Chapter 14

F ear like I've never felt before floods through me, and although I'm exhausted, it fuels me, pulsing through my veins as I race to Vaeril's side. He's crumpled on the ground, his eyes are closed, and his silver hair is fanned out around him. Dropping to my knees, I lean over his prone form and rest my ear over his chest. His heart is still beating, and I can feel his chest move as he breathes. Sitting back on my heels, I take a deep, relieved breath. This must just be exhaustion, right ?

One of the falcons utters their bloodcurdling cry, reminding me that we are not out of danger yet. Looking around the forest, I see we are just inside the treeline and still relatively exposed. While we managed to avoid the talons and tracking magic, they will still lead their masters to us.

We need to move farther into the forest.

I look down at the elf as I try to work out how I'm going to drag him farther into the shade. Standing, I move his head, and then after muttering an apology in advance, I grab his arms and try to drag him. The pack is still on his back, and I know I'm going to crush anything inside it, but that's not important right now.

It's hard work. He's dead weight and unable to help me, his hair catching and tangling in the dirt and twigs on the ground. I try to avoid the stones and tree roots, but it's impossible to miss all of them. My sprained ankle only hinders my progress.

Drag, rest, drag, rest, and so on it goes. I'm not sure how much time passes, but even in the early spring chill, I'm sweating. Reaching a large tree, I decide this is far enough, and I try to prop Vaeril up against the trunk, but his head just lolls to one side as he slumps down. I manage to remove the pack from his back and place it on the ground next to him. Biting my lip, I start to pace as my worries and fears begin to resurface.

What will you do without Vaeril? There is no way you will make it to the elven city if he can't direct you . You'll never be able to fend for yourself out here alone . Is he going to die ?

That last thought makes me feel sick to my stomach and something twists within me. No, he can't die. He won't die. This is just exhaustion . Just as I think this, something catches my eye.

When I'd woken up in the cave, he'd been wearing a large dark overshirt. I hadn't questioned it this morning, assuming he must have rustled it up from his pack, but now I can see something on the fabric.

As I kneel at his side, my eyes widen and I curse when I realise something is seeping through the cloth. I peel the shirt back and my fears are confirmed. He had suffered some cuts on his chest and arms from the fight with the guards last night, but they looked reasonably shallow, and last time I saw them they were clotted. He certainly hadn't been complaining of any pain.

The wound is to the left of his bellybutton and is about the length of my palm. It's leaking blood and a clear, yellowish liquid, and while it doesn't look particularly deep, the edges of the wound appear macerated. Around the injury, the skin is red, and I reach out to gently touch it—it's hot. Cursing, I sit back on my heels. I've seen wounds like this before. It's infected, but it's deteriorated far faster than I would have expected.

"The blade was poisoned," a weak voice tells me, and I immediately look up from his stomach and see he's watching me with his signature frown. I'm feeling a strange mix of emotions, and relief beyond belief that he's awake, but my blood runs cold at his words.

He's been poisoned. I'm no medic or healer, so I don't know how to help him. Pushing my fears aside, I pull the pack towards me and start rooting through it to see if there is anything I can use to clean the wound.

"Thank the Mother you're awake," I mutter, also sending up my silent thanks and prayer for guidance from the Goddess.

Pulling clothing and weapons from the bag, I find a package wrapped in brown paper. Inside is half a loaf of bread, which explains where our small breakfast in the cave this morning came from. I hadn't questioned it, but now I wonder where he got it from. Seeing the food makes my stomach grumble, and I know we are going to have to eat soon. We drank water from a flask this morning, but as I dig around the pack, I worry it got lost when I dragged him over here. I glance back in the direction we came from, and I try to see if it's lying on the ground, but I know I'm going to have to go back to find it. We won't survive without water.

"You moved me," he mumbles, his eyes on me as I gaze around the forest before returning my attention to the pack.

"Yes, I was worried we were too visible," I reply, pulling a swath of fabric from the bag, a simple forest green dress. Raising the fabric to my mouth, I use my teeth to rip the bottom on the skirt, then I tear it into strips.

