Page 86 of The Warlord's Princess
I take off after the creature, following it for long minutes, hearing Ramsey a short way behind me.
We walk what has to be a mile before stopping at a creek. It nods to a deep hole that’s slick with mud. At the bottom is what looks like a smaller version of the beast. A cub. Or at least I think that’s what it would be called.
Without hesitation, I leap into the hole.
“Asha!” Ramsey cries, peering over the lip of the pit.
“It’s fine,” I tell him.
The cub is heavy and ungainly, impossible for me to lift, so I squat, encouraging it to climb on me.
Up above, the creature roars urgently in what sounds like communication between it and the cub.
Hesitantly, the small beast eventually climbs on my back, and I rise to a stand. Still unable to crawl out, Ramsey reaches down, grabs it by the scruff, and hauls it out.
I hear cheerful sounds from the two creatures, and I bloom with satisfaction because for once, I did something more than just weave or squeeze between two walls. I saved one of the toughest members of the Tempest tribe and an enormous beast’s adorable offspring.
Ramsey lowers his axe into the pit, telling me to hold on to the head so he can pull me up, and a minute later, I’m standing with the three of them.
The creatures lick my face and cuddle me before leaving, and even Ramsey gives the cute cub a pat before it walks off.
“No one ever has the right to call me weak again—even you,” I say, smiling.
“Strong in different ways,” he says softly, hunched over, his torso bleeding profusely.
“Sit.” I point to the base of a tree.
“No, we must get back.”
“Not before I patch you up.”
“Are you a cleric now?”
“No, but I know a few things—sit.”
He obeys, and I dig into my bag, searching for my finest thread, a cloth, and a needle.
“This is going to hurt.”
“I can handle pain.”
He winces as I clean his wound.
“If you weren’t so hot-headed, it wouldn’t have come to this,” I tell him.
“I was protecting you.”
“And how’d that work out for you?”
He sighs. “I am forever in awe of you.”
I sew him up to the tune of his growls and angry curses, and then we bathe, washing the mud and blood from our bodies. Thankfully, we have changes of clothes.
When we leave to go back to the village, we see the two beasts standing nearby, watching us.
“Who would have thought a terragulf would have such intelligence?” he muses.
“Every animal has intelligence,” I say smugly. “You’re just too busy poking them with sticks to realize it. Just ask Harold.”
