The Thieves of Otar

Escape

A few hours after she had woken, Zia set off to find Heath. She had been told by many people that he was fine and was just recovering from blood loss, but she had to see him with her own eyes. She found the room where he was recovering and gently knocked on the door.

"Come in," a familiar voice said, and her heart skipped a beat. It certainly sounded like Heath's voice, but she told herself to not get too excited before she even saw him. She took a deep breath and prepared herself before she opened the door slowly.

Unlike her room this one was brightly lit, with the drapes drawn back to allow sunlight to stream through and lighted candles on a tall candlestick. Lying in bed, propped up with feathery pillows, was Heath, looking as pale as a ghost, but beautifully alive and well. A large grin split his face when he saw Zia, and she couldn't stop herself from rushing to the bed and wrapping him in a tight hug.

"I wasn't sure if you were awake yet or not," Heath told her.

"I wasn't sure if you were alive or not," she replied, her throat feeling tight as she sat on the end of his bed. "Don't do that to me again or I'll kill you myself."

Heath laughed, but winced and clutched his stomach. "Still a bit sore," he told her as he rubbed his belly gently right where Daxtor had stabbed him.

"Or maybe you're just being a pansy," she teased.

Heath chuckled, careful not to laugh too hard this time.

Zia's brows drew together as she studied him. He was very pale. It was as if all the color had been drained from his skin, leaving him white as a sheet. He blended in quite nicely with the pillows behind him. He didn't appear to be feverish or anything like that, though, Zia noticed with relief.

"I'm fine," Heath told her when he saw her look of worry. "Link says I just have to take it easy for a little while. I'll be back on my feet in no time."

"Puh-lease," she rolled her eyes. "You're probably just faking the whole thing for an excuse to stay in bed."

Heath sighed melodramatically. "You've caught me. Looks like l will be cleaning out the pigsty in the morning after all."

"First thing," she agreed.

She laughed, and it felt good to laugh. After the anger, fear, and exhaustion she had felt recently, laughter was like a warm bath for her spirit, washing away all the layered grime and dirt.

"Thank you for saving me," she said for the second time today. "You came just in time."

"You would have done the same for me," he said simply. "You have, come to think of it."

"But not like you did."

He waved her thanks aside. "It's done, Zia. No thanks required."

"But-"

Heath covered his ears and sang, "La, la, la, la, la! I can't hear you!"

Zia huffed and rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Heath, you're such a child sometimes."

"And you're a such a stubborn mule sometimes," he countered. "What part of 'no thanks required' did you not understand?"

She raised her eyebrows. "Did you just call me a donkey?"

"No," he said seriously. "I called you a mule."

Zia's brows shot up higher. "Very nice, Heath. You're very charming, you know that? Everyone knows that women loved to be compared to livestock."

Heath roared with laughter, wincing because of his wound, but laughing still the same. Zia couldn't help but laugh along.