A Deadly Bite

24 || Debate

A storm is brewing in the distance. Peels of thunder roll from beyond the shore, muted echoes clawing their way through the ground Sarielle is seated upon. She shifts a little further into her father's side, staring up at the black sky.

"Nine seconds," Dalton calls from above. He's clambered up into the branches of the tree she leans against, his neck craned in an effort to catch sight of any flicker of lightning. Disappointment hangs from his voice. She hears a twig snap as he leans back. "It's getting further away."

"Good," Fiesi grumbles, laid flat on his back in the grass with his eyes half-lidded. His hands clasp behind his head. "Maybe we can finally get some sleep."

Dalton sighs. "Sorry." The branches shift again. "Give me a few more minutes."

"I admire your interest, Captain Dalton," Sarielle's father says, gaze tilting upward. His cap slides, but he catches it before it can slip from his head. "The natural world is full of wonder. It's important that young people like you continue to appreciate it."

Sarielle starts to nod her agreement, yet the action snags halfway. Lips pressed together in a frown, she draws her knees up, searching for stars amongst the thick cloud that blankets the night. Storms always seemed easy to admire when she watched them from her castle room window, her chin cupped in her hands and elbows resting on the spacious sil, warm and dry as the faraway lightning lit up the bright glass and cast a glow over her sun-patterned nightdress. Now, even as the danger drifts away and their skies remain fortunately clear of rain, her chest squeezes.

Even during those safer times, Nathan never heard the thunder. It never cracked loud enough to reach his tiny pocket of a cell, but he'll be hearing it now, and her heart thuds with worry. There's no knowing how far ahead of them he could be. What if he's gotten himself caught in the storm? He must be terrified.

Dwelling on it is pointless. She lets out a slow, shaky breath. There's nothing I can do right now but hope. She prays the stars are watching from beyond the clouds. If they are, then maybe they might listen. Just this once, she prays they'll protect him while she can't.

Fiesi's groan drags her from her thoughts. He rolls onto his side, his grey cloak spilling onto the ground as his back faces them. "I'd appreciate it more if it wasn't the damn middle of the night."

A pale, white-blue blur skips out from behind another tree as Jaci appears, moonlight glinting off her frost-tipped fingers. She kicks at Fiesi's ankle as she glides past. His head turns enough for Sarielle to catch the azure spark of his glare, though it's gone again swiftly. There's something cold and stony about his turned back, enough to trickle thick unease along her spine. She could convince himself that he's merely sulking, like the over-privileged brat she read him to be at first, though she knows there's something far more complex beneath it. Her heart gives another squeeze.

A faint flash, faded enough that she might have missed it had her gaze not drifted back to the sky, lights up the forest. The low murmur of Dalton's voice counts to the rhythm of her pulse. Jaci releases a soft gasp, her icy eyes wide with amazement.

"Do you not get storms in Aorila?" Sarielle asks.

Jaci shakes her head. She scrawls a word in frost on the back of her hand -- a feat that still flutters a deep, dazzled awe in Sarielle's chest -- before holding it out. Shielded.

Thunder sounds like the soft, sleepy roar of an animal. Dalton sighs again. "Thirteen seconds." The tree creaks. "Fine, I'm coming down."

She leans sideways a little as he hops down, landing in a practised crouch upon the earth, before taking a seat beside her. He leaves a purposeful wedge of space. Digging her teeth into her tongue, she sweeps a lock of hair behind her ear, averting her eyes and trying to ignore the pang of hurt that ripples through her. It shouldn't have to be awkward between them, yet it is. Right as she knows he must be about taking a break, she's starting to hate this constant distance, as if they tiptoe around each other in a constant effort to avoid bringing it up.