He drowned for days, weeks, months, and years. Decades even. There was no telling for how long the unending ocean trapped him, but now he sank. It did not differ from other times. Unseen hands dragged him deeper into the abyss. Not only did his mind refuse it, there were voices beyond. Sometimes one, other times more, encouraging him not to give in, and he always listened.
Prince Zaki was tired. Every battle against the hands of the abyss drained his energy. Fire surged through every muscle in his body. From his fingertips, even within his very lungs. He burned in the ocean, and every fight charred his body further.
This one was especially tricky. He noticed his sinking late. Perhaps he fell asleep and forgot to stay afloat. When he did wake up, there was darkness above him, sight stealing darkness below. Flashes of the sun sliced through the darkness above, and he kicked and paddled and kicked. Mouth shut, but roaring with anger, forcing his way back up.
A soothing whisper fought through the shouts of encouragement, piercing his roaring rage. One of sweet calm, growing stronger while his limbs wailed for an end to the torturous fire.
Let it end.
No.
Be at peace.
No.
Sink into the end.
Zaki roared anew, flapping and kicking, until his limbs went numb. After a moment of floundering in the same spot, he rose. Forcing the water away as he surged upward, the surface called his name. A continuous chant as he broke the surface, cooling his burning lungs with soothing air.
A switch turned in his body the moment he breathed the free air again. Struggles forgotten. Refreshed without rest, he flapped his arms to match the ceaseless kicking of his legs. He soared beyond the ocean water. High into the sky to meet the sun in the middle. Zaki’s hands spared his eyes as he pierced the sun, bursting through.
The world changed after the soaring ended. From brightness he emerged and into darkness he fell. Down from the sky with blistering winds buffeting until he thumped to the dark ground, without sound. His body shattered with pain.
His left hand exploded with throbbing agony as he burned from head to toe. His mind discharged memories, flashes of Jian the Dark and endless blood. They chanted his name. He smiled as he rose with renewed vigour, soothing the fire.
A hot spring appeared. Under a sudden spotlight to his right. With a bushy-haired figure bathing within the steaming water. Zaki dragged his feet towards them, their back to him and their ochre gold curls taking up much of their back and head.
Soon he walked on grass, stepping off the eternal darkness and onto lush greenery. The bathing figure paused, so did he. Their wet arm stretched up in the air with water cascading down their umber arm.
The figure spun around and emerged from the water. A giant with ochre gold curls falling down over their breasts. Zaki forced his eyes up when they emerged from the water, though still catching a glance of the same-coloured hair between their legs. To stare into their familiar, golden eyes.
There was a pale scar running across their nose, with freckled cheeks. He saw youth and age on them, that belied their taut skin and chiselled features. Their head tilted as they frowned at him. The realisation struck him and Zaki’s jaw dropped.
“Dawn?”
A blink later and the Sinha he recognised appeared. On all fours and golden, still tilting her head at him.
“You’ve returned.”
“Why? How are you speaking? How are we speaking from our lips?”
“Wake up!”
It sucked him out of the darkness and into the light. His body exploded with throbbing pain once again.
Prince Zaki awoke amid an eruption of pain. He wheezed and groaned as his surroundings took an age to arrive. The ground rumbled beneath him, and the sweat drenched thin mattress barely protected against it. Every jump was a thumping punch into his many wounds scattered all over his body.
The pulsing warmth coursing within his ears finally gave way to the creaking wood and grinding wheels of the carriage. Faint sunlight crept through the gaps and the threadbare curtain flapping before the gaping opening at the side.
His eyes struggled to make out the interior of the carriage. A hanging lantern clattered against the wooden walls whenever a large bump in the road came. He gritted his teeth to keep his agony from making him shout.
Sharp smelling silk bandages wrapped Zaki’s entire body, searing him with healing fire from ankle to head. Every nudge squeezed a bruise. Any attempt to shift an inch only burned his flesh further. The silk was smooth, yet it was no match for his pain. He was stiff, swaddled by the endless wrapping. Only silk wrapped his ruined flesh, for despite the healing fire ravaging his body, he shivered.
The fiery lavender colours outside faded, and a slicing chill frequented him. It blustered through the threadbare curtain for a door and danced over him with no remorse. His teeth chattering anguished him also, along his jaw.
