Risk

Chapter XV

Jasta jerked awake, alerted by a sudden, and loud noise close by. She had been too asleep to hear exactly what it was, but now that she was awake, the sound didn't come again, so she had no hope of finding out.

It took her a moment to realize that she was lying, not on the back of a horse like she'd fallen asleep, but inside the familiar tent where she'd slept the past few nights—excepting the night at the inn, of course. She peeked her head through the flap, blinking weariness from her eyes.

The tent was at the edge of a spacious clearing. Starlight gleamed down through a patchwork of pale green branches overhead. The ground in the clearing was covered in a fine dust that was soft against her hand as she leaned a bit farther out of the tent. The center of the clearing gleamed with the light of a fire, and sitting on a log near the blaze was Rowan.

The orange glow, and lack of any other light except for the pale sheen of the stars made for very poor vision, but that didn't stop Jasta from peering closer to see what Rowan was doing. He was facing slightly away, just enough to not be able to see her if she accidentally made a sudden movement, but was facing her in such a way that she could still see him.

He was winding—no, on second glance, he was unwinding a strip of cloth from around his arm... his right arm. Looking closer, she could see several streaks of darkness crisscrossing his the pale flesh, especially closer to the wrist.

Her breath caught in her throat when she realized that they were scratches. She had done that to him. The black slits down his skin were from when she had fought him.

She almost felt sorry, but then she remembered why he even had the scratches in the first place. It was his fault, not hers. He had attacked her, not the other way around. She had only been defending herself.

She huffed out a quiet breath, crawling back into the tent to get a few more hours of sleep before another day of riding. Another long day, no doubt.

It seemed like just a few minutes before she felt a gentle prodding on her shoulder. She stifled a yawn and opened her eyes, blinking when a shaft of sunlight slanted directly into her face. Rowan's silhouette was a dark shadow against the bright background of sun and pale tree branches.

She rose sleepily into a sitting position, rubbing the fuzzy feeling away from her eyes.

She rose unsteadily to her feet and brushed past Rowan into the fresh, warm air beyond. Either her leg was getting better, or she was getting better at moving without hurting it, because as she walked across to the fire, she hardly felt the now-familiar jabs of pain that came with each step.

Her stomach clenched with the sudden realization that the last time she'd eaten was a nearly-stale slab of bread that seemed like a lifetime ago. She saw in relief that there was a small pot set low over the last few dying embers. The smell was heavenly to her hungry nose.

When she got closer, she noticed in dismay that the pot was pretty much empty, with nothing more than a light glaze of broth to show there had ever been anything there in the first place. She felt the hunger eating away at her insides, and she was crushed by the thought that she would have to go another whole day without eating a single morsel.

But then she saw that, sitting on a log, there was a tin bowl, almost overflowing with steaming stew.

Rowan went about business as usual, picking up everything that was still sitting out, and collapsing the tent, so she figured the soup must be for her. She settled onto the log near the fire and began eating.

There was a ring of rocks encircling the last orange glow of the dying embers, and from the looks of them, they seemed to have been used several times before. They were blackened and burnt.

Looking around, she saw other signs that the clearing had been used as a camp before. There was a post not far away with nails in it, probably used to tie up a horse. A forgotten bit of rope was pressed into the soft sand near her log-seat.

She finished her soup, forgetting her search for signs of previous use. She didn't know how she was supposed to wash the bowl, so she discreetly stashed it at the very top of the pack, intending to wash it when they made camp next.

Rowan had disappeared in the midst of her eating, so she decided that she would climb atop the horse on her own. She didn't need him to do everything for her.

She glared at the saddle, bracing herself. She took a deep breath, then heaved herself up, slipping her good foot into the stirrup and swinging the other leg over the horse's back.

She squeezed her eyes shut, half expecting to slip off the horse, or for her leg to erupt into pain, but nothing happened, and she opened her eyes slowly.

She'd done it! She hadn't waited for Rowan's help!

She settled into the saddle, waiting for Rowan to return.

She studied the mare's dappled coat. The hairs were short and course, but the lighter grey color of the speckles gleamed like starlight in the bright light of the sun that slanted through the web of branches.

"Just like starlight." She whispered to herself, stroking the horse's neck gently with one hand, clutching the saddle in the other. The mare let out a quiet nicker, shaking out her mane. Jasta decided that she liked Rowan's mount much more than she liked him.

Rowan appeared through the trees, and after she scooted back in the saddle to make room for him, he mounted the horse.

Soon they were on their way again. She found it much more comfortable behind Rowan than she had been in front. She didn't have to lean against him at all in order to stay on, and she could grip the saddle rather than him. It was an improvement by far.

The early morning sun dappled the ground with gentle rays. Birds of all kinds were waking up to flit through the trees, and the morning was filled with the twittering conversations going on throughout the forest. Bees and butterflies hovered over the flowering plants, and she even caught a glimpse of a deer through the trees.

She wondered how the world could seem so cheerful when there was such a storm inside her heart. She felt crushed. Crushed with the weight of her homesickness, crushed with the fact that she wasn't there to help her family in what had to be an overwhelmingly busy time.

She closed her eyes, trying to block out the beautiful day. She didn't want to be reminded of the season, because she knew that spring and summer were always the busiest. She half-wished she had to travel in snow, or driving rain. She was willing to suffer through harsh conditions if it meant she wasn't suffering with the knowledge that she wasn't there when her family needed her most.

The day passed just like the last one, the only difference was, she didn't fall asleep in the saddle. Her leg was sore and aching after the first couple hours, reminding her of the reason for sitting in the front rather than the back.

She kept an eye on the sun as it made its slow trek through the sky. At first, it was white-hot, then it faded to nothing more than an orange-red glow through the trees on the western horizon.

She scanned the trees, looking for a place that might serve as a camp. She saw several clearings that might work, but Rowan kept going.

The stars were all winking brightly from the sky by the time he finally stopped. There was no moon to shed its pale silver light, so she could hardly see anything but dim outlines and vague shadows.

She wearily watched as Rowan's dim form set up camp, then she flopped into the tent as soon as it was ready. She thought she would sleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. Her muscles were sore, especially her legs, from gripping onto the horse, and her jaws were beginning to ache from yawning so much, but she tossed and turned for a while, unable to sink into sleep.