Page 35 of Tharn's Hunt
"Hey," I say softly, tapping his arm to get his attention. "We need to stop. You need to rest.”
His eyes flick to mine briefly before returning to scan the horizon. No response.
"Goldilocks," I try again, stepping in front of him to block his path. "You're going to die if you keep this up. And then I'll die. So, for purely selfish reasons, I am ordering you to stop."
He catches my wrist in a gentle grip, the gesture almost absentminded as he continues his surveillance. When he finally looks back at me, there's a determination in his eyes that brooks no argument. With careful movements, he lifts me again, this time cradling me in his arms rather than slinging me over his shoulder.
"Oh, come on," I protest, though it's halfhearted at best. "I can walk. Really."
He ignores me, adjusting his hold before resuming his steady pace across the sand. I sigh, resigning myself to being carried. At least this position is more dignified than the previous one.
"Fine," I mutter, laying my head against his chest. I can feel the frantic, shallow beat of his heart. "But just so we're clear, this isn't you being heroic. This is you being a stubborn, thick-skulled idiot. And when we find my sister, I'm telling her you were a terrible patient."
He finally glances down at me. The weariness is still there, but for a moment, it’s overshadowed by a look of profound, searching curiosity. His golden eyes trace the lines of my face as if trying to memorize them, before his gaze lifts back to the horizon.
The look lasts only a heartbeat, but it leaves me feeling strangely breathless.
We travel in silence for what feels like hours. The sun beats down mercilessly, and even with Goldi's body partially shielding me, sweat soon plasters my hair to my forehead. I watch him for signs of fatigue, of the infection worsening, but his face remains impassive, his stride steady despite the burden of my weight.
Eventually, the monotony gets to me. "So," I say, "do you come here often? To this charming wasteland of death and despair?"
He glances down at me, brow tightening slightly.
"I'll take that as a yes," I continue. I’m fucking desperate to fill the silence. "Great vacation spot. Love the ambiance. The constant threat of horrible death really adds to the exotic appeal."
His expression doesn't change, but something in his eyes softens. It's subtle. The barest easing of tension. But it makeshim look softer somehow. Less like a warrior and more like a ... something else. Something I shouldn’t really focus on.
"You're actually pretty handsome when you're not snarling or, you know, bleeding to death," I muse, then immediately regret the words. Heat floods my cheeks. "Not that I... I mean, obviously you're... God, why am I still talking?"
His brow tightens again, this time in what looks like concern. His pace slows slightly as he shifts his attention fully to me, amber-gold eyes scanning my face with that unsettling intensity.
"I'm fine," I assure him, waving a hand dismissively. "Just babbling. It's what humans do when they're uncomfortable. Or nervous. Or, you know, being carried across an alien desert by a golden god with amazing physique and a shoulder wound."
He doesn't react to the joke. At all. His head tilts, and a low, questioning sound rumbles in his chest. But it's short, sharp, and laced with an edge of something that sounds like a warning.His golden eyes narrow, scanning my face, my neck, my chest, as if searching for the source of a new injury.
The intensity of his scrutiny makes the heat in my cheeks burn hotter. He clearly doesn't understand my words, but he has sensed the sudden shift in my emotional state. And whatever conclusion he's drawn, it isn't a good one.
As we crest a dune, I notice his glow flickering more noticeably, almost stop-starting beneath his skin. His breath stutters, a barely perceptible hitch that sends alarm bells ringing in my head.
"Hey," I say, suddenly serious. "Put me down. You need to rest."
He ignores me, his jaw set in stubborn determination as he continues forward. The flickering intensifies, his breathing growing more labored with each step.
"Goldilocks," I insist, pushing against his chest. "Stop. Please."
Nothing. He just keeps moving, his eyes fixed on some distant point I can't see.
Frustration builds in my chest. How am I supposed to communicate with someone who won't listen and can't understand me? I need this damn translator to work. I need...
I reach up to check if the device is still snug in my ear. It is. The small metallic curve has molded perfectly to fit my ear as if I was born with it. So why isn't it working? It should be translating his language, his gestures,something.
I tap it gently, wondering if it's malfunctioned. Maybe damaged in the fall, or when we crashed here. Hell, maybe alien tech just isn't compatible with whatever Goldilocks is.
I'm about to demand he put me down again when I hear him murmur something. The sound is so faint I almost miss it, a whisper carried away by the desert wind.
"...need more firebloom..."
I freeze, eyes wide. Wait. What? I just heard him speak. In English. Clear as day.