"Good, that's what I would have done," he murmurs, before trying to push himself into a more upright position against the tree. He winces and lets out a hiss of pain. He looks brighter now, and the light is back in his eyes as he takes in the forest around us.

"I messed up your hair, sorry." It's stupid, and I don't know why it's bothering me so much, but for some reason I feel like I should apologise for it.

Barking out a laugh before wincing again and clutching his stomach, he just stares at me, a serious expression replacing his half smile. "You saved my life."

"All I did was drag you through the dirt and lose the flask of water," I mutter with frustration, not able to look him in the eyes as I start stuffing everything back in the pack.

"Alina, look at me." He uses that name again, and I feel compelled to glance up. I think, even if I had not wanted to, I would find it difficult to resist him. "Alina, I—"

"I'm going to check back there for the flask," I blurt out, cutting him off as I jump to my feet. "I won't be long." I talk over him as he opens his mouth to speak again and march back the way we came.

I know it's stupid and dangerous to go walking around in the woods by myself, but I didn't want to hear what he was going to say. Every time he calls me Alina—his salvation—it fills me with guilt. He doesn't know who I really am. Sure, he knows I was a slave, but he doesn't know the things I did to survive, and every time he says something like that, it just reminds me of my past. When you are told your whole life that you are nothing, just a waste of a breath, then you start to believe it. Grayson started to change that, but it doesn't disappear overnight, and now I've betrayed them and they will know what I truly am—a traitor.

"Daughter, my beloved."

I stumble as the Mother's voice surrounds me, filling me with her warmth and love. "They will forgive you. You think so little of yourself. Why do you think you, of all the slaves, survived? I forgive you. You did what you needed to." As she speaks, as she forgives me, a gasping cry escapes me as tears roll down my face. I hadn't realised how much guilt I was carrying around until she forgave me. A huge weight is lifted from my chest and I laugh as I raise my hand up to my face, brushing away the tears rolling down my cheeks.

"Do you think I would have chosen you if I thought you were evil or unsavable?" Her unending love encompasses me once again. "The path ahead of you isn't going to be easy, and where you are going, I won't be able to help you, but know I am with you always."

Frowning at her comment, fear twists inside me and I straighten, looking around as if I could see her, find her. "What? Why won't you be able to help me?"

" Be strong, my beloved, " she whispers in my mind, and I feel her presence fade. Something is going on here, beyond the king and the war between the humans and the elves, but I get the feeling I'm about to get caught up in it.

"Clarissa!" Vaeril's shout has me spinning around, the urgency and pain in his voice making me run back to where I left him. Except, everything looks the same and I can't remember which way I came. I was so deep in my thoughts when I left in search of the flask that I wasn't paying attention to where I was going. Choosing a direction at random, I jog through the trees, cursing after a minute of two when I still don't recognise anything.

"Think, Clarissa, think," I mutter, when I feel an almighty yank in my chest.

"Clarissa!" His voice sounds further away this time, and I know I'm going the wrong way, but I have a plan.

Closing my eyes, I focus on the place where his pull dwells within me, and gently reach out, stroking the connection between us. It practically hums under my touch, and if I pay attention, I can feel the pull directing me back to him.

Why didn't you think of this earlier?

Opening my eyes, I start a slow jog, following the pull. I spot something on the ground and realise with triumph it's the flask. Running over, I pick it up, examining it to check for leaks, but thankfully it looks intact, the water inside still safely contained. Taking a moment to focus on the pull, I follow it back to the tree where I left Vaeril—except he isn't there.

Frowning, I look around to make sure this is where I left him, and I spot the pack and strips of fabric and trampled grass where we had been sitting. My mind stills when I see blood on one of the tree roots.

Stay calm, his wound probably just leaked and he's gone to use the bathroom behind a tree or something, I rationalise, but as I scan the small clearing, I see no sign of him. He must be somewhere close since the bond brought me here. Closing my eyes, I focus again. The link between us is strong, he's close by, I can feel him.

"Vaeril?" I try to keep my tone calm, but I'm unsuccessful, and I wince at the high note of worry in it.

