Page 45 of The Weaver

Escape it? You were rescued, Ahmya. Every. Single. Time.

In every situation, Rekosh had been there to protect her, tosave her. What would have happened if not for him? If he hadn’t been nearby?

“Dead,” she whispered, opening her eyes. “I’d be dead.”

But in direct opposition to the pain—and the dark turn of her thoughts—was the soothing heat surrounding her. Rekosh’s heat. His arms were wrapped around her, and one large palm covered her shoulder. This was where she always felt safe. Every time he carried her, every time he held her, the world wasn’t as scary.

His ridged chest was beneath her cheek, and though his hide was hard, there was a suppleness to it, like leather. She rubbed her face against it and inhaled as deeply as she could manage. His warm, spicy scent flooded her senses.

But it was tainted.

Blood.

Carefully, Ahmya lifted her head, pulled back from Rekosh’s chest, and looked up at him. He was leaning against the rough stone wall, head down, eyes closed, and mandibles limp. His hair had come undone from its usual neat braid. The long, tangled black tresses, threaded with strands of red and white, hung around his face and past his shoulders.

She’d never seen him so disheveled, so ragged. Not in all their time together.

Ahmya lifted a hand toward his face only to pause. Her fingers itched to touch him, to comb through his hair, to rid it of those tangles, but she didn’t want to wake him. She ran her gaze over his body.

Wads of silk clung to the many cuts, scratches, and bite wounds she had treated, and dark bruises covered his black hide, which was splotched with mud and dried blood. Some of the worst bruising was on his left foreleg.

She could only hope he hadn’t broken a bone. The way he’d been favoring it while walking yesterday had been alarming.Seeing him so off-balance, limping, had been as unsettling as it was heartbreaking.

His injuries looked so much worse now that there was light enough to see all of them.

What did you expect? He fought off a whole pack of those things.

And they…they were trying to get to me.

She curled her fingers and withdrew her hand, clutching it against her chest. She’d known he was more hurt than he’d let on. She’d known, and she should’ve pressed him, should’ve forced him to let her tend to all his wounds. To let her comfort and care for him for once.

Vrix did heal quickly, but that was only a tiny comfort for Amhya. Her heart ached at all the suffering that had been inflicted upon him.

But if she’d learned anything since waking up in this alien world, it was that you had to keep moving no matter what. You couldn’t stop and feel bad when you were out in the jungle. You had to act, had to…do.

There was something she could do for him while he rested. A simple task, but an important one, nonetheless.

Ahmya grasped Rekosh’s wrist and carefully lifted his hand off her shoulder, lowering it to rest upon his leg. As she extracted herself from his arms, her eyes flicked toward his face again and again, watching for signs that he was waking. But he slept on.

While she was glad her movement wasn’t disturbing him, it wasn’t normal for him to sleep so deeply. He’d been through war, had survived in the wilds, and had woken, alert and ready to fight, at the slightest disturbances during their flight from Zurvashi. This just proved how exhausted he truly was now.

Extending her legs, she placed her feet on the ground, braced a hand on the rocky wall, and stood. Even with the wall for support, it took much more effort than she’d expected to get herself upright.

She cringed when her feet squished inside her wet boots. That was a sensation Ahmya hadn’t missed during her time in Kaldarak. If not for the protection the thick soles provided, she’d have done away with them altogether.

And really, she should’ve been grateful they were still on her feet. It was a minor miracle that they hadn’t been swept away in the river. Goodness knew they’d come off at every other opportunity during her travels.

But now that she was standing, there was another pressing matter making itself known to her.

Her bladder.

After retrieving the metal knife from the rock she’d set it upon, Ahmya moved to the edge of the rocky overhang and peered out. A light rain misted the jungle beneath an overcast sky. Her skin prickled as a chill breeze drifted past, making her aware that her clothes were still damp.

Leaves and branches swayed, rustled, and creaked, and alien creatures called in the distance.

Unease filled her. She’d lived in the Tangle for months, had witnessed its beauty and its dangers. She’d walked amongst these towering trees under bright, warm sunshine, had camped between shadowed trunks in the dark of night, had huddled in meager shelter through raging storms. She’d endured everything the jungle had thrown at her so far.

But she’d never been out here alone.

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