Another jolt shot through his body like lightning when the carriage crashed after passing over something. His limp left arm bounced off the mattress and thudded down on the wooden floor. Zaki wailed, and a tear spewed from his eye.
“Sorry about that.” Dawn’s voice caressed his mind.
He tasted blood on his tongue. Hints of it entered his nose, but the sharp medicinal aromas overpowered. There was nothing else to smell.
When the last of the sunset light faded from his carriage, fire sparked nearby. Occasionally catching his eye after he managed, through much painful struggle, to turn his head towards the exit. He saw flashes of ash white fur, with orange blotches wrapped by black rings. The Cituva glanced at him with their ochre gold eyes whenever the chilling breeze shifted the curtain, with their mounted Tamers gazing ahead.
His vision failed beyond the endless flickering torches and heavy armoured Leopards marching upon the rocky clay road. Soon the effort tightened his neck, and he turned away to stare at the dark ceiling for relief. Before he knew it, his heavy eyes shut and not even the rough goings of the carriage kept sleep away.
Consciousness was intermittent. He often awoke to flashes of fire, gentle hands worsening his pain as they cut away at the silk bandages smelling of rot and decay. Before applying fresh silk wrappings, renewing their overpowering stench of medicine, setting his raw and hopefully healing flesh anew. He moaned whenever pain jolted through him, but he never remained awake long enough to suffer all of it.
Sometimes he awoke with the taste of soup, carrots and green beans. Cooled by the caring breath of whoever sat him up and patiently delivered minute spoons filled with it. There were splashes of water amongst the bland tasting food, sometime wetting his mouth with more warmth than the soups and broths. He enjoyed the droplets of wine, more often mulled than the coolness from a skin. The sparing doses were better than nothing.
What was most frequent was the horrendous bitterness forced down his throat. He was always awake and gagging when it went down. The bitterness clung to his tongue wickedly, long after it disappeared down his throat, and kept him awake to remind him of its awfulness. It dulled his pain at least, though he wondered if the bitter price was worth it.
The carriage stopped after the sunset, though he hardly left it. They wrapped the curtain up to allow the often-biting fresh air in. Heavy blankets, with the same sharp medicinal smell, were never far away, even if they pricked at his tender flesh through the silk bandages.
Prince Zaki awoke once more with the fading fire of a lavender coloured sunset peeking its beauty into the still carriage. His entire body barraged by numb throbbing as he sat up with helping hands. He leant back against a cushion and blinked the worried face of Jazmin Isis into his vision.
There was another beside her, one he didn’t recognise. A plump man with a dark complexion. Without Jazmin’s fatigue. He appeared pampered, with rosy cheeks and friendly yet studious eyes.
“My prince,” Jazmin smiled.
“How are you feeling, Great One?” The plump man spoke with a voice as soft as a feather stuffed pillow.
“Wha…” Zaki stopped himself. It felt as if the words would rip his throat.
Jazmin’s hand caressed his throat over the silk bandages and a prickling sensation soon exuded from her.
“Better… I suppose.”
His voice sounded raw, but now there was only discomfort in his throat.
“I believe I can leave the rest to you. The worst has passed. Apply this on troublesome areas and finish the dosage of the heartroot milk, force it if you must,” the plump physician handed a strong-smelling clay jug wrapped in a thin cloth to Jazmin.
“May your recovery continue to be swift, Great One.”
He stepped out into the torch-lit night while Jazmin remained. She fingered the candle alight and hung it from the centre hook of the carriage. Zaki grimaced at the bright light at first before taking in the surprising vastness of the carriage’s interior.
“Who was that?”
“Physician Lumko.”
“Leopard?”
Jazmin nodded, still eyeing him with concern.
“Why Great One?”
She frowned and gave away a scent of concern for a moment. He groaned when a breeze snatched away at his comfort, and she rushed to raise his blanket.
“Have you forgotten?”
“Is it about Jian?”
“Your legend grows already Prince; they sing songs of your victory since we left Ci’Ped.”
It was then that his left hand stiffened, before tearing open with pain as if a blade sliced it anew. Zaki grimaced and jerked his hand upward until Jazmin caught his wrist.
“There was no saving your smallest finger, unfortunately,” she began, and he finally noted the silk wrapped stub where it should have been.
There was a bulbous foundation to his ring finger, but there was no feeling in it, despite remaining upright when the slicing pain bent his middle and index fingers over.
“Can you feel your ring finger?”