"Clarissa?" His voice is much closer this time, and following the answering tug, I jog through the forest in the opposite direction I had originally taken. Rounding another trunk, I see him leaning against a tree, his face pale and sweaty, his breathing coming in large, heaving gasps.

"Why are you up? You crazy elf, are you trying to kill yourself?" I shout as I run to his side, but I lose my bravado as soon as I reach him and see his shaking hands. Worry sets in now. He seems so much worse than when I left him, and that can't have been more than thirty minutes ago. "Are you okay?"

"I heard your gasp, I was trying to find you." He looks up at me and I feel something within me twist with guilt. He was trying to find me. His eyes narrow as he examines my face. "You've been crying, are you okay?"

I've cried more in the last couple of days than I ever have in my life. Caring for people is making me soft.

That's not true. You've never had a reason to cry before because you weren't living, you didn't have a reason to , my inner voice whispers, and I realise it's right, although it doesn't stop me from hurting. Caring for people is painful. However, the benefits are so much greater than the pain. I don't know where these great words of wisdom are coming from, I'm still new to all this, so how could I know that?

Vaeril grunts in agony and I drag my thoughts back to the present, sliding an arm around his back and putting his arm over my shoulder. "Let's get you back to the clearing, I found the flask."

It takes a couple of attempts for him to push away from the tree, even with my help, but once we have, we make our way slowly back through the trees until we reach the clearing.

"Water's no good—you need to clean it with spirits," he mumbles as we walk, and I let out a snort.

"I didn't have the chance to steal a bottle of vodka before we escaped from the castle," I reply dryly, hauling him back to our makeshift camp.

"I've got some in my pocket," he replies, patting the back pocket of his trousers before reaching out to steady himself on a nearby tree, taking deep breaths and another unsteady step.

"You've…You could have told me this before I went hunting for the water flask!" I practically shout, frustration getting the better of me. I know we will still need the water, it will be vital in keeping us alive, but my worry is making me crabby.

"Oops." He doesn't sound sorry at all, and I narrow my eyes at him, but the sod doesn't seem to notice. When we finally reach the tree, I help him into a sitting position, and I might be a little rougher than necessary.

"Oops," I reply with a shrug, kneeling at his side and picking up the abandoned water flask. Opening the lid, I take a gulp before handing it to him, but he shakes his head and reaches into his back pocket, wincing as he pulls out a small metal flask. I have no idea where he managed to get it from, he probably stole it from one of the guards. I can't imagine the king is kind enough to supply his prisoners with alcohol.

"I deserved that," he mutters, giving me the flask. Unscrewing the cap, I take a tentative sniff, pulling a face at the stinging sensation the alcohol causes.

Phew, that's strong stuff , I think, having never understood the appeal of hard liquor, not that I've had access to it until recently. I remember the burning sensation when Grayson had given me some whiskey, and I had practically spat the amber liquid out there and then. At least this should work for cleansing the wound.

Shaking the flask, I praise the Mother that it feels almost full. I reach out, lift his shirt, and wince when I see the wound again, but I quickly try to mask my concern when I feel his eyes on my face.

"That bad?" he asks, but I don't answer his question.

"I need to clean and dress your wound. It's going to hurt, but I'll try to be gentle." Grabbing the flask again, I feel my hands shake, and I wish I didn't have to do this, but something in my gut tells me that if I don't, he won't survive the trip to the elven city.

"If you find some angel's breath, you can pack the wound with it, it should help draw the toxins from the wound," he tells me, and I look up from the lesion, meeting his eyes. He knows how serious his wound is, the poison travelling through his body is moving quickly. Taking a deep breath, I pull my gaze away from his and the possibilities of what could happen if I don't get this right.

"Angel's breath. Is that a plant?" I query, glancing around the clearing expectantly. If there's something that would help, then I should try to find it. "Can you see it here?"

"Yes, it's a plant, but you won't find it here, it grows near running water."

My gut sinks as he speaks. I don't know where we're going to find running water, or when we'll come across it, so for now, we'll have to do without it. I say as much, and wait for his nod for me to continue.

