A Touch Of Darkness

43 || It's Okay

"Fiesi!" Sarielle screams, the name so sharp it shreds her throat raw. Her feet pound and skid through the undergrowth. Her head throbs at the wind's shrill whistle. Her heart beats at her chest like a fist, punching over and over, shattering anything logical until all she has is the blind, frantic urge to run. To sprint. To get Nathan to safety.

He's too light in her arms. Fragile, a bundle of brittle bones drained of heat. A trickle of blood warms her chest where she clutches him.

His blood. She races faster. "Fiesi!"

"Sarielle?"

Finally. Never did she think she would be so relieved to hear Fiesi's voice. "Fiesi!" she yells, whirling in the direction of the sound. "Don't move!"

"Why, am I about to get shot?"

His tone is just the same teasing jab as usual, only the slightest tinge of curiosity edging it. Clearly, he's run into no trouble, then. It would be the most powerful of them that would escape unscathed. Gritting her teeth, she tears through a mess of branches and breaks out into a broad clearing.

She locks eyes on him immediately. He stands in the centre of the open space, facing a slender black horse. Is that one of the ones they stole in Gefyr Bridge? She doesn't care enough to wonder.

"Fiesi," she gasps, stumbling towards him, hefting Nathan like a child in her arms. He's got heavier. Her own tiredness dragging at her limbs. "So glad you're alright."

"Oh." Surprise and delight merge in his voice as a smile creeps up his face. It vanishes as soon as he fully takes her in. "Oh. What happened?"

She doesn't bother responding. Her gaze trails to the horse. "Take Nathan from me."

Fiesi hesitates for the barest second, lingering with his mouth open as if to argue, before offering nothing more than a swift nod and carefully extracting Nathan from her arms. He inhales as his fingers brush over the dagger. Only the very top of its narrow blade and its white hilt stick out from Nathan's back, just missing his spine, the Neyaibet general's parting gift before they could speed away. The instinct to yank it out and throw it as far away as possible itches at Sarielle. She curls her fist.

She's eternally grateful the general didn't throw with more precision. She easily could have killed him. And she still can. Fresh fear drives through Sarielle's heart, spearing in each of her nerves.

Haste thrumming in her veins, she leaps up into the stirrup, swinging her leg around and into the saddle. It's built for one, but it will have to do. Whatever deity sent this horse after them, she has to admit that it's a blessing. Twisting, she reaches down, allowing Fiesi to lift up Nathan and pass him to her.

He stirs as she hauls him into position, just slightly, his quiet whimper quivering her heartstrings.

"It's okay," she whispers, shifting closer to him. She doesn't know whether or not she's lying. She never does, but what does it matter? He might not even hear her.

It will be okay. If she can get him back to camp. If she can get him to safety.

Her gaze snaps to Fiesi, shifting his feet awkwardly as he scratches at his hair. "Get on," she hisses. "Quickly."

"But there isn't room," he protests weakly. His eyes flick to the horse's head. It huffs.

"Get on." She pins him with a glare. "Or I leave you behind."

The latter option still sounds infinitely more inviting, but she has to force herself to remain civil, allowing him to scramble up. She grabs a handful of his ripped shirt and drags him up behind her. Without waiting to check if he's stable, she teases the reins out from either side of Nathan. They tremble. Shaking. She's shaking.