Page 125 of Rok's Captive
“You will,” I assure her. “You are strong.”
She bares her teeth at me, the expression soft and warm. “Thanks, Rok,” she says aloud.
The sound of her voice tugs at something deep inside me, and I realize again how much I have come to treasure it. Her vocalizations are strange, yes, but they are hers. And everything about her—her voice, her scent, her thoughts—is precious to me.
I give her time to adjust before I take her to the cave’s main chamber where the others are waiting, all ready with extra waterskins and pouches of fire bloom leaves strapped to their sides. Even under my brothers’ annoying, but expected scrutiny, Jus-teen does not flinch. She eats quickly and soon we are ready. We leave the clan’s caves before long.
Ain is low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the dust as we set out. Jus-teen walks beside me, her pace slower than the rest of the group but steady. Ten of my brothers follow us, including Kol and Tharn, the others forced to stay and guard our territory.
The journey is uneventful at first; the landscape shifting from rolling dunes to jagged rock formations as we move steadily toward the Silent Valley. The air is cool, Ain’s heat not yet oppressive, and the silence is broken only by the rhythmic crunch of sand beneath our feet.
But uneventful does not mean easy.
Solmarks into our journey, the strain begins to weigh on Jus-teen. Her steps falter more frequently now, the muscles of her smaller frame ill-suited to the relentless pace of the Drakav. She lags behind, and though I slow my stride to match hers, it does not seem to be helping.
The Drakav are built for this terrain. Our legs are long, our stamina unmatched, and we are accustomed to the grueling conditions of the dust. But my Jus-teen… she is soft. The dust does not welcome her as it does us. Yet she presses on, her jaw tight, her gaze fixed determinedly on the horizon.
The others do not mind her slower pace. They are too busy watching her, their curiosity palpable. Every movement she makes, every vocalization she speaks, draws their attention. I even notice they are not wincing as much when she forgets to use mindspeak. I do not know if I like that they are adapting to her, but I push the feeling back. I want them to welcome her. I want her to be happy. Comfortable.
Focus shifting back to her, I watch her stumble slightly, her foot catching on a loose stone, and my chest tightens.
“Let me carry you,” I project into her mind.
She shakes her head, her lips pressing into a small, rueful smile. “Not yet,” she thinks back.
“Why?” I press. I do not understand. “It would be easier for you.”
She hesitates for a moment, her gaze flicking to the horizon. “You need to conserve your energy,” she replies finally. “The others—the females—they’ll need you more than I do when we find them.”
The words catch me off guard, and I stare at her, uncomprehending. My energy? For the others?
“They might not be able to walk,” she continues, a flicker of concern in her thoughts. “Or they might be hurt. You’ll need your strength for them, Rok. I can manage for now.”
Her reasoning is sound, but it does not sit well with me. She ismyJus-teen. My light. My duty is to her first.
“I will carry them if needed,” I say simply. “But you come first.”
She glances up at me, her cheeks flushing faintly, and I sense her gratitude even as she shakes her head. “I appreciate that,” she thinks, “but I’ll be fine. I promise. Let me do this on my own for now.”
I do not argue further. I can feel the resolve in her mind, the quiet determination that has carried her through every challenge since she fell to this world. So I stay beside her, matching her stride, my presence a silent reassurance.
At one point, Tharn falls back to walk beside her. “Your water-sharing,” he begins, his mental tone cautious. “Is it common among your kind?”
Jus-teen pushes a laugh through her nose as she glances at me, her cheeks coloring slightly. “It’s…not something we talk about casually,” she thinks, her voice hesitant.
Tharn tilts his head, clearly unsatisfied with her answer. “Strange,” he says again, his favorite word for her.
I suppress a growl, my hand finding hers as I guide her forward. “Enough questions,” I project firmly to Tharn.
He falls silent, but his curiosity lingers, a constant hum in the back of my mind.
“Go away, Tharn.”
But he is not the only one.
Two sols pass. We are almost there. We continue on.
Jus-teen is the slowest among us, yet none complain or show impatience. They do not know her stamina has much improved, as if she has changed, too, as I have been. If anything, they seem content to match her pace, stealing glances when they think I am not watching.
