Page 32 of The Rising Wave

“Must have been a fish,” one of the guards said, and turned.

“Didn't sound like a fish,” the other answered.

“Hey. Was this here a minute ago?” The guard walked to the shirt, bent and picked it up. He held it in his hand and rubbed the fabric between his fingers.

“What is it?”

The second soldier came up beside him, and the guard held the shirt out. “Look at this.”

Ava held her breath, and then the second soldier took it. Sniffed it.

“Maybe there's a breeze and it blew from someone's tent.” He didn't sound certain, because the night was absolutely still.

The first soldier yawned, and then walked to the fire, curled up facing it, and closed his eyes.

“I . . .” The second guard stared at him, then walked over himself, settled in beside his friend, and went to sleep.

Ava felt a fizz of elation.

But there were still plenty of others to go. And Luc to help.

She found a soft scarf in a saddlebag that was nicer than the others. She guessed it belonged to the general.

She thought through what she needed with Luc, and worked deep, healing sleep into the soft fabric.

She gave the horses a final pat and then walked over to him, keeping her gaze on the sleeping soldiers, but neither of them stirred as she walked past them and crouched beside her lover.

He was lying on his back, and the arrow was sticking out of his chest. It was difficult to look at.

His side was also bloody where the general had stabbed him.

As she dropped the scarf on his stomach, his eyes suddenly opened, his hand coming out to grab her wrist.

She almost screamed in reaction, swallowing it down as he went limp the instant the scarf landed on his naked torso.

He had been awake.

She knelt beside him, shaken, then looked over at the tents, her heart pounding at the possibility that one of the soldiers might have heard her, but no one stirred.

Did she take the scarf away?

She decided no.

This was good news, she realized. Luc wasn't as hurt as he'd seemed, and once she'd stitched him, they could get away faster than she'd thought they'd be able to.

She walked to the tents and one by one began to stitch a working into the canvas. To sleep a long time. To not let any sounds disturb that sleep. To be afraid to come out until getting water became a matter of life and death.

When she was finished, she went back to the soldiers sleeping by the fire, and stitched a version of the same working into each of their cloaks.

At last, with everyone dealt with, she walked over to Luc and took out Banyon's knife. The rope they'd used was thick and it took time to cut through.

When he was free, she took out one of the sewing kits, her own needle, and went to get a bowl of water from the river.

There were a few medical kits in the saddlebags. Just bandages, cloths and some salves, but all useful.

She used the cloths to wipe him clean of blood, then examined the arrow.

The need to hurry was a constant thump in her chest, but she resisted the urge. She had bought them time. She would use it.

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