The Sprinter

Chapter 13

Arothena sighed, the fading campfire they had built casting its orange glow across her face. She clasped her hands around her knees, pulling them into her chest. It was a cold night.

When they had arrived at the edge of the forest, Salene had gone straight into her tent. She hadn’t said a word to any of them. Ronan had gone to lay Eloise down, and she had stayed here. To set up the fire. And to think.

What Aidrel had done, what he’d given - for her. She knew it was Eloise he’d taken the knife for, but only because she’d deemed the girl worth the risk. It was her judgement - her order. She turned to look at the canvas tent they’d brought for her, Ronan’s back pressing against the fabric from inside. What if she’d been wrong. What if this girl - what if she wasn’t what they were looking for. If Aidrel had…

No. She couldn’t think like that, even if it might well be true. It wouldn’t get her anywhere. It was hard, she decided, to find the right mix of sad and resolved. To mourn, yet still find courage. To retain your determination without seeming - without being - callous. Cold.

Ronan emerged from the tent flap, his white hair dyed with the black blood of the yenaki. He came and sat beside her, by the fire. His arm slipped around her shoulders, and pulled her in, until her head was leaning against his broad chest. His thumb caressed her hair, slowly pulling gobs of blood out of it.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she could feel his deep voice as it rumbled through his chest.
“He trusted me. He trusted my judgement -”
“And it was his decision to do so.” he cut in, silencing that nagging doubt that had tugged at her chest, “A life is a precious thing. He wouldn’t have given his without full conviction.”

Arothena exhaled into his chest, his shirt still wet with the blood of those creatures. She raised her chin, lifting her head to look at him. He stared back at her, his calm face settling something inside her, his eyes proving to her again and again that there was someone to listen to her, to understand her.

“Why do you need her?” he asked, his voice inquisitive, yet - submissive. As if he knew that after today - she might not want to talk about what had cost Aidrel his life. What might be nothing more than a hunch.

“I don’t know, Ronan. I don’t know anything. I’ve got so much that I need to do, to prepare, and so little that I can do. I don’t know why I offered her a place here, I don’t even know what she could help us with. I don’t know what to do.”

Her voice remained soft as she poured out her troubles to the great Rellae male. She never used to tell anyone anything. She used to tell herself that she didn’t need anyone, that other people just complicated things. She hid everything, but when she met Ronan, she realised that if there was someone who could understand her, someone who she could talk to, it was worth talking to them. Especially in these times.

“I think maybe - she’s important? There must be a reason King Jotkur is after her, and maybe we could use her as bait? I don’t know, I don’t know anymore.”

Ronan squeezed her shoulder, tucking her head into him with his chin. She could feel his heartbeat inside his chest, a steady beat, grounding her, bringing her back to earth. It was ok. She could do it. She had to. If she didn’t…

If she didn’t, they risked the War. The War that would not only change the world, but forge it anew. A world born of the blood of its predecessors. Forever understanding of the consequences of War, but forever rebuilding from its shadow. And she couldn’t let that happen.

She pushed herself off Ronan’s chest.

“In three days, we should be able to make the border of Yuhnig, provided we have no distractions and march at a steady pace. Although, I’m not sure how much she’ll slow us down,” she stated, casting a glance at the orange tent in which Eloise slept.

“From there, we’ll have to cut around, either disguising ourselves as merchants trading fine jewels - jewels worth guarding - or as aristocracy. We’ll be able to infiltrate the palace in a week from now, provided we don’t run into any trouble at the city outskirts. From there…”

She trailed off, but Ronan took her face in his hand, his rough skin scraping against her.

“From there we fight,” He declared, his eyes never leaving hers, “and then after that, maybe we’ll settle down. Although, I suppose if I wanted that, I shouldn’t have chosen to love you,”

His thumb traced the edge of her jawline.

“We’ll get through it. I promise.”

Arothena smiled at him.

“I know we will,” she said, and turned to lean against him again, staring into the embers of the dying fire. The fast fading warmth of the fire tickled her toes as Ronan leant his head on top of hers, his chest pressing against her face as he breathed, the feel soothing her, lulling her into a deep sleep. The kind that falls upon the overtired and restless mind, to heal, to compose and to prepare. So Arothena slept, praying that the morning held more than just a day full of marching. Praying that the sunrise brought as much light as it promised, and that in the morning, she would be able to keep moving, and to keep fighting.

~~*~~