Of Spinning Gold and Song

| Twelve | The Lover

Before the fight with the dragon, the horseback ride through the Lyvens country had been uncomfortable, boring, and tiring. Now, it was downright agony, pain, and despair. It seemed as though my head never stopped throbbing--sometimes it was a little irritation, and other times it was a splitting migraine that brought me to tears, but it always hurt. The fresh air stung my cheek; it hurt like an open wound, a constant reminder of the ramshackle fix job I'd trusted. My wrist throbbed, and the small cuts all up and down my leg itched murder.

The constant up and down motion of the horse did nothing to improve my temper either. My legs were cramped up as always, and the new and unwelcome tension between Augustin and myself did nothing to help.

The cruel silence did, however, give me ample time to spend with my tormenting thoughts. Because beyond the agony of losing Rosie a second time that never left me, I had another dilemma to consider as well: the dwarf's gold.

My plan had been to snatch my weight in gold from the dragon's hoard; from what I had seen of it, I knew that wouldn't be an issue at all. I could easily grab three times my weight in gold with some left over. The only problem was that I hadn't grabbed it; I had missed my opportunity and blown the whole plan. And of course with every passing moment it was becoming increasingly evident that I wouldn't be going back.

When we had set out from our little village of Betane, I had only had a month left. The dwarf and I had first met in late April of last year, and now April was come again. A week had already passed since Bradyn and I had encountered the dwarf that first day on the road, a week trip to the dragon's lair. Now it would take another week to get to the capital. That left two weeks.

Two weeks. Perhaps he knew I was headed to the capital, and I didn't know if that was good or not. For if he didn't know and thought I had simply disappeared, I shuddered to think of what he might do.

And in addition to thinking about that, his words kept coming back to my mind. He had insisted that I not do anything to discourage Rosie against him. It would be awful to go through all that trouble to save Rosie from a malicious dragon, only to let her be taken by a cruel dwarf. Worse actually. She had seemed relatively unharmed save for her mind at the dragon's lair. I highly doubted that would remain the case with the dwarf. If I had learned anything from my experience with the short demon, it was that you couldn't trust dwarfs.

The sun was already down when Augustin finally announced that we could stop. To my horror and embarrassment, my dismount from the horse was more of a fall than a stride; my legs were in so much pain they had just about stopped co-operating. For a moment I just laid there on the ground blinking away tears, then I forced myself to my feet, unsure which would be worse: having someone have to help me up or just getting ignored. I didn't intend to find out.

What was wrong with me? I wasn't a crier. My entire life I'd seen those girls, the ones that cried when their hair fell out of place, when the weather wasn't working out, when their friend went away for just a day. I had mocked them. Crying was for the weak. It didn't accomplish anything. All it did was screw up your face and make your eyes puffy later so they weren't good for anything. And now I'd gone soft.

Why? What was the reason?

Deep down inside of me, I thought I knew. But I pushed that thought back down where it belonged, refusing to entertain the possibility lest it prove to be true.

I wanted to go back to being that strong girl, the adventurer, the warrior. But this was just so much easier.

Ignoring the burning red blush that consumed my face, I forced my head up and walked over to help pitch the tents. Grabbing ahold of one of the poles, I looked up when I heard my name. It was Castor, asking if I was okay.