Whisk woke to Vaughon dousing the fire’s embers. He gave her a small smile, which she returned generously, despite her drowsiness. She had a plan. Today, she’d coax from him where her kind were.

Gwendolyn shifted in her sleep, curled. The siren was next to her, his arms wrapped around his body, his hands clutching the bandaging on his back. He was snoring through his nose quite loudly, but Whisk found no humour in it. Rather, she had a foreboding thought of what would happen if his nose got blocked. She hoped he didn’t have allergies.

Kissa and Brennan were on the rock, talking, and Rook sat below a large tree, staring absentmindedly at the woods.

Wrong, she thought, getting to her feet. There’s something wrong with him.

“Good morning,” she sang energetically. “Ready for a full day of sun!”

“Morning,” Rook murmured. He nodded his head northward. “There’s a stream down there. Brennan says it won’t make you sick.” His face belied his words as an arm went across his stomach. He closed his eyes for a second, then continued, “Vaughon boiled water for Gwendolyn and Violet—that’s what I call the siren—just in case, but he said your stomach and mine can handle drinking it fresh.”

Whisk nibbled on her lip, observing him a second more. Then she shrugged.

“Okay then. I want to see what the stream looks like before I drink from it, but let’s go!”

Rook grimaced. “I drank a lot already. And washed. I’m… I’m just going to sit for a bit.”

Whisk crouched down so they were at eye level. She pursed her lips comedically and furrowed her brow. “You,” she drawled suspiciously, “are really not selling me on Brennan’s drinkable water assessment.”

“It’s fine. The water just left me chilled,” Rook said tightly.

Liar.

Fine. She’d work out what was actually wrong later.

She pivoted and poked Gwendolyn awake. “Time to get up, sunshine.”

Gwendolyn mumbled into the arm covering her face.

Whisk kept poking.

“There’s a stream nearby. The dragons won’t let us eat until we’re freshened up,” she lied. “I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry!”

Gwendolyn slapped aside Whisk’s hand, but sat up. Her gaze darted in panic around the camp, but calmed when she spotted Rook. He, of course, completely ignored them. She rubbed at the dark bags under her eyes.

Several gruff prods later, Whisk got Gwendolyn to the stream. Having someone weaker around—someone easier prey for predators—seemed smarter than going alone.

Gwendolyn held her fingers under the clear, running water, groaning from the relief the coolness provided her sores. Whisk dipped her feet in for a good soak. Erring on the side of caution, she cupped some water in her hand and took a small sip. Aside from a slight mineral taste, it seemed fine. Satisfied, she drank enough to sate her thirst.

Watching Gwendolyn painstakingly work at the grime in her hair, only to wince every few moments, became too much for Whisk to ignore. She offered to rinse it and braid it back for her. Gwendolyn blinked rapidly against the tears gathering in her eyes before giving a small nod, much to Whisk's surprise.

Elf hair was unspectacular, but fiddling with it gave Whisk a close view of the ears. They extended a good inch beyond the length of human ears. They were so badly bruised that Whisk wasn’t sure of their usual colouring—probably the same as the rest of her skin tone—but when she ran a finger across the top of one, she felt soft, pale baby hairs.

The ear flicked.

Whisk took in a delighted breath. The flick was weaker than a horse’s, but it’d moved nonetheless.

Gwendolyn gritted her teeth, but remained still so Whisk could braid the hair back.

“And for the finale…” Whisk yanked a grass stem from the bank and tied the strands into place.

Her nostrils widened as she breathed in the fresh, sweet scent. She pulled another blade out and held it closer to her face. She hadn't considered grass as food before—not for herself, at least.

Science! She stuck the end in her mouth and chewed thoughtfully.

Gwendolyn wrinkled her nose, leaning away in disgust. “You’re chewing on a weed!”

“It’s not half-bad.”

“You’ll get sick.”

Whisk flicked Gwendolyn's ear, making it twitch. “A human might.”

The girl jumped back, glaring daggers.

“You may not be human, but you don’t know what you can eat here. I can’t believe the only girl here other than me lacks common sense!”

“Only? You’re forgetting Kissa?”

“Who?”

“The dragon woman.”

“She’s—That’s—I was referring to those of us rescued. And Kissa is too absorbed with that kid to be with the rest of us.”

“Well, she was hanging out with Brennan this morning, so she’s clearly willing to put some time aside for others.”

“Who’s Brennan?”

“The one you keep pissing off. Honestly, do you remember any of their names? Do you remember mine?”

“I don’t plan to be here long enough for it to be necessary,” Gwendolyn snapped, her face a bright red. She started back for the camp. “First chance of a proper rescue, from civilized people, and I’m gone.”

“You’re welcome for the braiding,” Whisk called after her.

She pulled several more grass blades for a later snack and tucked them down her bra. Then she followed Gwendolyn. Re-entering camp, she saw Brennan hold a pan up over Gwendolyn, just out of reach.

“Are you going to help today?” Brennan asked.

Gwendolyn glumly nodded and Brennan handed her the pan. She grabbed a berry from the small pile that sat in it and popped it into her mouth.

“Is there that little food left?” Whisk asked.

“We’re rationing for the journey, since we hadn’t expected it to be on foot when we originally packed,” Kissa answered. She turned from tending to the weak, awake siren, and held out dried apple slices from the pack. “Unless we come across something fresh, it’s small portions.”

“Food, glorious food!” Whisk sang, accepting the slices with a curtsey.

Nibbling on a piece to make it last, Whisk settled down on the ground.

Gwendolyn gobbled down the last of her berries, held out the pan and demanded more.

Having none of it, Brennan turned his back to her mid-sentence.

“There’s going to be elvan tongue added to breakfast if I stick around,” he grumbled. “Vaughon, I’m doing a final perimeter check. No feeding the elf. Kissa, be ready for Ashton’s return. He’ll want to leave right away.”

The twins nodded.

Vaughon tried to further explain to Gwendolyn why they needed to conserve, but even his tone grew short when she wouldn’t let up. Whisk leaned forward, wishing she had popcorn.

“Whisk.”

Whisk jumped. Nearly bolted until she saw it was Rook. She frowned at herself. Normally, she kept better track of her surroundings.

“Sorry,” Rook quickly said, lowering himself beside her.

“No, no, I was distracted.” Whisk threw the remaining slice into her mouth. She chewed thoughtfully, her gaze trailing down to the slab of dried venison in Rook’s hand. If his starting portion had been the same size as hers, he was exercising great restraint in not scarfing it down. His stomach gurgled in agreement.

She shifted the apple slice into one cheek and spoke around it, “If you’re not going to eat that quickly, mind tucking it away? It’s unappetizing watching someone eat any animal that once ran on hooves.”

Wordlessly, and a tad unnervingly, he got up, stuck it back in the pack, then flopped back down next to her. He glanced towards the dragons, confirming they were occupied, before leaning closer to Whisk.

“When you were with Brennan,” he whispered, “did you come across a cavern with stalactites? Possibly with three entrances?”