"Tell me something, talk to me. What's the elven city like?" I ask to distract him, as I remove the cap from the flask again, pushing the fabric from his shirt up so it won't fall down onto the wound while I'm trying to clean it.

"Elves prefer to live in smaller groups, unlike you humans who live like mites in a hive, all so close together," he mutters, watching my movements carefully. "There are three different... factions of elves—high elves, sea elves, and wood elves. The main city, Galandell, is a place where we can all come together, although the high elves rule us all," he explains, and I whisper the city name to myself, feeling a chill settle over me as I do.

"What are you?" I inquire, as I pour the alcohol onto his wound, although I'm pretty sure I can guess. He gasps and grits his teeth as soon as the spirits hit, his hands gripping handfuls of grass and balling into fists as if they it's going to help keep him down.

"I'm a high elf," he grit outs and I nod. I was right. He has an attitude about him that exudes high elf. I don't know how I know this, but it's a feeling that emanates from him.

Focusing on my task, I inspect the wound and pour a little more of the spirit onto it, trying to block out his pained noises. I stare down at my strips of fabric and bite my lip as I try to decide what to do next. Do I douse the fabric and sterilise it? No, I don't want to make the wound wetter than it is, but if I pack it with unsterilized cloth, I could be adding a source of infection.

"Tell me about the different elves," I prompt, feeling fidgety under his gaze. The heavy weight of his eyes lingers on me for a second longer before he looks away, and I feel like I can breathe again.

"Sea elves live in the cliffs, they worship our sea goddess. We don't see much of them since they don't like to leave the water. They are peaceful and prefer to be distanced from the rest of us. They abhor the war with the humans." I glance up at that. There are elves who don't want to be fighting with us? That is completely at odds to what we are taught in Arhaven. "The wood elves live within the forests, they worship nature and all living things. They are a haughty lot." He laughs and it brings a quirk to my lips. I find him haughty, and if the wood elves are more so, then I am in for a surprise.

Wishing I had more supplies, or even this plant he told me about, I take a strip of the fabric and try to form a pad to cover the wound. "And the high elves?"

"We look like this." He gestures to himself and I raise an eyebrow. "We are in charge of our government and the general running of the city. Most of us live in Galandell, but some choose to live in the smaller towns and cities."

"So not all elves look like you?"

Thank the Mother , I think with a shake of my head. I couldn't cope if they all looked like him.

Vaeril snorts and shakes his head, some of his pride shining through. "No. Sea elves are darker, tougher skinned, and broader in the chest. Their lungs are much bigger than ours since they spend so much time in the sea, and it allows them to stay under water for a longer time. They tend to have either shorter hair than us, or none at all." He grimaces as I press the pad over the wound, gritting his teeth as he pushes back against the tree. "The wood elves are... some of them look similar to how I look, but they... become one with nature. You'll see what I mean when we get to the city."

What he's saying completely fascinates me. It's a whole different world that I can't even begin to imagine, and although I'm fearful of what's to come, I'm excited to see what he's describing. I want to see the sea elves and how they live. I want to escape into nature with the wood elves, and I want to observe how the high elves live. I've never had any plans for my future, it always seemed pointless when I was living day to day, never sure if I would survive until the next sunrise. So to suddenly have plans, wants, is a little overwhelming and exhilarating as I realise that it could all be possible.

"If you have so many different... factions, how do you all live together in one city?" I ask, as I start to cover the makeshift pad with the strips of fabric, winding them around his abdomen to hold it in place.

Vaeril is looking up at the tree canopy now with a gleam in his eyes, and I know his mind is miles away. "Galandell is beautiful, you will like it. It's built in a way so all of us can live there and access it if we need or want to. I don't know how to describe it, you'll see when we arrive."

Now that his wound is dressed, I go to pull his shirt down, but it's turning stiff from where the blood is drying. I make a face and move over to the abandoned pack, digging around until I find another large overshirt.

"Take your shirt off," I demand, holding my hand out for the offending item. He pulls his gaze from the trees to look at me, an eyebrow raised as a half smile appears on his face.

"You want me to take my clothes off?" he queries for clarification, and I realise with mortification how my order sounded. A blush flushes my cheeks, but I refuse to back down now.

