Page 18 of Shifter King
He shook his head. For now, they just needed to get back to the camp. Every possible reason he could come up with for someone training mantises to herd sentients and track them at intervals was worse than the last.
"Do you think Laachtue would know?" QueQoa asked, walking alongside him.
He raised an eyebrow. It wasn’t the question. It was the way it was asked. That edge of hope. Was his brother developing interest in this doctor? "I can ask her. Unless you would rather ask her yourself."
QueQoa grunted in response, then jumped into the air. In half a breath, he’d returned to the six-legged iron dragon form and thrust himself into the sky. Apparently the conversation was over.
Naatos followed, taking it a little slower. His own muscles had not fully forgiven him after all he had endured. His concern for Amelia and the slowness of their bond to fully develop had told on him so many times over already. But the black storm dragon form was so familiar it was like an old friend. It tore him apart and remade him with greater strength and speed as he scaled the heights.
Winged serpents dove in. He caught a few in his jaws, snapped them, and tossed them back as a warning.
The rest streamed away on either side, apparently taking the message.
The hostility of these skies was not lost on him, but neither was his own worsening mood. Laachtue’s dark hints and the impoverished communities outside the walls of Darmoste, what he had seen within the first layers of the city as well as the manner in which the Bealorns had behaved all warned him that there was far worse coming.
Especially in light of the Okalu, the blood portals, and the Unformed Ones.
Not to mention the Grey Season.
Growling, he quickened his pace through the sky. QueQoa fell to his left but then adjusted his pace. The miles fell away as they passed over the forests and mountains back to the little place they had made their camp.
He dropped down, releasing the form and returning to his state of rest right at the edge of the camp.
Amelia knelt by the fire, laying out the broad-bottomed gourds in a neat stack. She straightened almost at once. Color flooded her cheeks, yet for a half beat she swayed unsteadily on her feet, reaching out to steady herself on the rock.
The words dried in his mouth. Why did it seem as if he was seeing her for the first time?
Her eyes were shut, and she breathed slow and deep. The bright-green dress was stained and torn, hanging where once it had clung. After days of tending to her and watching her wither, it should have been reassuring to see her standing under her own strength. Except that only now in the soft golden daylight and the rich clean air, he saw her as she was.
The ravages of Dry Deep, the curse, and the long leeches had shrunk her, hollowed her cheeks, and atrophied her muscles. A strong wind might have snapped her.
Yet it wasn't only that.
The long jagged lines left from the long leech venom had faded some from the night before, but their presence reminded him of an egg cracking open. As if at any moment she might fall apart and collapse into dust. Yet not completely. Something was different about her though. Something had changed.
That stinging scent from Dry Deep had faded, and under it he smelled something else. Like a mountain wind blowing down through a long dungeon's lower halls. Something stirred within her. Over the years, he had escorted and guided many Neyeb through Dry Deep. None departed unchanged, but she had been transformed.
He crossed over to her slowly, looking her up and down. She still breathed deep and slow, her pulse fluttering rapidly in her neck. She’d pushed herself too far. "Amelia?"
When she opened her eyes, he almost expected them to be white. For the streaks of red to appear down the length of her cheeks and the dark form of the Ki Valo Nakar to loom over her as before. But those beautiful warm dark-brown eyes he had grown to love so much greeted him instead. Her face brightened with a crooked smile that was almost assuredly meant to comfort him more than a representation of any mischief she felt.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"Just breathing." She smiled a little broader, her stance wavering. She steadied herself and then started to walk away. "You?"
"Where are you going?" And why was she walking so fast?
"Gathering gourds." She pushed through the shrubs, not even glancing back.
AaQar tossed another freshly-coiled rope onto the pile. The glance he gave Naatos warned him against pressing her on the matter. Just let her be, that look said.
Yet that was hard. Especially when it felt as if he might lose her again in just a single breath.
Also…he tilted his head. The air had an odd taste to it. Turning, he took the entirety of the camp in. It looked ordinary. Except the bavril.
Something had soured Proteus's mood. He had been acting increasingly petulant this last day. Amelia had already mentioned that he wasn't particularly happy. Based on the bavril's slumping posture and half-shaded eyes, it was more than a little perturbed.
Branches snapped and cracked as WroOth returned, dragging a besred carcass. He dropped it in front of the bavril with a flourish.
