay awake, I should test this theory about the water, but it’s not long before my eyes close, and everything fades away.
I’m not even an hour into sleep when I’m jolted out of it by a slow scraping, like a claw grating across tree bark. My eyes open immediately.
And the sound … it stops. As if it was never there at all.
It could have been a dream; it could have been nothing. I lay very still, listening beyond the river. Beyond Raker’s steady breathing.
Nothing. Nothing but quiet for several minutes, and my eyes slowly close again. Sleep rushes in like a hungry tide, washing over me, pulling me under.
That’s when I hear it again. And this time, there is no doubt.
I sit up, hand clenched around the hilt of my blade. Heart racing, I squint
into the darkness of the forest.
Nothing. I see nothing.
But I feel … I feel the hush of the woods. The breath it holds. On shaking, tired legs, I stand. My arms ache with exhaustion as I haul my sword in front of me, the metal pierced into the ground. I wait. And wait.
Until a single foot steps out of the trees. It’s made of flayed, putrid flesh.
Its smell hits me at once, and I nearly gag.
Rot. The demon smells of pure and utter death. It takes another slow step toward me, and a shard of moonlight illuminates its face.
Twisted, mangled features, skin dried into a peel. Similar to the others, but this one isn’t encased in shadow. No, I see every inch of its graying skin and waxen bone.
Its eyes are two pits of darkness, looking at me. Its mouth is scarred tissue, as if it has been sewn closed and ripped open a hundred times before.
Was this demon once alive? Is that what the God of Death does? Create armies from his corpses?
Its mouth parts, breaking skin, oozing onyx blood, and emits an ear- splitting scream. Its teeth go back rows and rows.
It doesn’t waste any more time. It lunges forward, claws outstretched
toward my neck.
I stumble back. Right into the river.
My spine hits a rock, and light explodes behind my eyelids. There’s no time for pain. I’m immediately swept into the current’s relentless hold, my body turning, toppling, scraping against the daggerlike stones, sharpened into points by the rough water. I reach out blindly and manage to grab on to a rock, splitting my palm in the process.
With a desperate jolt, I grip it, nails breaking, and lift myself out of the shallow water, fighting the current, fighting for air. I turn the moment I can and see the flesh-stitched creature, peering into the water. Right over me.
Waiting.
Head pounding, spine a lightning bolt of pain, I reach for another rock.
Another. Slowly, I pull myself through the current, sword still clutched in my other palm, toward that narrow strip of land, until I can throw myself onto it, coughing up water. Whimpering as my tattered hand scrapes against the dirt.
The creature waits for several minutes at the edge of the river, staring me down, before slowly slinking back into the woods.
Trembling with cold, my pants rasped and loud, hot blood dripping all over me, I turn toward Raker. His back is still to me. His glorious sword is still dug into the ground right where he left it.
He had to have heard my struggle. The beast’s scream. He must be
awake.
He didn’t move a single inch.
Of course he didn’t. He wants my map—but he must have decided the extra effort of saving me again simply isn’t worth it.
The sound of ripping fabric cuts through the night as I tear the extra length at the bottom of my shirt, and wrap it around my hand, wincing at the pain. Watching it soon turn crimson.
To heal, to prepare for another relentless day of walking, I need to sleep.
Body shaking with cold, I lie on my side. Somehow, rest finds me.
The next morning, I’m awoken by the sound of Raker splashing through the current. He doesn’t even turn. Doesn’t even alert me to his leaving.
Heart in my throat, I rush to my feet and throw myself through the water in a hurry, boot slipping against a rock. Pain shoots through my limbs as my knees both hit the jagged bottom.
I grit my teeth and rise, then race onto the riverbank after him. He makes no move to check if I have followed.
Another day of silence. Another day of Harlan Raker completely ignoring me, as if I am below even a moment of his notice.
Good. I don’t want to hear about all my shortcomings anyway. My own voice inside my head is enough.
It tells me I’m too slow. Raker won’t adjust his speed for me. Either I match his pace … or I get left behind.
We don’t have creatures. Not anymore, at least. Most—if not all—of this journey will be made on foot. Just like the swimming, this is a weakness that needs to be strengthened. I need to be strengthened, like pouring high metal into a lesser blade. Like reinforcing it.
I vary between walking quickly, jogging, then resting. Sometimes, I lose sight of him altogether and run at top speed, only to crest a hill and see his unmistakable form below, armor glimmering beneath the sun.
My bleeding hand quickly becomes irritating. I replace the bandage again, using more torn fabric, knowing it could get infected. And then what? I have no medicine. And no illusions that Raker won’t leave me feverish and dying.
No, he won’t leave me. He’ll likely kill me and take my sword.
That’s fucking comforting.