"That one is dirty," I answer simply, holding eye contact, my hand still held out for the shirt. My heart has sped up at his sudden change of attitude, and only proceeds to accelerate even further when he leans towards me, pushing up onto his knees with barely a wince, and maintains eye contact the whole time.

"I think you'll find that I can be very dirty." His voice has deepened, almost into a purr as he brings his face closer to mine. I drop my hand to avoid touching him, not because I don't want to, the exact opposite, I want to touch him, and not in the way a healer would.

"Shirt," I demand again, but the order loses its authority when my voice breaks. He holds his position, his face so close to mine that I can feel his breath on my cheeks. Desire starts to ignite within me, and my breath hitches as his eyes drop to my lips.

"Of course," he finally answers, sitting back with a wince as he pulls the shirt over his head. His muscles in his chest and arms bulge as he removes it, and I won't lie by saying I don't admire the sight. As he lowers his arms, he catches me watching him, and a rare, cheeky grin flashes across his face. For a moment, I'm stunned. I've never seen him smile like that and it completely changes his whole face.

"It's okay to find me attractive, it's only natural," he comments with a slight shrug, his now cocky smile still in place.

I stare at him, dumbfounded for a second. "Wha—" All desire I had for him quickly evaporates, and I stand up and take a few angry steps away before turning and glaring at him. "You think awfully highly of yourself!"

"All high elves are attractive, it's part of the reason we're so deadly," he reasons, his smile falling away as he watches my angry pacing, until he's wearing a confused expression.

"Let's go, we need to find somewhere to camp before it gets dark." Embarrassment fills me as I start stuffing the pack with our scattered belongings.

Of course he doesn't find me attractive, he basically just said that it's part of his nature, and I just fell for it.

"You're mad at me."

I walk over to him and hold out my hand, offering to help him stand without saying anything. He stares at my hand with a considering expression, like if he accepts it he will be signing some sort of contract. Making a noise of frustration, I shake my hand. "Come on, we need to go."

His eyes move up to my face, and something that looks like sorrow flickers in his gaze for a second before he locks it down and takes my hand. Grunting in pain, he gets to his feet with my help, grimacing as he steadies himself against the tree. Grabbing the water flask, I thrust it at him, holding it out until he takes it from me. He removes the lid and takes a gulp, and I turn away to grab the pack.

"I didn't realise when we escaped together that you were such an insufferable flirt." I hate the bitterness that coats my words, but I hear him splutter on his water, and as I turn to face him with a raised eyebrow, I see he's pushed away from the tree and is taking a few unsteady steps towards me. He has to be hallucinating or something, this is so out of character for him.

"You knew next to nothing about me, why has this upset you so much?" He frowns, stepping into my space again. Usually, I would just back away, but right now my anger is building again, and I'm tired of being pushed aside and buried.

"I've been locked up for a hundred years without a fuck, can you blame an elf for trying?"

My thin control over my bubbling anger snaps, and as I take a menacing step forward, and I swear his eyes flash with excitement. "Is that all I am to you? Some human tail? Are you going to go back to your elf buddies and tell them about how you slept with the foolish human who betrayed her country and followed you back to your home?" I don't raise my voice, but my outrage is clear as I let my fears, insecurities, and heartache flow out of me. I see the moment he realises he's crossed the line—his cockiness dies and a flash of concern enters his expression. Taking another step towards me, he holds out a hand, as if he's going to touch my shoulder, but I jerk out of his reach and start to walk away.

"Clarissa—"

"I don't want to hear it," I interrupt, shouldering the pack and picking a random direction to walk in.

"You're not… ‘human tail.' You are so much more than that," he calls after me. I don't want to, but my feet stop walking as part of me wants, no, needs to hear what he's trying to say. I don't turn, but my body is hyperaware of him and I can almost feel him taking small, stumbling steps towards me. "I-I'm not good at…this."

You're so much more than that. His words circle through my mind

"At what?" I turn now, crossing my arms over my chest. I was right, he is taking unsteady steps towards me, wincing with each movement. Sighing, I take pity on him and march over, sliding my arm around his waist, careful not to touch his wound, and he drapes his arm over my shoulders. The link between us is practically humming at our proximity, but I ignore it and start half dragging Vaeril in the direction I had been walking.

