In the Lorr Desert
Valla POV
Things settled into a routine after that. They came across no other obstacles as they continued their trek through the desert, traveling night after night. Having Sprout around made their evening routines feel more lighthearted. Valla barely dared to think it, but it was like they had a small family of sorts, albeit a bizarre one. She couldn't remember ever feeling so comfortable in someone's company. The two of them were more confident in each other since the Storm, and their tentative, twisted partnership had smoothed out a little. It was as though working together so closely, aura to aura, had changed things. At least, Valla hoped so, and she let herself enjoy the thought for now. She wasn't foolish enough to forget the bloody terms of their agreement, but happiness of any sort was rare and precious.
The only thing that was more difficult now was Valla’s injury. Her side had held up alright for the most part before the Storm, and she had even managed to stabilize it a bit with her evening meditations at the begining of their journey, but it had been damaged further in the fight against the elements. It was all she could do to hide it from Doren and continue move as though she were uninjured. The ever-present pain was slowly intensifying, and the burden was wearing on her. Now, even the meditations were becoming less effective.
This entire affair is pointless if I drop dead before we make it to the Carram. The thought plagued her, lingering as they walked, and set up camp, and sat companionably. It sat lurking in the back of her mind as she sang for Doren, ignoring the pain that flared with even the small motions of playing her lute. Perhaps I left the Witch’s village too late, and had let the cursed injury worsen for too long.
With no obvious threats to fight, the day-to-day, as comfortable
as it was, became an echo chamber for her doubts. She was trapped in the peace of their routine with her mortal injury, fighting a psychological battle even as she hid her
growing fear from Doren.
For all she knew, it was pointless to pretend. If he looked, he would see the black threads of the damage in her aura from the site of her wound. But there was a chance he wouldn’t look closely enough to examine her unless she let him try to heal her. After all her refusals, he had stopped asking, but she caught him watching her with a strange expression sometimes. She refused to let herself wonder what it meant. If he wanted to bring it up, he would.
“We will leave the Paving soon,” Doren said one morning as they settled in to rest for the day. Valla nodded and made a noise of agreement, rummaging through a pack for some food. When she looked up, Doren was watching her uncertainly.
“What?” She felt her stomach drop a bit at the look on his face. Trying to laugh it off, she raised her eyebrows playfully at him. “I am hungry, Doren. I know you want a song, but you’ll just have to wait.”
He smiled awkwardly and seemed to decide against saying what was on his mind. “Right. That’s what – that’s right.”
Holding in a sigh of relief, Valla set about preparing their meal. It was her job in the mornings, and his in the evenings. At first she had enjoyed letting him do it all, waiting for him to get mad, but he never showed any annoyance at all. That made the game boring, so she had started to help out properly and do her part.
“He’s not even done growing, I don’t think.” Doren said as Sprout knocked over Valla’s pack and then scampered away in shocked surprise. The little monkey was no longer as wary around Valla but sometimes seemed to try and needle her as a game, as though taunting her for the thrill of it. Valla thought it was frankly hilarious.
“Really? How can you tell? I’ve never seen one like him before, so I wouldn’t know.”
Doren sat back, looking thoughtful. “I haven’t either, but the more I look at him the more his features seem like those of a juvenile of the other similar species I’ve seen.”
“You mean when you were traveling around the world?” Valla kept her tone teasing, but she was really curious about this. He never really spoke about his time after his exile from the Order, and she suspected he had a lot of stories. Stories that Valla found more and more she cared to know.
His eyes grew distant. “Yes. Before too. Many of the nobility in the Empire have pets. If they come from over the mountains, they call them ‘exotic’. It's thought to be fashionable.” Doren’s mouth twisted a bit in distaste. “Most of those animals don’t survive long. The ones that I’ve seen were all juveniles.”
“I see,” Valla murmured, feeling hollow. The thought of little Sprout living in a cage hurt. A foggy memory of metal bars rose in her mind’s eye, and the scars on her wrists and ankles ached.
Not noticing the slight tightening of her expression, Doren went on. “Many of the owners don’t realize how big the animals are going to be, and will even get rid of them once they are fully grown.” His eyes were hard and angry now.
Quietly appalled, Valla nodded. She didn’t ask what ‘get rid of them’ meant.
They moved on to lighter topics after that, staying up longer than they should have. Valla suspected that neither wanted to face the silence of sleep or taking watch, instead finding refuge in some stories Valla had heard from traveling merchants and bards while working in the village inn. Doren laughed and frowned at the right places as he listened, and the hours passed by comfortably. Valla didn’t realize until it was her turn to sleep much later that for a while, she had even forgotten the pain in her side.
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