Gwen was combing the knots from her hair with her hands when he finally returned. He'd left when she had begun to disrobe to bathe. It was odd, as if he had never seen a naked person before. Normally Burson had enjoyed watching her bathe. He would never do anything inappropriate of course, but he had still watched.

Don't forget, you are not a woman, you are food. She felt herself blush at her own admonishment. She was not attractive for a woman, she knew. But still, something stung knowing that he would not be interested. The other demon had been, but perhaps that was not for lust, but rather for sadistic cruelty. This one however did not seem interested in cruelty at all.

He made the water safe. For me...

It was obvious that he originally had no intention of going near the putrid water, until she'd broken down. Whatever he'd done, by magic or demonic will, he'd made the water safe, at great sacrifice to himself. Even now, he shuffled around like a man who'd spent all day in the fields or quarries. Back bent from great strain and eyes half glossed and half aware, he seemed, almost human.

She felt somewhat guilty now for her behavior. She'd stabbed him, and acted like a child, and he'd done nothing but try to keep her alive so far. More, he'd poured a part of himself into that water. She could feel it.

At first she'd thought it was just the refreshment of a bath, but the longer she stayed in the water, the more she seemed to come alive. Her pain had receded and her energy seemed to be restored to her. She no longer felt battered and bruised, nor did she feel as if she'd been on the trail for days. In fact she could not remember ever being free of the aches in her feet or shoulders as she was now.

She'd drank deep of the water, and it had seemed to fill her rather than make her hungrier. By the time she'd dressed she had also noticed an odd energy in her movements like she'd had a restful night's sleep. She felt like she could continue on with their journey now, in fact she had felt down right antsy, until she'd seen him return.

Obviously there would be no more travel tonight. He'd given his liveliness to her, and her odd sense of childlike enthusiasm made sense now. He'd done more than purify that water, he had somehow enchanted it, and obviously the enchantment could not restore his own vigor, at least not completely.

She noticed that he had begun to get out the meat and prepare it for cooking, so she stood and walked towards the fire. She found the water skin lying nearly empty with his things. It seemed that they really had needed the water. She bent low to retrieve it, intending to go refill it. When she stood back up, she noticed that he was staring at her.

She'd seen this expression on him before. It was scrutinizing. The look made her want to drop the skin and wilt into the stone. Not this time.

The bath had done something to her. She felt strong and bold. She would not cower. She turned on her heel and marched back to the pool. Bending low, she filled the skin to bulging. After drinking from it greedily, she refilled it to bursting again, and corked it.

She felt the odd tingle spread in her chest. The same feeling she got the first time she had tasted it. It was odd, even though this was not moving water, and she had just bathed in it, the water tasted pure. If it had not then she would have not dared try filling a skin with it.

She turned and headed back to the fire, and laid the skin back with his belongings. She noted that he had not stopped staring at her the entire time. It was not odd to have a man stare at her so judgmentally. She was used to it, but the way this one did it made her skin crawl.

She sat down near the fire, and in a gesture of pure spite, glared back at the infuriating beast. In return, she got a hint of befuddlement. It was brief. A small moment of carelessness, but she had seen it, and congratulated herself smugly.

* * *

Mikhail went about settling the campsite lethargically. He felt as if he'd not slept in a fortnight, and was not very sure if he had. He clearly remembered allowing himself to enter ramtha, but the trance like state was not the same as sleep. His people were hardy, but even they needed true sleep.

Mikhail was not normal either. He had inherited certain... gifts, from his father. He also had trained in the house of Roathe, which was perhaps the most physically demanding path of his people, despite what was commonly believed. He'd been forced to endure great torment, and been denied rest for far longer than a fortnight. In fact, that was common practice amongst his brothers even after formal training.

This exhaustion however was not mere sleep deprivation, and he knew it. He had used magic before and was used to the weight it seemed to drape over ones limbs. Some rituals dulled the mind, others the senses. He had been made to cast and pray for long hours in order to build endurance to such. His kind already having innate abilities above other races, his inheritance and training gave him more than his kind normally had, and yet this was as bad as the days he'd spent chanting in prayer, having the magic drained from his being.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

That ritual, whatever it had been, had pushed him to his limits. He needed sleep; he had needed it for days now but had forced himself to keep watch. He had lazily watched the human woman, not exactly interested, just wanting a break from the chores. Normally he'd try to puzzle out her motivations, her thoughts, but he no longer had the energy to waste. She seemed satisfied now, for some reason. Which he supposed was alright.

The meat was nearly cooked, and he'd just finished laying out the skin for her, as well as setting some traps for game, and some that would alert him if any tried to enter his camp. Normally he'd have used a cantrip to warn him as he had been, but after that last spell, he was unsure if it'd hold once he lost consciousness.

