We Solemn Few

Chapter Thirteen : The Heat that Binds

Marrow let out slow breaths as he stared into the dark sky above, the sparkling stars like little candles flickering in an abyss of darkness. They had stopped riding for the night hours ago, but he was not able to sleep, and had not been for some nights now. Not proper sleep, at least. Nightmares taunted him when he dared to close his eyes, and the faceless man of flaming flesh was always waiting for him in the depths of his mind. Him, and his father. Sometimes his father was a charred corpse, and others he was grinning as if he had won something. He did not want to think about the creature or his father.

He thought of his friends instead, and they were hardly kinder thoughts. He had to keep himself from turning his head toward the cold body at his side; Samson, with an arrow through his skull, had been a friend. A younger one, of course, and one they taunted half the time they saw him, but a friend nonetheless. He did not think flesh could be so cold. He shook his head, and thought of Veyha and Zenrin. He had seen neither since that night, and he was worried he never would. The riders had mentioned the town being attacked and people lost, but he could not imagine those two among the corpses. He would not. But his nightmares would remind him that they could be.

Sighing, he sat up and heaved himself out of the cart, quietly cursing his sore legs as he settled his boots on the forest floor. Stretching, he looked around the small alcove Ms. Bella had found along the road they had been following - they had called it the Evergreen Trail - glancing across the black shapes of sleeping horses and smaller, huddled shapes of sleeping people. He did not mean his eyes to linger on the grouping, but it was hard not to stare at the rolling wisps of pink hair that seemed to almost move on its own. Pink was not a natural hair color, but neither were purple eyes. He supposed gray skin wasn't, either, and stopped supposing normality. Scorn me if anything is normal outside of Kluseth.

He jumped at the sudden crack of a tree branch behind him, spinning while his hand gripped for his axe, finding air instead. His mind sputtered, and he did not know why it was seamless to reach for it, but he breathed a sigh of relief to only find himself face to face with Rhiss, the boy-soldier of the group, though still a few years older than him, and likely as any of the others to drive a blade through his heart with ease. His messy hair framed his freckled face, and a soft smile dimpled his cheeks.

"Awake again this night, Marrow?" He nodded, and was glad for the company; aside from Thelladon, Rhiss seemed to take the most night watches, and unlike most Rhiss seemed rather eager to have someone to talk to. "Well, you should try to get some rest, logging-boy, but I cannot blame you for being sleepless. Walk with me?"

Marrow smiled slightly, "A walk would be perfect right now, I think, sword-boy." The man flushed, though clearly took the jest as just that, and spun seamlessly toward the forest. Marrow stretched his legs just slightly before catching up swiftly. "You know, I think you spend more time walking than watching, most nights. This won't get you in trouble with miss-" Rhiss shot him a glare, though it was hardly sharp, but he got the point, "apologies- Lady Vyri?"

The boy simply shook his head, "Not much, anyways. Besides, Sir Thelladon watches as much while he's asleep as when he's awake. It's quite... off-putting, at times, but it has kept us alive. I think he can see more than we, yet the Lady says he is no more a man than any of us, and I've never heard an utterance of a lie from her." His eyes said he was not lying, either, "Still, I wish I was half as alert as he. Perhaps I could've... ah, well, I don't mean to bring things down. Regardless, Lady Vyri does not mind my walks. She even joined me on a few of them."

"She did?"

Rhiss nodded, smiling fondly, "She is a very insightful woman for her age, though she claims not to be. She's rather humble in that regard, I suppose. But she knows things many scholars do not; the shock on their face is quite amusing, especially the cocky ones. I asked her about a piece, once. She had said 'Uzmera is in slumber. Healing is hence tenuous, and will be some time.'" The confused look on Marrow's face must have spurred explanation, "Uzmera is the goddess of life, see, and the god Helia has devoted herself to, but a scholar had claimed she had let too many men die after a rather... bloody battle. Well, Lady Vyri was having none of that, so she said that and much more, but that piece was odd.