Manon's Child

Part 10

I awake in a cold sweat. My hair is a messy tangle at my back, and my clothes are sticking to me. I lie, almost paralysed, staring at the roof of my tent, until a wave of nausea overtakes me, and I lurch out of the tent.

I don't vomit, however. Instead, once the nausea subsides, I stalk straight to the stables. Abraxos is waiting for me, worry in his eyes as if he knows exactly what just happened. In the still night of the crescent moon, I stroke leathery head, breathing in the cool night air.

When I no longer feel quite as shaken, Abraxos follows me down to the small stream that runs through our camp, and I kneel down by the silvery water, splashing my face.

As I watch the ripples subside, and when the water is smooth again, I look at my reflection. My face is pale and wasted, and there are purple bags under my eyes. My hair is a dishevelled mess down my back. I look exhausted.

I feel exhausted.

Abraxos comes up behind me, sticking his leathery head over my shoulder. We sit there for a while, peacefully, then, after a moment, I stand and climb onto Abraxos. There was no saddle, but I didn't need one. He flies up into the moonlit sky, dancing with the stars until sunrise.

When the sun does start peaking over the horizon, I turn Abraxos around and we glide back to the camp, touching down on the outskirts. Then, I organise my people into two large groups, putting Bronwen and Petrah in charge of one and taking charge of the other myself. I lead mine into the city where we work until midday, when we swap with the other group. Even immortals get tired eventually, especially after fighting a massive war.

In the afternoon, I train and train until I'm sweating and exhausted. Then, I exercise Abraxos, flying until nightfall, when the other group returns.

As food is cooked and eaten, Bronwen, Petrah and I sit around the leaping bonfire and talk. Mostly about the future of the Witch-Kingdom, but also about rebuilding. I don't say much, leaving them to do most of the talking, only intervening when necessary.

Again, I eat enough for about three people, my hunger strangely unquenchable. Occasionally, the other two glance at me strangely, to the point I almost snap 'what'. However, my sudden burst of anger passes the next second, and when they look at me next, I just smile viciously instead.

After I finish eating, I stand and depart, heading back to my tent. Once there, I change out of my tight, practical leathers and into something softer for sleeping.

A sudden urge for human contact hits me, and I pull the covers on my bed tighter around me. With a start, I realise I miss Dorian. Being so busy, I haven't even given him a passing thought in a few days, so my random need for him now...

I turn over, worming deeper into my covers. It's just cold, that's all. I don't really need Dorian - or want him. I am strong and independent, a survivor. Most importantly, I am the Witch-Queen, one of the most powerful beings in centuries.

I don't need anyone.