WE BECOME THOUGHTLESS

thirteen | niceties

Alistair's shoulder didn't grind or click when he jostled it, not like it did before, and even still in its sling, he felt the relief of having everything in his body back in its right place.

They found the river around midday. He felt strangely refreshed after having a good night's rest, a fixed shoulder and the healing press of sanaberries against his head, and Cole had given him the heat pack for a second time to keep him warm.

The memory of Cole's furs in his fingers rose in his mind gently, and suddenly he didn't know how to feel about it. Alistair had saved his life, it wasn't surprising that he would feel indebted. But it still felt strange having the boy care for him when he was dying in the cold, giving him food, letting him rest on his furs.

Yes, strange enough to make him uneasy at the thought. Was it out of guilt?

Alistair watched the Welish warrior limp through the snow. He glanced up at the sky every now and again as if expecting to see Chrysos ships streak through the clouds, sharp as knives, and he wrung his hands to work away his nerves. He wondered what he was thinking.

"You know, back home I had my own boat," Alistair started. "Granted, it wasn't much of a boat and more of a piece of wood that could float, but it did its job."

No reply.

Alistair took it as a sign to continue. "My town had this great lake that the kids would swim in sometimes, and I would take my boat onto it and pretend I was in the sky instead, because we all used to be told about the army's great adventures and soldier heroes."

More silence. It pressed up against him on all sides.

"The military had enlistment posters strung up all over, you couldn't go anywhere without seeing it posted up, watching you." Cole could wrung his hands to shake away at his nerves, but Alistair needed to talk to keep his away. "So, naturally, most of us town kids wanted to join it when we came of age. Saving people, returning advena, being heroes – it was all made out to be part of the job."

Cole grunted at that, and his shoulders went tight and stiff. He hauled himself through the snow.

"I know now that it's not true," Alistair soothed. "That it was all propaganda. The military doesn't save – it takes. Especially if you're a mindrenderer," he glanced up. "Or you're not Chrysosian."

"Why are you telling me this?" Cole snapped, but he didn't stop moving, and he didn't turn.

Alistair shrugged. "Can't I talk freely?" He wrapped his arms around himself and pressed the heat-pack close to his body. "Look, I don't want to bring up the bear more than I have to—"

"Then don't," Cole cut in, venomous. "We don't need to talk at all."

"Speak for yourself," Alistair seethed. "You might be able to stand there all broody and self-righteous, but I quite like the sound of my own voice."

"That makes one of us."

Alistair felt a build-up of heat in his chest, hot enough to be cold, but he clamped his mouth shut and looked away. What was the point? They would bicker and snap, two spitting cats with their claws unsheathed, but it would lead them nowhere. If Cole didn't want to listen, then fine, Alistair wouldn't talk. He made his decision.

A few long, painful moments of silence.

Oh, but he loved talking. "You're not very fun, you know that?"

Cole's fists balled from where they hung by his sides, bloodless knuckles peeking through the end of his sleeves. Half of his hair was pulled and tied up loosely with a stray piece of thread. "And you're annoying."