He had also done a quick inventory of what supplies he had left. He still had enough food to get the girl through another day, maybe two if it stretched it. The water skin had just been refilled, which was good, they had been dangerously low. He himself did not need to eat nor drink as often as these weak humans. A large meal could last him a long time. It is why he only needed to carry one water skin, and usually he carried no food.

He did carry a small bag of mashma, a mix of herbs and meat, enchanted to preserve it and give it more potency, which were rolled into balls and coated with a sugary shell to contain single servings. Each ball could give him three to four days of nourishment depending on how much rest he got. He had packed just over a dozen, and had yet to need any, which was good. He had considered taking one, but instead had decided to partake in the meat he'd saved for the girl. His enchantment would not last much longer on it, and one could not compound an enchantment of preservation, so he might as well have his own share.

He walked over to the fire, collecting five full spikes of meat, and began eating voraciously. The girl starred at him wide eyed, before moving to collect her own spike. At first he'd made two for her, twice a day, but she could never finish both, so he'd started giving her only one. He doubted she was jealous, perhaps she was surprised to he could eat so much. He didn't care at that moment as he felt the fat and grease lubricate his throat. The spell had left it itchy, and the warm juices went a long way in soothing it.

When he was done he charred the spikes as normal by throwing them into the fire for a few moments and then pulled them out. There was no dirt or sand, so he took them over to the small pond and washed them in the purified water. After that spell, it was unlikely that he had needed to char them, but it was habit by now.

The human always seemed baffled and horrified when he cleaned his utensils. Perhaps humans did not care about the rot that formed on unclean surfaces, but these tools were multipurpose, and he would not have things growing on them.

He walked back up to see that she'd thrown her own spike into the side of the fire, and was trying to fish it out with a stick. It was odd sometimes how familiar these humans acted to some of the great apes in the forest, so clumsy and uncivilized. He reached his hand into the fire and grabbed the spike for her, and held it out but she would not take it. Instead she gave him that same look she did every time he went about cleaning.

He tossed the spike down near her, which she was careful not to touch, and went to lay down, with his pack under his head. He was not in the mood for her oddities tonight nor did he have the patience to clean up after her. She would do her share. He thought long about that look though, and let it puzzle him until he found himself finally drifting into blessed sleep.

* * *

Gwen watched the thing lay down for the first time in days. And within moments, its breathing became calm and deep. When this happened, its entire body seemed to relax. The hard lean muscles in his arms softened in a way that made her uncomfortable. Or rather it made her more comfortable, which made her... uncomfortable?

When she'd first seen him she'd thought about how human he seemed at a glance. As the days went by the more she'd realized how inhuman he was, but now, the way he laid there, the tenseness he'd had until this point, gone. He seemed so... vulnerable?

She chided herself for thinking such things. This creature had proven beyond a shadow of a doubt, that it was never vulnerable. Even when she'd attacked it, the only reason it had not blocked her, was because it knew that she could not seriously hurt it. That minor wound had taken days, perhaps only hours to heal. She wasn't sure since he had no wound now, and had acted like it did not bother him even that night in their flight. Either way this thing was not human, or anywhere near human.

Gwen looked down at the spike that he'd haphazardly tossed to her. It was identical to the one she'd stabbed him with. She felt her heart start to beat quickly. She could try again. It was finally sleeping. She could thrust the needle into its eye and be done with it.

She reached her hand out and clasped the spike firmly with her right hand. It was not large, only about the length of a man's hand, and as thick as a twig. She knew that it was sturdy though. She'd been using it to cook and eat with for days and still felt as if bending it would be an impossible task. It was sharp enough to puncture skin, obviously, and perhaps sturdy enough to puncture bone.

She slowly moved over to the creature on her hands and knees. Sweat beading on her forehead, despite the cool air. She moved up directly beside it, and knelt over it, watching its chest move up and down in its slumber.

She raised the spike above the demon meaningfully, gripping it with both hands to steady her aim. She held for a moment, thinking. Would the eye do the trick? An eye wound did not always kill, but a bad enough one would. That was for humans and many other animals, but what of demons?

She felt panic well up inside her, and she began to tremble. The legends always spoke of impaling evil creatures through the heart. The spike was long enough, it should go to the heart, and it did seem the better bet.

Gwen shifted her aim to above the monster's chest. She was still shaking, and for a moment she was frozen in her terror. What if he wakes? What if it doesn't work? What if my aim is off? What if I kill him? Will I be able to find my own way out of these God forsaken mountains?

Gwen lowered the spike and exhaled. She was working herself up over trivial matters. She was a prisoner, and before her lay a monster with no mercy. She felt like such a child. She steeled her nerves, and raised the spike before her again.