Zaki shook his head, straining still.
“I thought your ironvine ring would return some feeling at least, for it saved it. Other than sinew and flesh, your ring finger was ready to follow the little, yet the ironvine restored a lot.”
“Not enough,” Zaki said through gritted teeth.
“Perhaps it is a matter of time.”
Prince Zaki fought back the welling tears and shoved his hand out of sight. Out of his mind.
The tight wrapping around his head suggested another loss. One far less hurtful, yet it didn’t improve his sinking mood either. He raised his right hand, grimacing through the throbbing numbness ravaging his limb and caressed the silk, hugging his bald scalp.
“Your immolation melted it all off,” Jazmin said. “Glued to your helm, though I shaved off the stubborn patches.”
Zaki grunted.
They sat in silence together. Jazmin watched as if waiting for a wound to pop open. She sighed when his stomach grumbled, shuffling for the exit, mumbling about fetching food. Jazmin left before he complained.
He stretched his limbs as much as he could. Beyond the ceaseless pain, there was the weakness of disuse. The initial grind was like a rusted gate. Every muscle and joint cracked before loosening.
He freed his right hand first, reminding it of its movement and strength. He flexed his fingers until the power that wielded his khopesh hinted its return. Then he worked his way up to his wrist, rolling it. Next came his forearm and elbow, then his shoulder, before he dared to continue onto the rest of his ruined body.
Zaki smirked at himself as he winced at every agonising jolt. A morbid humour, to be laid so low after his greatest show of strength. He managed a wheezing cough for laughter.
Jazmin returned. Renewed stinging ravaged him, with bouts of itchiness he couldn’t satisfy. She crouched back inside with two steaming bowls of stew. Her second departure was shorter, and she came with two jugs and clay mugs. The sharp medicinal stink remained overpowering, robbing him of the appetising food.
“There’s some meat in this stew, now that you’re awake and able to chew. Lean beef, but anything is better than nothing.” She swirled the chunks of meat, potatoes, carrots, and leeks.
“Will you be able to feed yourself?”
“Won’t know until… I try.” his throat was still raw.
Jazmin hesitated when he raised his left hand, but placed the bowl in his hand, not releasing until the quivering ended. The balance was off and the stew slanted towards the missing finger. Zaki was long past the throbbing and instead agonised on keeping the food from spilling.
“The bread has become stale since we left. I thought it unworthy of your healing stomach.”
“How long have I been asleep?”
“You've been in and out over the past week.”
“How much more until Bil’Faridh?”
“Depends, if the winter showers continue, another week, despite their intermittent occurrences.”
“Will I recover in time to fight?”
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“Prince, eat, rest and worry about that when you can leave this carriage on your own.”
“Answer my question!” Zaki didn’t mean to snap, but he couldn’t shake the cloud over himself. It manifested into different forms within his chest already during its brief existence. Frustration and rage, and unfortunately Jazmin stoked it.
“I cannot say,” she said, her eyes low after jumping at his outburst. “You nearly melted yourself, and that’s without the damage Master Jian inflicted.”
Zaki’s left hand stiffened, almost spilling the stew.
“Healing hands can only do so much. The rest is up to your body, with the physician’s poultices and medicine. I still wonder how you are not worse off, Prince.”
He grunted at her, more to stifle any further outbursts on his part. The stew was lukewarm, and the oil threatened to congeal already. There wasn’t much chewing between the chunks of meat and vegetables. He forced them all down his throat along with the flavourful gravy. Jazmin remained polite with each spoonful she took, sitting cross-legged. Eyes fixed on her own stew.
The prince cooled since his bowl emptied and his stomach filled. Jazmin poured water from one jug into both of the clay goblets. She produced a vial and flicked off the stopper. It coloured the water a strange milky pink.
“The heartroot, Prince, then you can wash it down with mulled wine.”
Zaki traded his empty bowl for it, and finally smelled something beyond the sharp medicine. Rancid bitterness that chilled his spine.
He braced himself before rushing to empty the goblet, and at first, he enjoyed it. His lips met a cool sweetness, and so did his tongue, but it was a deception of the worst kind. When the milky concoction reached the back of his throat, it spoiled. Liquid rot and bitterness, that was its torture, and despite his hurry it slowed down his throat and refused to depart his tongue.
His hand trembled as every fibre of his being screamed for an end. He forced it down and cracked the goblet with his strengthening fingers, tempted to toss it out. But the promise of mulled wine stayed his anger.
