Page 29 of Phoenix Chosen

“Hey, I was fine,” Tyler says, shrugging. “Turns out I’m not as useless here as I thought.”

Tyler tells me more about his chance encounter with this strange Phoenikos. As excited and surprised as I am at this fortuitous appearance of another of my clan, I’m also uneasy. I can’t forget the presence I felt before the valley came tumbling down around us and my careless use of my abilities had put Tyler and the baby in danger.

The campfire burns hot and strong. It’s well built. He chose an excellent spot to shelter us for the night. We settle in, and I discreetly watch as Tyler prepares his cloak to sleep on. Bent on all fours, he smooths the cloth out across the ground. His strange garb hugs the contours of his body in a way that I can see the exact shape of him, and my eyefollows the hard curve of his pectorals down the soft swell of his pregnant belly to the sensuous bulge that is so prominent between his legs. I can’t understand how such confining clothing can be comfortable…but I thank the gods for the view they provide.

It’s his bump that my attention lingers on the most.

Its prominence has grown, and with it, a feeling of protectiveness I’ve never really felt for anyone, not even myself.

How is it that I could go from wanting nothing to do with Tyler to so suddenly feeling like…

I don’t know.

I’ve never made space for anyone without a use to me and my immediate goals. It’s why I’ve been alone more often than not. And a pregnant omega ought to be the greatest burden, one to avoid at all costs. Yet I’m drawn to him, and waking up in his care with his lips pressed against mine has whipped the shroud back on something that had awakened the moment I heard his voice in that jail cell.

I understand now why it’s said that love is the piercing strike of an arrow from a capricious god. It’s sudden and there’s no sense behind it, but it’s there all the same. The question is: for how long can I ignore it? Some wounds heal when given enough time without further damage. Let it be, and it may not even leave a scar.

I’m going to be alone again, that’s certain. Always havebeen, always will be. I’ll take care of him while he’s here with me, but I know that Tyler will eventually have to disappear from my life.

The morning is spent hunting rabbits, and Tyler shows me a trap he’s made with a bit of cord and sticks.

“This is perfect for when you have time to wait,” I tell him. “But if you’re like us, on the move, then a more immediate method is required. Have you ever used a sling?”

He stares at me blankly.

“No, of course you haven’t,” I say. “That’s fine. I’ll show you.”

Tyler watches with silent concentration as I tuck a small stone into my sling’s leather cradle, loop the end of the cord around my pointer finger, and pinch the other end tightly with my thumb. My target is a pile of rocks I’ve set up on top of a fallen tree. I wind my wrist back and forth, whipping the cradled stone in a figure-eight shape from shoulder to shoulder until it’s whistling. Then I swing my arm forward like I’m throwing the stone directly from my hand and release the end of the cord. The rock pile collapses with a sharp crack.

I stack the target again and hand the sling off to Tyler. He chooses a stone and tests its weight, bouncing it lightlyoff the palm of his hand. A moment later, the stone hums through the air and easily finds its mark.

“You’ve never used a sling?” I say in surprise. “I’m impressed.”

Tyler picks up another stone and flings it at the log. His aim and power are both beyond what I could’ve expected from a beginner.

“Never in my life,” he says. “But I used to play baseball when I was a kid. I guess it translates.”

He repeats it a third time, splitting a shard of bark off the tree where the rocks had been stacked. He flashes a proud grin at me and casually whirls the empty sling in a circle.

“How about that?” he says and holds the sling out to me.

“You keep it,” I tell him, pushing his hand back. “It’s clear it belongs with you.”

Tyler looks at the simple leather sling like it’s made of gold. “Thank you.”

I nod. “But striking rocks is simple. A moving target, less so. There’s a lot more that goes into hunting than just good aim.”

We walk through a forest of oak trees, and Tyler listens to me talk about how to track rabbits and the methods ofstealth to use when suddenly he whips the sling in an arc. A hare tumbles out from beneath a bush, dead.

“Alright, maybe I don’t need to teach you very much,” I say, hurrying over to collect the animal.

“Score one for the city boy,” he says.

I show him several wild plants that can be eaten, and we gather some as we continue forward. Soon we have a second hare in our possession, this one felled by my blade.

Tyler walks along beside me. He pauses to snag an edible mushroom off a crumbling log. “I’ve got one question. Why can’t you just, you know, freeze time? It’d make hunting really easy, I bet.”

“It would,” I say. “And that’s why I don’t do it. Sometimes you miss what you’re aiming for, and if your prey can get away because of an errant throw, then that’s fate and fortune at work. They should be allowed that chance.”

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