"Talking," he mutters, hobbling alongside me. "Even before I got captured I... You have to understand, in my culture, words are a weapon, and so much more is said with body language." What he says makes sense, it also explains why he's so quiet and almost examines me before he responds. I guess after a hundred years of being mostly silent, you're going to be a bit rusty with communication. "Also, we're going the wrong way."

"Oh." I stop and gaze around. Everything looks the same, how could he know where we need to go? "How do you know?"

"Look at the trees." He points at the closest tree and I frown, not understanding what I'm looking at. "See that green lichen growing on one side of the trees?" Nodding, I glance at the others and see that most of the trees have the same, green, mossy type plant growing on the same side. "It likes to be moist, so it only grows on the north side of the trees. If you keep going that way, you will end up back in Arhaven."

"Huh," is all I can think to say. I let him steer us in the right direction and we begin walking again. Tilting my head to one side, I roll my eyes up to look at his face. "Is this kind of knowledge common among high elves?"

"High elves, we're a prideful lot, and we're known for our knowledge and our many libraries," he tells me, keeping his gaze straight ahead as we walk. Everything he's saying makes sense, and I feel like I'm getting to know him with each word he speaks.

"Our library is one of our greatest and most valued buildings in Galandell." He talks with pride now, and I can't imagine how this all must feel for him, returning home after so many years. Will much have changed, or will it all be as he remembered it? "However, I did spend a few years with a couple of wood elves." He meets my gaze, that half smile of his back in place.

Jealousy fills me. I can only imagine what he was doing to fill his time with the wood elves. You have no business being jealous. There is nothing between the two of you, and even if there was, that would have been before you were even born ! my mind points out, and I know I shouldn't be jealous, but burying those feelings is easier said than done.

"How old are you?" I ask, trying to judge off his appearance. If he was human, he could get away with being in his late twenties, although he looks much younger when he stops frowning and actually smiles.

"I'm three hundred and forty-two."

I stumble in shock.

"Mother above. You're old!" Pulling him to a stop, I round on him and stare up at his face, looking for any signs of wrinkles or ageing. He frowns at me before pulling me back to his side.

"I am still young amongst my people!" He sounds outraged, and I can't stop my giggle. Him. Offended. Good, he deserves it after how he acted earlier. "My grandfather will be nearing his thousandth birthday soon." My eyes widen at the thoughts of living that length of time.

"Your population must be huge if you all live that long." I think back to the handful of times I've been through the city of Arhaven. There were people everywhere, and although he meant it in a derogatory way, Vaeril's comparison to humans living like mites in a hive wasn't far off.

"Children are rare and blessed amongst us," he explains with a shake of his head. "My closest friends are twins and are practically worshipped amongst our people." His half smile is back as he talks about his friends, and I wonder what they're like and if I'll get to meet them. "Not that I would ever let them hear me say that, I would never hear the end of it." He lets out a short laugh, wincing as the movement pulls at his wound.

This is the first time he's mentioned his friends and family, giving me a rare glimpse into his life and who he was before he was captured.

We continue to walk for what feels like hours, but with the thick tree canopy, it's difficult to tell what the time is. It's shaded, so it gives the impression of it being later in the day, but I can feel night approaching. What Vaeril said this morning was right, it is warmer in the forest, almost to the point where I consider taking off my cloak.

"We're not walking fast enough," Vaeril barks out. We've been silent for some time now, conserving our energy and trying to cover as much distance as we can before we lose what light we have.

Taking a deep breath, I nod. "Okay, I can try and go faster—"

"No," he interjects, his words clipped and frustrated. "It's me, I'm slowing us down."

"You're injured," I reason, silently pleased that we are going at a pace I can keep up with. I know we should be moving faster, as a quiet urgency seemed to settle over him the longer we walked.

"It was stupid, I should have considered the weapon was poisoned," he growls as he berates himself. I could try to comfort him, but I don't have any words, and I'm sure he'll continue to blame himself anyway. Looking around us, I attempt to find some sort of shelter where we can stop, but everything just looks the same, all the trees blurring into one.