Distractions prove to be their own medicines. I study the curve of the landscape, how this world is like an endless painting, each mile more sparkling than the last. Right now, the grass is dark green. Large rocks rise from the ground in sharp angles. Some form clusters of mountains. We walk by ruin after ruin. I feel the whisper of their histories as I pass them by, as if
there are secrets hidden between those stones. As if they once formed a
magnificent place.
Now they sit in forgotten piles.
The path tilts up and down, alongside craggy mountains, through wildflower-speckled glens. When the sun is shining brightly above, we reach a valley covered in violet.
Tears well up in my eyes. Lavender, foxglove, catmint—I count all the flowers I’ve previously only seen pressed into pages, in my mother’s book.
She loved flowers. They were so few on Stormside. But she had one plant, from a seed she said came from Starside. A flower she claimed had been passed down through our family for generations. Only something magical could survive so many centuries.
My sister and I would sneak away and search the fields of dirt for any wildflowers to bring back. Most of the time, we came home empty-handed, but finding one was a treasure. We would rush home and—after scolding us for going too far away—our mother would take us to the coveted book, and we would flip through the pages until we found one it resembled. Then we would press it into the parchment. Sign the date.
All of it is now ashes.
Over the hours, the grass lengthens. Its color brightens, until it’s light green, just as it was near the gates.
Our path tilts up, and my calves burn as we climb, Raker’s body blocking the sun. Blocking everything. I keep my head down, focused on the grass in front of me, on the blades that sparkle even in shadow. I don’t even realize we’ve reached a bluff, until Raker stops, and I almost run into him. I stumble to the side, to see what he’s staring at, and my breath catches.
The Prism Path.
Endless, towering mountains ripple in steep waves, all covered in that light green grass, as if the god that created this place coveted the color. In between each sit long, thin waterfalls, like towering blades, sunlight skipping from one to the next in rainbow arcs. I’ve never seen so many colors. I didn’t think the world could look like this.
“It’s beautiful,” I whisper.
Raker makes a sound of contempt next to me.
Soon, we’re in the middle of it, walking through a valley. I feel so small down here, just a pebble compared with these mountains that stand tall like rows of knights, wielding their sparkling swords.
There’s an energy to this place, a pull. Something different from everywhere else I’ve been. Even if I wanted to ask Raker if he feels it too— even if I thought he would respond to anything I say, and if I even wanted to speak to him in the first place—I wouldn’t know how.
The feeling is wordless. It’s pure emotion, bleeding through my chest. An ancient, long-lost sense, awakening.
We walk a mile through the valley, until Raker turns, shifting our path into the mountains. I know better than to ask where we’re going. He stops in front of one of the many waterfalls. A cave sits just behind it. Raker unceremoniously throws his pack through the water and walks away, in a different direction. He’s gone before I can even think about speaking.
“Bastard” is what I eventually say, far too late for him to hear it.
Slowly, I unpeel my makeshift bandage, wincing, but grateful that I don’t see any signs of infection. Yet. I carefully wash off the blood and dirt in the cool water, before wrapping my hand again. The inside of the cave is dark, smooth stone.
I sink down onto it. The cold is a balm against my sore calves.
If only I still had my dragon, I wouldn’t have to do this all on foot. I wouldn’t have to work with Raker.
More than that … more than the help she offered …
I miss her.
My stomach twists with hunger.
I glance over at Raker’s pack and have half a mind to search it for food, before deciding against it. He’s made it very clear how he feels about me
touching his things.
Figure it out.
To forage is to survive on Stormside. Barely anything grows. You have to be clever and patient enough to seek out the small fertile patches. It’s late afternoon. I still have an hour or so until sunset.
I leave the cave, then follow the slope of the hill, down into a forest.
Mushrooms are rare on the other side. I once found a bundle beneath a rotted tree stump and felt the joy of discovering gold in a rock.
Here—here, they’re everywhere.
Some are as large as my hand, others are thin and small, bunched together in a bouquet. Some have thick stalks and curved edges. There must be hundreds of them.
Relief rolls through my empty stomach … along with a flash of bitterness. This is all untouched. This place … it’s abandoned. How many villages could this forest feed on Stormside?
I look up at the sky. If the gods were fair, they wouldn’t allow this all to go to waste. They wouldn’t allow one side to be brimming with food while the other goes hungry.
And maybe I’m no better than the immortals, because when I see all this food … I take it. I grab it all, tucking everything I can fit into my pockets. Then, I keep wandering, until I reach a streak of color.
Berries. A rainbow of them. Purple, blue, pink, red. Red. The same type my dragon found for me. Just like I did then, I grab them by the handful. I
put some in my mouth.
I bite down and groan.
They’re sweeter than the previous berries, even. Anything on Stormside is a cheap comparison. Watered down. This is straight from the source.
Perfect, a sugar that melts through my marrow. I groan as juice slides across my tongue. I pack as many berries as I can into my pockets.
Wildflowers bloom in a petal-swept trail, and I follow them into a grove, filled with blossoms.
