WE BECOME THOUGHTLESS

nine | crossing shadows

In the morning, Alistair's head was wrapped up in the ripped sleeve of his shirt and the pain had dulled into a distant throbbing, thanks to Cole's sanaberries. Awkwardly, he had managed to tend to his shoulder and wrap it up in a makeshift sling while he slept. The thought of getting Cole to crank it back into place made him feel slightly sick.

He lifted his heavy body from where he had balled the remains of his shirt to use as a pillow.

The fire had died during the night, and what remained was a pit of powdered ash and hot coals. He shuffled closer to hog the warmth, lifting his gaze to watch the Weles warrior shift in his sleep from across the dead fire. He had his knees hugged close to his chest and his fists were gripped over the fur of his coat. His face was still.

Alistair preferred Cole when he was asleep, he thought. The silence, the lack of any kind of threat. He looked gentler when he slept, like one of the farmer's boys back in Alistair's old home, excluding his obvious Weles features. Like maybe he was more likely to wrap you in up in a hug than stab you in the back.

Cole stirred and his eyes went abruptly open, forcing Alistair to quickly look away. Already alert, Cole lifted himself into an upright position and side-glanced at the other boy, down at his hands and then his face, before tending to his ankle.

Alistair's bloodless knuckles pulled at the rim of his hood. He could hear the moving river a few paces away and the distant caw of a bird somewhere. Mornings in Weles were almost peaceful when the clang and clatter of the Chrysos military wasn't disturbing the silence.

He stood and gathered his shirt-pillow together before shoving it into his pocket, smoothing the folds in his coat. The scrap could be useful later. "You wanted to keep moving, now let's move."

Cole didn't glance up from where he was prodding his fingers at his ankle, acknowledging the mindrenderer with the briefest grunt from a throat still rough with sleep. The edges of his bandage were frayed and dirty.

Alistair rubbed his hands together and breathed hot air into his curved palms before stepping forward to kick dirt into the simmering coals. Cole darted his eyes forward and his nose screwed up with a flare of anger. "Wait!"

He lifted up a calloused hand and knelt towards the dying embers, and Alistair took a step back, startled by the sudden urgency. The other boy took his lip between his teeth before revealing a leather satchel from the inside of his coat, shovelling the ash in with a loose stone. Alistair squinted.

"What are you doing?" He asked blankly.

The Weles boy filled the pouch and tied it with string. Standing soundlessly, he placed the satchel back into his pocket, pressed close to his chest. "Heat pack."

And stepping over the dead fire, he started the trek upstream. Alistair scoffed dryly, loud enough for Cole to hear. "I hope you know how intense you are, you scared me half to death."

"Only halfway there then."

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Following the path of the river, Alistair attempted to keep the pain from showing on his face. He could hear the wet grind of his bones clicking together from where they had popped out of place, and every time he moved he went a shade paler. He didn't know how long there was until he became entirely translucent.

All he knew was that he would not be asking Cole for help. The last time the other boy got his hands on him, it was when he'd been trying to strangle him to death.

From far away, Alistair could hear the howling of a distant wind, and the sound sent frost-bitten chills deep into his skin. Before flying to Weles, he had never felt such cold. A biting, ravenous cold. There must've been firepits built into the bellies of the Welish, because Cole didn't so much as shiver as he limped through the loose snow. Alistair's entire body was wracked with tremors he couldn't seem to shake.

He clenched his teeth and huffed out a breath of pale air. "Do you know where we are?"

"How would I know where we are?" The Weles boy made an agitated sound from the back of his throat, rubbing his hand down his thigh with every limp. His breaths sent plumes of cottony air up around his face.

"Well I've heard that the Welish are guided by the earth's heartbeat," Alistair laughed breathlessly. "Is it guiding you anywhere now?"

Cole was silent for a moment. "The earth is sacred and we know how to work with it, but I can't say that it guides me." A pause. "Where did you hear that?"

"The soldiers," Alistair said with an edge of worry. They had shared few words during the lengthy trudge up the river – Cole could barely look at him, nevermind make conversation – and Alistair didn't know what could set the boy off. He got the sense that he was poking the furry pelt of a beast with a very short stick.

But instead of whirling around in a fit of Weles rage, Cole laughed lowly – bitterly – into the cold air. "You people like to make up rumours. Like gossips. In my Clan, gossipers were punished."

Alistair pursed his lips and looked up at the boy's back, draped over in white fur. His ink-spill hair curled around the nape of his neck and stirred in the breeze. There was something decidedly on-edge about the way he cast his eyes up at the forest ahead, at the moving river and snow bunched at his feet, like he was expecting an ever approaching threat. It set Alistair's jaw tight like wire.

It was moments like these when he missed the familiar weight of a compass in his hand. When he was younger, he would take his mother's compass and press a magnet to its back just to watch its needle move and spin in tight circles, confused and dizzy.

He felt like that now, moving around in circles, a tiny needle in some kid's mother's compass. Going nowhere.

Going nowhere with this oaf.

A shadow crossed over them, darkening the trees and dimming the silhouettes of their shadows. Cole moved like the wink of light on a tossing coin in the darkness, forward until he had his body pressed against the trunk of a tree and his fur coat up over his head.

Alistair looked up at the fast-moving clouds in the sky, grey and bloated with rain. A cloud had passed over the sun. They were cast in its shadow.

"You move impressively fast with that ankle." He mused, biting down on the edge of his knuckle to force down a laugh as the other boy looked up from beneath the cover of his coat. He watched the cloud shift away from the sun.

Cole stood quickly and rolled his shoulders. He glanced up at the sky again, a line of worry between his eyebrows, and then at Alistair. A scowl formed on his lips and he shook the snow from his shoulders. Alistair felt a sense of satisfaction in seeing him like this, suddenly unguarded, more like a boy than a man struggling under the weight of himself. He fumbled with his hands before crossing them over his chest and turning away.

"Come on," he grunted. "Keep moving."

Alistair exhaled and continued upstream, watching the air fog and shift against his breath. Cole's shoulders were tense. "You thought it was Chrysos, didn't you?" He asked, surprising himself. "You thought it was the ships."

Cole said nothing.

He said nothing for hours.