"We need to find somewhere to camp, rest for the night." My body is exhausted, and my stomach is cramping from hunger, but the worst of it all is the thirst, and I know I won't be able to keep going for long—especially since I'm half carrying Vaeril.

Making a noise of agreement, Vaeril looks up, scanning the trees, and for a moment I think he's spotted something, a threat, as he pulls me to a stop.

"What is it? Are we being tracked?" I ask as I glance around us. Now that we are losing our light, the forest doesn't feel as friendly with shadows behind every tree, making my imagination run wild.

"We'll need to camp in the trees." He's still staring up at the canopy, then he raises his hand and points at a large tree just ahead of us. "That one."

"In the trees?" I exclaim, glancing from him to the tree. I've never climbed a tree in my life, and I don't know how we're going to get him up there in his state.

"There are dangerous beasts that roam this forest at night, and I do not wish to get into a fight with them today. Give me the pack," he responds, removing his arm from my shoulders and taking the pack from me. He slides it on and walks up to his chosen tree. I watch him with a frown as he stalks wearily around the trunk, placing his hand against the bark and closing his eyes as he mutters something under his breath.

Is he talking to the tree ? I wonder, staring as he places his other hand on the tree as well.

"We are welcome to rest here."

I have so many questions, but I know now is not the time, especially when we are rapidly losing light. Stepping over to his side, I look up at the tree. It's so huge, it would take several people holding hands to encircle the width of the trunk, and about halfway up is a large branch that should fit both of us comfortably.

"How are we going to get up there?" I ask, turning to face Vaeril, but I find him already halfway up to the branch. "So you couldn't walk by yourself for the last couple of hours, but you can climb a tree?" I shout, crossing my arms over my chest as I watch him scale the trunk. He makes it look easy, but when he reaches the branch, I don't miss that he has to rest against the trunk before looking down at me.

"It's safe, make your way up," he says, completely ignoring my question.

Making an annoyed noise in the back of my throat, I look at the trunk and try to decide how I'm going to climb up. Bracing my foot against the tree, I try to grip the bark with my hands when something drops into my sight. A rope. With a shake of my head, I reach for the end of the cord. I'd forgotten that was in the pack.

You need to start using your head, you're not at the castle anymore.

"Tie it around your waist and I'll help you," Vaeril calls down. Nodding, I pull at the rope to get some slack, then tie it in a knot around my waist.

"I'm ready," I shout, bracing my foot against the trunk again, and start trying to climb. The rope goes taut as Vaeril pulls.

Even with his assistance, it's hard, my limbs trembling, but after what feels like a lifetime, I make it to the top.

I look down and immediately regret it as dizziness overcomes me and I have to cling to the tree to stop myself from falling. A chuckle has me glancing up at Vaeril who's watching me with a half smile and shaking his head. He looks pale, but in better spirits than earlier. His hand is still pressed against the tree, and he closes his eyes. For a moment, I think he's resting, but his lips start to move like before. I watch him, intrigued, and I swear he seems better when he opens his eyes minutes later.

"We will keep watch in turns, make sure we're not being followed, and ensure neither of us falls from the tree," he instructs, as he leans forward and ties the other end of the rope around his waist. Vaeril gestures for me to move closer to him, patting a place next to him by the trunk. The branch we're sitting on is wide at its base, with room enough for the both of us, but it will be snug.

"I'll take first watch," I offer, as I shuffle over, taking my cloak off in the process. My side is pressed right up against his as I rest against the trunk, draping the cloak over both our legs. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him watching me, but I focus on my task and don't give in to the temptation to look back at him.

"Okay," he replies, and I have to stifle my surprise. I was expecting to have to put up a fight to get him to rest. Pleased, I carefully reach forward for the pack and remove the water flask. It's almost empty now, we'll have to find more tomorrow if we want to make it to Galandell. Taking a sip, I turn to offer it to Vaeril, but see he's already asleep.

I close the lid and keep it in my lap as I settle in for a long night.