I go rigid. Before now, I could count on my fingers how many flowers
I’d seen in my life.
But here … In a place like this, every page in our book would have been filled within hours. We would have needed an entire library of them.
I start picking some of them, weaving their stems into a bracelet, then a chain, then a crown, the way my sister and I used to weave together limp sticks we found outside. These are much more pliable. I rest the ring of daisies on my head, knowing it’s stupid, knowing it’s a waste of time, but remembering my promise to myself to soak up all the wonder I can on this quest.
“I wish you could see this …” I whisper, my voice getting lost in a gentle wind.
The trees are farther away from each other here, in two rows, but their tops lean together, making a canopy. Thick shards of sunlight filter through, in glimmering crosses. I run through them, leaving a path of petals in my wake, turn into another grove—then stop in my tracks.
A green dragon is sleeping on a bed of clover.
I tense. It could be vicious. Or … it could be friendly. Having a dragon would mean I wouldn’t need Raker. It would reduce my travel time significantly. Maybe, it could help me find my silver one.
I step forward, and its eyes open immediately.
They’re green. They sharpen, a ring of fire flashing through the irises— before they close again. That simple movement is a clear warning.
It doesn’t want to be claimed. It will kill me if I try.
Hint taken.
The dragon continues sleeping. I step around it carefully, and the more I walk, the more the forest thickens. Sunlight strains through the treetops.
Something lands on my nose, and I startle. But it’s only a grasshopper with a pink, blooming flower on its back. The flower … it’s part of its body.
I slowly reach up to touch its petals. The moment I do, it flies away.
Then, the insects melded with flowers are suddenly everywhere, taking off from the trees, and swirling around me like a living bouquet. I whisper the names of the ones I know. Bluebell. Bloodroot. Honeysuckle. Cowslip.
Daisy. They wear their blossoms on their backs.
Some fly around my head, sweeping down, examining the flowers I wear in my hair, then leaving. I almost smile.
Then something zips by my ear, nicking it, and I gasp, reaching up.
There’s a tiny spot of blood on my finger.
I unsheathe my sword and whirl around. An arrow. Cadoc.
But no one’s there.
Something else buzzes by, too fast and loud to be one of the floral insects. I turn quickly, reach out—and catch it. I’m expecting another type of bug.
When my fingers uncurl, a tiny being is sitting in my palm. It looks like a child with the wings of a dragonfly. It bites my thumb, and I startle, loosening my hold.
It zips away in a rush of sparkling light.
Suddenly, the light is everywhere.
Shit. My hair is pulled in all directions, out of its braids. I turn and see only my own brown locks, being smothered right against my eyes and mouth, suffocating me. I trip over a rock and fall into the grass.
I swear I hear laughing.
“Stop,” I say, picking the creatures out of my hair and trying my best not to crush them as I throw them back into the breeze.
They don’t. They pull harder, and I clench my teeth in pain. It’s like they’re trying to rip my hair from my skull.
“Enough,” I growl. My nails dig into the ground until I clutch dirt, then I throw it into the air, into my own face.
Release.
There’s soft coughing and what sounds like cursing as they’re momentarily stunned, and I use that chance to fucking bolt. I push the loosened strands out of my face and rub the dirt from my eyes with my arm as I tear through the grove.
I sprint, panting, until … silence. There aren’t whispers in the trees.
There aren’t any winged insects buzzing. There aren’t even grasshoppers. I sigh and run my fingers through my hair to ensure I’ve lost them.
A branch snaps behind me.
My hand on the hilt of my sword, I whirl around— An elk stands just two feet in front of my nose.
Its fur is green, just like the dragon. Its horns are a crown of white, flowers caught on every point.
Its eyes are large and sparkling. It blinks at me and takes a gentle step forward.
It isn’t afraid. Even though my sword is halfway out of its scabbard. It doesn’t even look at the weapon; it just looks at me.
Slowly, I lower my blade back down. Something within me is called forward. I extend my hand toward it, the same way I did to my dragon.
This creature isn’t meant to be claimed, no … But still, it steps toward me, as if allowing me to touch it.
Its horns glisten in the fading sunlight. It leans into my touch— And seizes. Its sparkling green eyes widen. No.
The creature collapses, a sword sticking out of its side. I fall to my knees, still reaching, eyes still locked with a gaze that is now unblinking. A
horrified gasp spills from my lips.
I twist sharply. “What have you done?”
Raker ignores me as he walks to retrieve his sword. He cleans it on the grass, then reaches down and effortlessly lifts the creature onto his shoulders.
I remain in the dirt, next to a hot puddle of blood. “You didn’t have to kill it! We have food!”
He doesn’t even look at the mushrooms and berries in my shaking hands.
Finally, after a day of silence, he speaks. “Everything dies,” he says. “Get over it.”
Then he turns and walks back to the cave.