Zaki covered his mouth with his hand when he felt his food surge up his throat. A searing back and forth, gagging and swallowing until his stomach settled. It took himself a moment to notice the freedom in his limbs, the clearing of his senses, but it was all forgotten once he inhaled the cinnamon of the mulled wine.
Two gulps of the pleasurable, slightly strong wine and his eyes drooped low. Whether it was the stew, the horrid heartroot or the mulled wine, sleep rushed for him, and he didn’t resist. He placed the half empty goblet down gingerly, before finding comfort on his side. A blink later and he was gone.
Jazmin was the first he saw when he awoke. It was dim within the carriage, and he was stiff. His left hand was numb, and the pain returned, though more concentrated. A constant stinging itch ravaged the rest of his body. There was the added stink of his own unwashed self now mingling amongst the silk bandages.
The carriage was moving, and a gentle pitter patter of rain drummed on the roof. Its wheels squelched and splashed whenever the now mushy clay road gave trouble. It wasn't as uncomfortable as before.
Jazmin shuffled closer and knelt before him, wearing her fatigue admirably.
“We should change your bandages,” she yawned into the back of her hand.
“I stink,” Zaki replied, then faded when she dragged a bucket of lukewarm soapy water and a cloth.
“It will need a delicate touch. Please allow me.”
The prince grumbled, too sleepy to resist. He sat up as she ringed the cloth dry. It smelled of lavender.
“You can remove the bandages on your head if you wish. The knot is at the back.”
Zaki fought through the stiffness with fumbling fingers. Flashes of Dawn filled his mind as he unravelled the silk. Both the humanoid and Sinha form, sometimes intertwining or separated. One at a time or standing beside each other, a peculiar picture.
She was distant in their bond, as if a wall grew since they last spoke during the Vivada.
A chill passed over his raw scalp and he shivered, now devoid of hair beyond growing stubble. He caressed it with his fingers and found bald patches scattered all over his scalp.
“It should grow normally once you have healed. Shaving it will help for an even growth, if you are worried.”
Jazmin inquired with the damp soapy cloth, and he nodded. She dabbed his scalp first, leaving behind sharp stinging sensations.
“Fluff is sprouting on your jaw,”
“Don’t,” Zaki snapped again, with pain fuelled anger. “How bad do I look?”
She gazed at him with a hint of annoyance, damp cloth dripping after a recent journey back into the bucket. Then her gaze softened.
“I see Zaki Atum Ra, the fire that burns the Dark away, Lion of Lions, dual wielding master. The golden pharaoh,” Jazmin swabbed his face, without a threat of deceit. His left hand stiffened again, fingers convulsed to bend, the ones that could.
“Or would you prefer it if I sang that to you?”
They were indeed slowed by the winter wetness. Drizzle turned into rain, and the clay roads became messy. The carriage was often stuck, then yanked free by Dawn and Jazmin’s Tamed Sinha, who pulled it together. Zaki’s now uninterrupted consciousness made the slow pace excruciating.
Pain never left, nibbling away at him with only numbness and unfeeling as respite. A salvation earned from suffering the bitterness of the heartroot milk. Though his waking hours were normal now, and that allowed for the throbbing to become a distant thought. His mind wandered.
Recollecting the fight was its primary goal, along with bouts of distraction. Mainly the strange form Dawn took. She still hadn’t explained. Then again, she seldom spoke to him beyond apologies for the roughness or greetings when he awoke. Dawn shared nothing through the wall she built, not even her emotions.
In the evening of another slow day. Beneath a rumbling dark sky and the drumming rain on the roof of the carriage, Zaki sat cross-legged. His hands resting on his knees, and his breathing calm against the many sensations coursing through his body.
Less bandaged now, save for his left hand, right arm, and thigh. The cuts on his arms and legs healed well, the stitches removed, and the scars faded. Blotches of burned flesh healed, if a little discoloured still, and his bald head grew an even covering of dark stubble. His jaw and chin itched with new-born facial hair, an added irritation.
His chest proved stubborn in healing. His flesh glittered with gold dust, melted into it. He didn’t believe Jazmin’s claims about the ruined state he left his armour in, but seeing his khopesh recently, and the indentations of his fingers seared into the exposed golden hilt, doubt departed. Jian’s katanas arrived as well, plain as he remembered, though scorch blotches marred the one that pierced his arm from the tip to the centre. Still sharp.
