Page 54 of Gift from the Tree

“Run.”

“What?” she asks, dropping her smile.

“Run,” I repeat as I take off at a steady pace. She’ll figure it out.

“Shit,” she mutters from quite a few strokes behind me, and I let a little smile grace my face.

“Keep up,” I bark, looking over my shoulder. She isn’t too far back, so I slow my pace slightly and let her catch up. When she does, her breathing is regulated, and she’s holding pace with me easily. I made the running trail the first year we moved in and it’s exactly one mile a lap. We’re about halfway around the first lap, and she’s still breathing normally like we aren’t even running, and she has a small smile on her face.

Maybe she isn’t a lost cause.

Checking my timekeeper as we finish our second lap, it reads fourteen minutes. Impressive.

“Last lap,” I call. She turns her head to me and flashes me a saucy grin before sprinting forward full tilt.

Little warrior wants to race.

I charge after her, picking up speed, feet pounding on the ground as I push to catch up to her. She briefly glances over her shoulder and squeals as she sees how close I am to catching her. I let out a quiet chuckle and send a little of my earth element out to shake the ground around her, but it doesn’t slow her down. She barely stutters a step as she keeps pushing herself to the max.

Keep going. Let’s see what else you can do.

About fifteen feet in front of her, I shoot up a dirt wall about ten feet tall. She’ll have time to maneuver around it, but I want to see what she decides to do.

To my amazement, she continues heading straight for it, planting her foot on the wall and propelling herself over it with a little of her air. When the fuck did Gaster teach her that? I drop the dirt wall to see her running backward, both of her middle fingers up, flipping me off before she turns around and sprints around the last corner.

Enough fucking off for now.

I dart forward as fast as I can, catching up to her in seconds. She lets out a surprised laugh as she tries to push herself harder, but I already have her. I pass her and carry on over the mile marker, slowing my stride and jogging in place.

Turning to look at her, she has her hands on her hips, slowing her breathing, looking out at the woods.

“I used to run in the woods to get away from everything on the estate. I’d run or climb trees, do anything to keep me away as long as I could. My willow tree sits in the middle of a huge clearing, and I’d run around the clearing for God only knows how long while Donald was out. I didn’t realize I missed the feel of it till now.” She looks at me with a softness in her eyes that I haven’t seen since meeting her.

I can feel the tugging in my chest, pushing me to go to her, wrap her in my arms, so I turn away from her. I don’t deserve that look or the right to touch her.

“Time for the gym.”

It’s painful to ignore the pull in my chest. My bond isn’t awakened, but it’s blooming now that I’ve recognized her as my Primary. At least mentally I have. So now that it can sense her, it demands me to go to her, but I can’t.

Not yet.

Fourteen

Willow

Two hours that giant fucker tried to kill me .

For a solid two fucking hours, he made me train. I was so hyped when we went on a run and all that came crashing down when we got to the gym, and he informed me the run was my warmup. No wonder he’s E.F. Lead Instructor. He’s a ruthless dictator.

First, he forced me through some high-intensity workout for thirty minutes straight. Water break. Then he made me lift weights. Water break. Then he showed me fighting stances and proceeded to sling me around on my ass for almost an hour. Then sent me on my way with a grunt of “see you at breakfast.”

Big, giant, asshole dictator.

I should’ve hit him harder this morning.

I slowly drag my feet up the stairs because every muscle, cell, and pore in my body hurts right now. I obviously didn’t stretch correctly because I’m dying currently. And need a bath.

He did give me a timekeeper, which is exactly like a pocket watch but of course magical. Instead of numbers, there are symbols that represent the time of day at what would be six, nine, twelve, and three. Other than that, it’s the exact same.

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