The Survival of Two

Rest

Osha returned to the cave utterly exhausted. She had spent much of the night practicing—feeling out her strengths and discovering her weaknesses. Eventually, though, the cloud cover extinguished the stars she had been relying on for light, and she had no choice but to return. As she collapsed into bed, her mind fell quiet for the first time in days.

When Qimir awoke, he smiled to see Osha back in his bed, sleeping serenely. Her breathing was deep and even—a pleasant contrast to her labored breath and restless sleep in the week following the confrontation on Brendok. Often, he'd woken to her panicked murmuring, and gone to her side. He could never make out her words, but her distress was evident. All he could do was retrieve the blankets she'd kicked off in her fright and gently cover her. During one of her most fitful nights, he sat on the edge of his bed and softly cradled her cheek in his hand, hoping to calm her through the Force; he stayed with her through most of that night, her peace never lasting long. He was thankful that this had passed—he was familiar with the torment of endless nightmares. He never mentioned those nights to Osha, unsure whether she could even remember her dreams come morning; he would wait for her to open up about them—if such a time ever came. Until then, it was hers to process—only his when her mind was too far away to protect herself.

Thankfully, her nightmares had waned in the days since they'd begun training. Qimir appreciated this not only for Osha's sake but for his as well; her restless nights always became his in the end. He had been a light sleeper ever since his mother died; even after leaving Hetzal, he could never shake this survival instinct. Helping Osha through her nightmares was never a burden, but a full night's rest was still preferable.

However, as she began sleeping through the night, she had taken up a new wakeful habit. He'd started to notice her sneaking out of the cave every few days, either in the darkest part of the night or in the early morning before the sun had risen. He smiled to himself, recalling the slow, long strides she would take to avoid disturbing him—padding softly across the room as if the weight of her footsteps could break it. He would humor her each time, lying still, his eyes closed—simply listening and feeling her movements. Once she left, he would allow himself to fall back to sleep, often until she returned and he woke again. His deceptions were clearly believable enough for her to feel comfortable in her escapes; once, she had been so confident as to drape one of her blankets over him before she left. He never asked her why.

His play-acting had become so convincing that he found himself falling back asleep easier each time, sometimes hardly even rousing at her first movements. This was the issue he faced the day he first began her training. Osha had woken early and kept herself occupied around the cave. Rather than disturbing her privacy, he pretended to be asleep and soon was. He had assumed that she would walk along the beach as she frequently did; he had often caught her standing at the very edge of the surf—as if daring the water to come closer. If she had only done this, her re-entering would have woken him; but instead, she attempted to wake him herself. Of all of the times he had awakened at the lightest of footsteps, he was left with the pained question of what made this time different. He'd remained unaware of her approach until the moment she laid her hand on his body. Suddenly alert, his mind raced at the foreign contact. He had grabbed her wrist, leaving it reddened and sore when he pulled away. Despite this, she had shared tea with him and entrusted him with stories of her youth. It was a forgiveness he hadn't deserved. His thoughts often returned to this memory with a deep appreciation for Osha's compassion and an even deeper regret for his actions.

He understood that her training would be painful—some of which would undoubtedly come by his own hand. It was necessary and unavoidable. But it would always have a reason—he would never subject her to cruelty without cause. If it wasn't meant as a moment to learn from, it would be intended to strengthen her—fortifying her mind and body against the hardships she would face. But this, this had been without reason. He could still remember the shock and fear he'd first seen in her eyes—entirely lacking the fire he had come to know from her. He had been sleeping lighter ever since.

He looked back to Osha, subconsciously matching the gentle rise and fall of her chest with his own breath. Thinking back to her latest nocturnal escape, he decided to let her sleep. She needed rest to perform as they both hoped she would. He started the kettle and sat against the mouth of the cave. He closed his eyes and listened to the sea. It was a windy morning, and the waves churned with a vicious foam. The water hardly had time to retreat before another wave overcame it, crashing onto the shore. He breathed in the cold air, feeling his skin prickle against the stinging breeze. Turning his focus to the tea kettle, he fixated on the water within. He could feel the small, cascading bubbles rise from the bottom as the water grew hotter. Moments before steam whistled from the valve, he gave a sharp turn of his wrist and shut off the burner. He opened his eyes and stood, retrieving the kettle and pouring it over a small mesh pyramid of tea leaves. He held the ceramic cup between his hands, watching the steam billow up from it, dancing and dissipating in the weak draft that penetrated the cave. He heard the rustling of blankets as Osha rolled over in bed, the pace of her breathing taking on the irregularity of wakefulness. He turned back to the kettle and prepared a second cup of tea, stopping to pull a small pressed sugar creature from the blue canister before carefully walking them over to Osha.