Prince Zaki shut his eyes in the dim light and saw the fight in flashes. Hiding behind Melina’s shield to suffer an almighty barrage from Jian. Sometimes he swung without a head, sometimes with Dawn’s golden gaze haunting him. Her human presence ruined his victory. Instead of the Sinha snatching Jian’s head in her jaws, she was a giant, snatching the Tiger’s head with monstrous hands.
His eyes burst open when his left hand stiffened, and he prodded Dawn again.
Nothing.
Jazmin’s return came soon after, and Zaki stirred from his crossed legged calmness. He stifled a groan as he rose to his knees, then slowly worked up to a crouch before collapsing upon a cushioned bench.
She stepped inside with plain clothes and an early supper. Though once the aroma filled his nose, the complaint vanished. The clothes were functional for travel, thick wool and clean. As for the food, it was greasy and sizzling, spiced and warm. There was a soup of vegetables as well, but his mouth salivated for everything else.
Jazmin produced another vial of heartroot, souring his cravings. She placed it on the tray beside the water and wine, snorting at his grimace.
“Making faces will not change its taste.”
“Are you not joining me?” He asked, noticing a lack of her own tray of food.
“I thought you wished to hurry and meet your generals?”
“We have made camp. There is time.”
Jazmin frowned at him, keeping a sly smirk on her full lips. She pulled a mischievous expression, then sat down beside him.
“I sense a question.”
“Do you know what is involved in a Vivada?”
“Don’t we all?” She laughed at first, then cleared her throat when he remained serious. “I am the wrong Tamer to ask Prince.”
“Nothing in the books you’ve read over the years?”
“Both parties strike terms, which are obeyed unless you wish to lose your Tamers. I’ve heard Tamers say it strengthened their bond with their Tamed. As for the details, they’re more secretive.”
Jazmin shrugged, and Zaki turned away. It seemed foolish hiding what he saw to Jazmin, after confessing so much before. His Sinha’s silence on the matter cautioned him.
She stayed with him while he ate. They spoke of idle business while her eyes surveyed his body and bandages. The heartroot went down with no need to gag, thankfully, though it wasn’t any less bitter.
Prince Zaki dressed himself while Jazmin popped her head out. It was slow going, forcing his arms into the long sleeves, and legs into the tight pants. She returned with a hood and a decorated cane.
“What’s that?”
“A gift from Captain Phila. He claims to have a Lion for a mother.”
“That explains the Sinha in bronze for the head,” Zaki remarked. “I take it I have no choice?”
“You would rather risk a permanent limp for the rest of your life?”
“Surely my first appearance demands a show of strength?”
“If Jian’s katanas hanging on your waist are not enough, well, I do not know what is.”
They were a strange presence on his waist. It forced his khopesh to his back now. Everything felt heavy. Despite his recovery, he was nowhere near the strength he was used to.
“Weight off your leg, don’t forget,” Jazmin stepped out of the carriage and into the rain.
Prince Zaki took a moment, clasping the bonze head of the cane and raised his hood. He crouched low and gritted his teeth at the effort, though numbed by the heartroot, the throbbing strengthened. He emerged into the cool rain, leading with his left leg and grimacing when his right foot met the yellow grass below.
Eyes were on him, yellow gold amongst the flickering torch fire beside tents and campfires. Hazel eyes, onyx eyes, a few pale eyes. Everyone stopped to see him appear.
The rain softened to a drizzle, but he kept his hood up as he limped along the path towards the grand tent in the centre of the camp. Their scents of adoration became a cloud, reaching him before he strode past everyone gathered. Leopards and Cheetahs congregating to offer their respects.
“Pharaoh.”
“Gold fire Prince.”
“Vanquisher of the Dark.”
“Shadowbane.”
“Prince Atum Ra.”
He heard many names along his slow journey to the main tent. Many bowed or thumped their chest, some even knelt when he passed. Prince Zaki acknowledged all of them, which allowed him a moment’s rest for his aching leg.
Adoration and adulation. He soaked it all, made sweeter by the fact it all came from beyond the Lion Clan. The Lions would have their chance. That seemed inevitable now. He only hoped he wasn’t too late.
