Guardians of the Prophecy

Chapter Nine: The Monk

*Hope you enjoy the chapter.  There won't be any action until the next one, but this one introduces a new character, and frankly, some incompetence issues.  Stuff does happen.  Enjoy!  And please, vote and comment because it truly helps me write more!

The weather was getting colder.  And just as well, considering that they were hiking up the tallest area in Han: the Lanba mountains, which was supposed to be where the tallest peak, Mount Pari was.  It was said that whoever reached the top could discover the home of and communicate with the angels.

It's lucky that we have Laurel, Rima thought, drawing the thick cloak closer around her.  Shaheen, who was tucked within her cloak, shivered against her chest; Perien falcons, used to desert climates, were not built for the cold.  She did have a hooded winter coat in her knapsack, but it was nothing compared to the luxurious material that the cloaks Laurel had provided were made of.

There's no snow yet.  Laurel said that in her... vision, we would meet the Third Guardian in a place where there was frost.  Is the next temple going to have snow?  What if it's at the top of Mount Pari?

As they clambered up the mountain, she and Laurel kept a short distance from their Protectors.  She hadn't bathed properly in a few days, not since they had found a lake on the borders of Han.  Although they weren't in the best of moods, Rima knew that Alistair and Caleb were probably even crankier.  It was a good thing they were in a colder climate than in Antium.  Sweat, body odor and days of not washing did not go well with hot weather.  Because of the chilly wind, she was using her lotion a lot more often, however, and running out of it; her hands got dry quickly, even when she shoved her hands in her pockets.

Rima glanced over at Laurel, and couldn't help but feel some grudging respect for her.  Despite her luxurious upbringing, she hadn't once complained about the uncomfortable traveling conditions.  Perhaps she could talk to Laurel about it some time, since she was definitely looking forward to finding a place to find a proper bath and sleep.  Sometimes, whenever they set up camp with tents and sleeping rolls, she would wake up in the middle of the night.

On the first night after they left Bonum, Laurel had asked if Rima's sleeping roll and blankets were real fur and animal skins.  They were.  She loved animals, but the fur and hides were from animals she hunted for food to show her expertise to Len before she left on her mission.  Might as well use the remaining materials so they wouldn't go to waste.

The next day, as they had just begun their trek up the mountainside once again, Rima took off her gloves to put on more lotion.  She was vividly aware of Alistair's gaze on her.  She blinked at him: he was staring at her hands.  She finished rubbing the lotion into her skin and brought them in front of her face.  “What?”

Alistair abruptly reached over and cradled her hands in his own.  The heat of his grip seemed to seep throughout her body, and Rima relished the feel of his calloused fingertips grazing her skin.  He looked up and smiled at her.  “You have pretty hands.”

She blushed with pleasure and bit her lip.  How many men had ever complimented any aspect of her body?  To date, none.  Except Alistair.  “I do?”

He grinned.  “Yeah.  You have long slim fingers, and your hands are really soft.  They’re too soft, though, for someone who’s had training for a decade.”  He paused, as if waiting for her to respond.

She cleared her throat and said, “My family said that I have my mom’s hands, and they didn’t want them to be ‘ruined’ from training.  So they requested magical gloves and Len, my mentor, agreed.  He also took me to a masseuse and herbalist who gave me tips on preventing my hands from being too rough.”