Page 40 of In Darkness Forged

The human’s lips parted slightly as if in surprise, then her eyes softened as she looked up at him. “Talyn,” she repeated. “Thank you. Do you think… Could you maybe call me Aislin, instead of ‘human?’”

“Why?” he countered coolly. “There is only one of you, so it isn’t as if you can be confused with another. And is it a common practice among humans to name the creatures they know are only fated to die?” It was cruel, and he knew it, but what was he to do when she looked at him with those soft eyes that reminded him so much of Lani?

“Yes!” The human nearly shouted the word, her expression mired somewhere between hurt and frustration. “It is! And I don’t mean just cows or chickens. We all have names, Talyn. And every one of us will die, some sooner rather than later. But that doesn’t stop us from living, or from choosing to care about those who may be taken from us.”

As ridiculous as she was fierce. Despite his frustration, Tal could not quite smother a strange surge of… Was it memory? Longing? It was a ghost of some other time and place that left him feeling bereft. Wishing for… what? His sister? His grandmother? Someone who cared whether he lived or died?

Was that why he’d told her his story? Given her his name? For fear that no other living creature would remember it if he died in the depths of the Darkspring?

Whatever his reasons, it was an empty and meaningless gesture. If he died, the human would die with him, and such sentimentality would be pointless.

If he died, then she would die with him… Why did that thought fill him with such discomfort and unease?

“We should go,” he said brusquely.

The human turned away, throwing up her hands and muttering under her breath, softly enough that she probably believed he could not hear her.

“…most unreasonable, pigheaded, impossible…”

Her words were angry, but her tone was pure disappointment.

* * *

They made camp under the first blinding rays of the sun, in a hollow barely hidden beneath a rocky bluff. A narrow creek made its cheerful, burbling way past, forming a tiny, shallow pool not far from where Tal dropped his pack. As their camp took shape around her, the human sat near the pool’s edge, arms wrapped around her knees, silently gazing into the crystal-clear water.

Humans were of the day, so of course she would be struggling to adapt to an entirely new rhythm of sleeping and waking. And yet, adapt she must, or she would be sleepy and sluggish when the worst predators came looking for a meal.

Once they entered the caves, she would need to be doubly alert, even if it was unlikely to prolong her life longer than a few moments.

Wait… When had he decided to take the human into the caves with him? Before meeting Rhone, Tal had simply been postponing the inevitable—waiting for the most opportune moment to send her back.

He could even have sent her with Rhone. The strange wilding had all but threatened to steal her, and he’d seemed honorable enough, despite his habit of wandering the forest attacking strangers for sport.

So why had Tal’s first instinct been to protect the human rather than ridding himself of her presence as quickly as possible?

For that matter, why had he been so angered by her attempt to save him?

It was unlikely that she’d realized what was happening when Rhone and his pack attacked, unless humans, too, made a habit of testing themselves against the razor edge of another’s steel. So perhaps Tal had simply been annoyed that she’d nearly gotten in the way of a blade meant only to test his reflexes.

Unless… Unless he wasn’t angry with her at all. But that was absurd. What other feelings could he possibly have for a human who had come crashing into his life without warning, bringing nothing but danger and memories Tal wanted to forget?

So he threw himself into readying for the day, building up the fire and cooking the young peccora that Cuan dropped at his feet after a successful hunt.

The human returned to the fire in silence and ate after offering a nod of gratitude. Then she wrapped herself in her threadbare cloak before curling up and pretending to sleep.

Tal knew she was pretending because her breathing did not change, except to include a few tiny, hiccuping sounds he suspected might involve tears.

But he refused to feel any regret over those tears. He could not possibly have tried any harder to convince her not to come. And even if he’d felt remorse, he could not imagine a worse brand of comfort than whatever he might be able to offer. Even Lani had laughed when he tried. Told him he was better off spending his energies scowling and killing things. But still, his attempts had made her laugh instead of cry, which meant that in some strange way, he’d been successful. Or perhaps she’d merely been pretending in order to makehimfeel better…

“What is that?”

Tal turned at the sound of alarm in the human’s voice. She was sitting up and staring at him with a slightly angry expression.

“Your back.”

Tal flexed his shoulders and felt the sting of what was probably a slice from one of the wildings’ blades. Nothing serious, but likely messy. Somehow he hadn’t even noticed the wet trickle of blood down his spine.

“It’s nothing,” he said shortly, with a surge of irritation at the need to wash and mend his shirt.

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