A Touch Of Darkness

31 || Pirates

All night, I drift in and out of sleep. Every little noise makes me stir -- the howl of the wind, the patter of rain, the soft beat of my own heart. At one point, I'm sure I hear footsteps crunch in the dirt, but darkness claims me again before my senses fully sharpen.

Eventually, it's the rising light that teases my eyelids open for good. A warm glow filters through the fabric above, brightening its crystal white. Shielding my eyes, I shift up into a sitting position, searching for the blanket. I must have thrown it away in the night; it forms a crumpled heap at my feet.

Faintly, the memory of last night lingers, a twined mix of joy and percolating loss. The latter has, at least, faded with time. A smile twitches my lips.

By the time I get outside, a third of the tents are already missing. The camp bustles with activity. Clearly, everyone else awoke in sync, and no-one thought to come and fetch me. My smile falls with a sigh.

Then Sarielle appears from inside the neighbouring tent, armour on, hair plaited loosely. "Nathan, you're up! You mind helping me take this down?"

I'm suddenly very aware of my sleep-tousled hair. I drag a hand through it, hoping to smooth out some of the tangles. "I've never taken down a tent before," I admit.

She shrugs. "It's not hard. Come here."

She shows me how to untie the ropes, to take out the poles while keeping the tent upright, and finally how to fold it into a neat square once it collapses. It's hard to believe such a small thing once spread over a wide space. The other soldiers work startlingly quickly, the camp disappearing all around us, and before long it is nothing but a few scars in the earth and the scorched remains of last night's fire.

Once everything is packed onto the horses, we set off into the forest. A dark-haired woman -- Lark, if I can recall the names Sarielle told me with accuracy -- takes the lead, her stride swift and unbroken, with the sandy-haired brothers leading the horses by their reins. No-one rides the creatures, I notice. The numerous bags they carry barely leave room for someone to sit atop their saddles, let alone the consequences of the extra weight. Besides, it wouldn't be fair for only two soldiers to get to ride, as Dalton explains to me when I ask him. They all trudge onward as equals.

Harper walks between the brothers, although he hardly gets a word in amongst their eager conversation. They never seem to stop talking. It's a wonder they find so much to discuss.

Dalton's place is beside the horses, near the front, and so of course that is Sarielle's place as well. Carlin and I trail them like shadows. They look like twin heroes, crescent swords swinging at their hips, stances straight and firm as they march through the sunlit trees. Even as we pass under the broad shade Mount Vasim casts, they're bathed in a golden glow.

"Do they always look so perfect?" I dare to ask Carlin when merely listening to them exchange the occasional word becomes tiresome.

She shrugs, her dark braids lifting. "Pretty much."

It's surprisingly easy to walk with Carlin. Perhaps it's because she lacks both the armour of a soldier and the hardened stare Nash wears in place of it, or simply due to the fact that she's the only member of the regiment a tad shorter than me. It helps her feel less intimidating.

That ease creates a slope for my curiosity to escape. I let my step falter, dropping back a few paces, glad when she follows. "How long have they been..." I gesture vaguely in their direction. "In love?"

Smirking, she elbows my side. "Why?"

I jerk sideways, ducking away from her gaze. "I was just... just wondering. Because they seem so close."