Elven Legacy

Chapter 25

Moira

In the depths of troubled, messy sleep, she found herself locked in a damp dungeon cell, acrid-smelling, worn smooth stone all around, with metal bars for the door.

Neros was there.

Moira had only ever seen Neros once, remembered his face only vaguely, but her imagination, apparently, didn't mind taking care of the rest.

Neros crawled closer to her as if they were lovers in a bed. First, panic slammed into her as she realized what was going on. Then, humiliation came, sweeping across her, overwhelming. Hot tears spilled from her eyes and she wanted so fervently to scream, to fight back, and get the hell away from him!

But she, for some reason, she . . . couldn't. And—

A hand gently clasped her shoulder, a low feminine voice spoke her name, "Moira."

She opened her eyes, panting from the lingering panic, and realized – thank the gods – that it was only a dream.

"Are you okay?" Kitera whispered, looming over her. Outlined in firelight, her face looked tired. Brown tresses spilled over her athletic shoulders, longest strands brushing Moira's sleeve. The night was still thick and black around them. If Kitera was waking her, it must be Moira's turn to keep watch.

Gathering her wits, Moira pushed herself up on her elbows, with the soft rustling of night clothes against blanket. Kitera drew back to give her space.

"I'm okay," Moira whispered, conscious of the three others, who seemed fast asleep around the fire.

"You sure?" Kitera asked, giving her a concerned look.

Moira swallowed, and realized she was thirsty. "Yeah. Just a bad dream."

Kitera waited a moment, the fire crackling and snapping beside them. Then she nodded, clearly tired, and said, "If you get too sleepy, just wake Jaden. It's his turn after you."

Moira returned the nod. "All right."

She sat up completely, shivering when the blanket slipped away from her. Meanwhile, Kitera dropped onto her own makeshift mattress and curled her legs. It took only seconds before her breathing became loud and even.

After soothing her dry throat with some water, Moira reached for her woolen blanket, wanting to drape it over her shoulders like a shawl. But she stopped mid-motion.

She had a better idea.

Carefully, Moira got to her feet and drifted a few paces away. She breathed in deeply, exhaled slowly. She felt blissfully free of thoughts, at least for the moment.

But she knew it wouldn't last – she could feel the restless, frenzied thoughts, threatening to come undone and roar inside her like a maelstrom.

She recognized the signs; she knew she had to be stronger. Otherwise her anxious thoughts would rise and consume her, just like they used to. She hadn't done the saicerra routine Zemisha had taught her in over two days, now.

. . . And sure enough, the nightmares return.

Neros, Kemon, or another, it didn't matter. The scenario was always the same.

So Moira focused, with all that she had, on her breathing.

She also concentrated on the cool night wind, sweeping across the fragrant meadow, affectionately ruffling at Moira's unbraided hair. She breathed it in, aware of goose bumps prickling her skin under her thin sleep clothes.