Page 2 of Shifter King
Nothing.
Dropping his head back, he clenched his jaw. The effects of Dry Deep would linger long after their escape. Not even its acrid scent had faded. And with the current state of Ecekom—he had to find somewhere safer for her.
This place near the flat side of the cliff with the trees providing half a circle of protection would not withstand an assault long. Even with AaQar preparing more rels to provide a barrier against the bestial predators of Ecekom, it would do nothing against the sentient ones. Alone or against only his brothers, these so-called warriors would offer little challenge. But Amelia’s body felt as sturdy as dried and rotted wood.
His veskaro. His most beloved of all.
He kissed the top of her head and cradled her closer.
As good as it was to be here, to hold her and to cherish these moments, he needed to leave if he was to scout out a secure place. And then they would have to determine what was to be done about Darmoste, now known as Darmusky. He still had yet to tell his brothers about even the little he had seen, though they had gotten a decent enough preview from Laachtue to suggest that there was far more and far worse.
His chest tightened, and bile forced its way up the back of his throat. He clenched his jaw. Slavery? Comfort houses? How could their people be broken so completely?
"If you're going to get angry, it might be wise to leave the hammock," AaQar said from the fire. "You might give her nightmares, and that is one of the last things she needs."
His older brother was not actually a mindreader at all. But sometimes he was far more aware than any other Vawtrian Naatos had known. "All quiet during your watch, I assume?"
"During QueQoa's as well. One seven-clawed raptor scout, but it didn't come too close."
"It's Dry Deep. They hate it, the Forest Between, and a fair bit of the land surrounding it on this side. We hardly need the rels." He tried to sit up while shifting Amelia over into a better position. The hammock swayed. She grimaced as Tacky protested.
He growled low with frustration. He hated hammocks because of how difficult they were to escape. Trying to get out of them when his wife was fragile as kiln-dried bones was all the more terrifying.
AaQar lifted Amelia away smoothly and carefully, Tacky the dolmath moving to rest on her stomach.
Naatos climbed out with far less grace than he preferred. But once his feet returned to solid ground, he took Amelia back into his arms and placed her in the blanket hammock once more. He pulled the blanket up and tucked it around her shoulders and chin. "Make sure she stays safe while I’m gone." It wasn’t something he had to say, yet there was comfort in the words.
Just as there was comfort in AaQar’s response. "Of course."
He dragged his hand through his hair as he stepped back. She had survived. She was a fighter. She’d defied impossible odds to make it this far. She could make it still farther. Yet that dull unsettling knot within his stomach remained. That fear that if he took his eyes off her she would disappear. Someone was trying to take her from him, and whoever they were, they would not succeed.
"Will you eat before you go?" AaQar asked. "I haven't prepared anything yet. But there is still stew. Probably better now. Especially as it hasn't burned and WroOth has not added to it."
It would be wise to eat, but he had no appetite. "I'll just take one of the opi bags."
AaQar offered him one. The top panel had been mended with a coarser darker thread. "I replenished the food stores. The sooner you return the better though. You're going north?"
"Just far enough to see if it is still as dangerous as it was." He accepted the bag and picked up his spear. "We'll likely be better choosing some place close to Darmoste."
"Yes." AaQar chuckled a little as he turned back to the fire, his expression contemplative. "I doubt the northern mountains have become any less hostile over the millennia. Even if only the cabizas remain, if they have that manticore venom, it could mean dire things. Especially if QueQoa is bitten again. I'm not fully certain he's recovered from it. If the orcas are still present, we'll have our hands full regardless. I'll assume that this whole matter of the Grey Season being controlled has you as suspicious as I."
"Yes. We'll make what preparations we can. Have QueQoa and WroOth gather food and make supplies. Weapons. Rope. Tools. Once we are in a more secure position, we will decide what to do with Darmoste. But keep them close. I'll return no later than noon."
"Do not put yourself at unneeded risk," AaQar said. "If the Bealorns return, we will handle them. But we may have to move ourselves. We'll set up warning signals to alert us if they draw near."
A good plan, especially if all of the Bealorn so-called warriors had the same ability to mask their scent. It would be good to know how they managed that. He nodded, then strode away from their camp and into the forest.
Before the dark leaves and thick underbrush fully obscured his sight, he glanced back once more. AaQar had returned to the fire and tended the stew with the newly-mended spoon. His spoon that one of the Bealorns had decided to break and which WroOth had killed the offender with. WroOth and QueQoa slept peacefully enough. And, while from this angle he couldn't see anything more of Amelia than her outline in the brown blanket hammock, he knew she was there. There and resting and getting stronger. Breathing. Living.
She had survived. She had fought to get back to him and escaped the ravages of Dry Deep and the horrors of a curse pushed to its limit. Even if she felt brittle as a sand dollar left out in the sun for centuries, she had the spirit of a Vawtrian warrior, and she would not give up.
And that mattered more than anything to him.
STILL WEAK
Amelia didn't even realize when sleep came until she heard the metal racks clattering and something hissing over the fire. Naatos was already gone, and she lay on her back rather than on her stomach.
Opening her eyelids once more, she stared up at the sky. Blue. Azure through green leaves. So beautifully familiar she could have mistaken it for an Indiana autumn. No nightmarish visages hung in the clouds. No eyes bulged from bark formations. Just calm.