The tent's interior was empty save for a table and four bedrolls. A solitary lantern hung from the centre post, blazing bright yellow fire to all corners. Masters Anele and Sinalo stood waiting. Though they didn’t display reverence as their clans did outside, their sweet scents betrayed them.
Prince Zaki flicked off his damp hood and rushed to the nearest chair after their muted greetings. The burning aches in his right leg eased after he collapsed on the cushioned seat. He rested the cane on his lap and adjusted Jian’s katanas.
“A shaved head suits you, Prince,” Sinalo said with a smile, sitting across from Anele on the prince’s right.
“I may agree if I had a say. Nor have I seen,” Zaki stopped himself. “What have I missed while recovering? Tell me of the aftermath.”
“They held the terms, but there was a complication,”
“It seems in the emperor’s madness came a spark of unfortunate brilliance,” Master Sinalo expanded on Anele’s answer. “He appears to have distrusted Jian, for we found Tamers fleeing their ranks. A few we captured, but they gave us nothing beyond admitting to Jun Da’s orders.”
“But the terms?”
“We pondered on that as well until Master Jazmin pointed out your specificity in the terms. You spoke of Jian’s Tigers, freeing the emperor’s plants from the terms.”
“There was no way of knowing.” Master Sinalo said. “It’s done. We move on.”
“I wonder if the claims about the emperor’s madness were a ploy for us to underestimate him.”
“Did Jian say anything about the emperor?”
Prince Zaki glared at Anele.
What was she insinuating? Did she know what Jian spoke?
No, no, she couldn’t.
Zaki softened.
“He is mad, untrustworthy, a man who sees enemies in the faces of his closest friends,” Zaki ignored Anele’s lingering gaze and turned to Sinalo. “What are our numbers?”
“Fifteen thousand on foot, one thousand four hundred Tamers.”
“How many days are ahead of us?”
“Three, if the rain holds. Less than half, if not.”
Zaki nodded at the news. All returned to normal in his mind. What remained was for his body to recover. A relief, he feared the time lost to unconsciousness.
“His spies must have returned by now. News will filter amongst the emperor’s ranks. Jian the Dark is dead by my hands, and we ride for them. He might have thought to slow us down, but the news to his Tigers, and perhaps his allies, will weaken their knees. We may not need to fight them with me in the vanguard. Tell me, what else have we saved from Jian?”
“We left his remains and armour to the Tigers,”
“I kept his silver mask, at least what remains of it.”
Anele and Sinalo shared a look after her addition.
“Good, that will serve my purpose.”
“Prince, if it is a victory without violence you seek, your reputation is enough. Armour might sour them.”
“I carry his katanas. What difference would his shattered mask make?”
“You earned his weapons,” Sinalo hardened, more than usual. “I think we must consider the aftermath now. Consider what must follow the Tigers and their allies. The road to,”
“Have they surrendered?” Master Anele asked. “A display of the Dark’s shattered visage will play a large role in quashing their spirits. For all we know, Jian is a martyr to renew their morale. This is not a given.”
The two masters changed. In the admittedly short time he knew them, they always appeared to be of similar minds. Especially in matters of tactics, or at least eager for alternatives whenever disagreements arose. To see them so opposed, and to hear Anele speak in his favour, unsettled him.
Prince Zaki watched them stare each other down. Unable to slice the growing tension between them. Thankfully, Master Sinalo broke first, turning to face him again as he rose from his seat.
“I shall prepare scouts then.”
He nodded at them both before departing. Zaki rushed his left hand up towards Master Anele. She frowned, but obeyed. Then he grimaced at the sight of his stiffened ring finger. He shoved it back under the table.
“I have a question. Perhaps a delicate one?”
Master Anele nodded.
“Do you remember your first Vivada?”
Smaller nod this time.
“What happened afterwards?”
“I fought my second right after.”
Zaki’s confusion shamed him when the realisation arrived. His cheeks warmed when flashes of her memories returned.
“I should have been clearer. What occurred afterwards? Had your bond strengthened? Did you dream?”
“I saw my Tamed, if that is what you mean. I cannot say I felt an increase in our bond. It was some time ago. Three in quick succession.”
Master Anele was on her feet already, revealing her discomforted scent as she stomped her way towards the tent’s exit.
“I’m going to find some food.”
Zaki was about to let it go, but his unsatisfied curiosity took over and his tongue and lips pried further.
“Who was the third?”
“My father.”
Anele stepped out into the drizzle.