And that’s about the time I come back to my senses, the numbness receding, replaced by the horror of someone, especially him, seeing me like this.

I scramble back from his lap, wiping my muddy face with my hand. Then I realize I just smeared blood everywhere since my hand is coated in the stuff. I try to scrub it off, but it won’t go anywhere. I try harder, but that just makes it bleed worse and sends sharp, stabbing pain up my arm.

“Please, let me help you,” the whispered plea meets my ears and heart. I jerk my head up to find him watching me with tears pooling in those silver eyes.

It’s enough of a surprise that my jaw drops, and I realize I can actually see him, and his face, beneath the hood. His cheekbones are defined, almost regal, and his nose is slightly crooked, as if someone broke it, but it wasn't properly set. His chin has a cleft in it, and I imagine he would be a dastardly handsome man if he smiled.

The sun is coming up. It’s the dawn of a new day. Sparkles shine on the dew in the moss and leaves around us. A little spring bubbles while fish play on its surface, sending splashes and ripples across the mossy surface.

I will visit the fairies. My Spark won't let me anywhere near my family, but I may have a way around that... if something that has been floating in my mind works. So as soon as I can get away, they'll be... my second visit. First, the knight's family deserves to hear from me about his passing.

I take a deep, cleansing breath, then turn to the silver-eyed man who I have no clue what to think of. One minute he’s teasing my stockings off, then the next he’s acting like I killed his puppy by not letting him dress my hand.

I give him a shallow nod, and his face lights up like a kid during the Year Naming Festival.

He holds his hand out, gently asking for my trust. I slump my shoulders, but haltingly set my hand in his, palm up.

He grins at me, his silver eyes twinkling and defined cheek bones crinkling, and I swoon. Must be blood loss going to my heart. HEAD. Definitely head. I meant head.

He takes a knife, slowly, as if afraid he’ll scare a skittish filly, and he cuts a strip from his cloak. My cheeks go red with embarrassment. He’s just been trying to help me this whole time and I’ve been acting the fool.

He eases down into a seated position beside me. He pulls a flask out of his cloak. Where does he fit all this stuff?

“This is going to hurt,” he says.

I give a jerky nod, and he looks up and meets my gaze for a moment before going back to the cut.

He pours the concoction slowly into the wound, and I hiss through clenched teeth.

I look up to the sky, praying that I don’t pass out, and clench my other hand into a fist to keep from crying out. My nails dig into my palm.

I gasp as he dabs at it. I swear this hurts worse than getting an arrow pulled.

He chuckles and I realize I said that aloud.

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“There, done.” I hear the soft words and blink my eyes slowly, only to realize I’m on my back with warm rays of sunshine on my forehead.

“What?” I croak out. He helps me sit up and hands me a canteen.

I wet my lips as he watches me with concern. No tingling, so I take a sip of the cool, refreshing water. I also take note of my stench and realize I badly need a bath.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, not looking at me.

“Fine. Never better.”

Instead of chuckling as I thought he would, he pokes my ribs. Gently, but still.

I yelp, cradling my injured bones, and glare at him. He glares right back, meeting fire with fire until I look away.

“You’re not fine. What if you had been bleeding internally from having the creature fall on you?”

“What do you care? You only just met me today—yesterday, whatever. Besides, if I were bleeding internally from a punctured rib, I'd be a lot worse off than this.”

He huffs and runs a hand over his hair, throwing his hood off. “You’re right. It’s hard not to worry when you pass out on me.”

My cheeks grow warm. “Yeah, that’s embarrassing.”

He smirks, yet his eyes stay warm. “So that’s what’s got your dander up?”

I glare at the cheeky fellow. “Says the one who stood back while a little girl took down a Bamshee.”

The smirk drains from his face, replaced by a warmth that glows from his silver gaze. “Indeed. You’re quite the independent little thing, aren’t you?”

I glower at him and stand up. He steadies me with a hand on my elbow when my knees go weak.

I glare at his hand, then at him, ignoring my red cheeks.

He backs off with hands raised. “Easy. Don’t stab me. That was meant as a compliment.”

“Sure. What all independent women like to hear.” I snort as I lean against a tree.

“How’s the ribs?” he asks softly, concerned eyes tracking my every move.

I straighten and do my best to keep my short breaths even. “Fine.”

He tugs at the top of his hair that looks surprisingly—toupee-ish. I look closer and bite my cheek to hide a grin. It does not fit his bad assassin character, yet adds charm. In a hilarious way. But I dare anyone to make fun of this guy with his broad shoulders and his ease with both knives and swords. Hoo-boy. Wouldn’t wanna make this fellow mad. Nope.

“You’re worse than a macho male on Eldertree sap. At least most of us know when to ask for help,” he says, his hand tapping a knife under his cloak.

I look back at the place where we came from, and bite my lip.

“Ah, Mea Tigris, you’ve remembered again, have you?” His soft voice is kind, and it rips me to shreds. The tears pool further as he tilts my chin up with his fingers and ducks his head to meet my eyes. “It’s going to be alright,” he murmurs.

I close my eyes and one tear escapes down my masked cheek. He wipes it off with the pad of his thumb. I pull back out of his grip and look away with a deep breath. “How can you promise that?” I run my hand over my mask, accidentally pulling it down beneath my nose, but I can breathe better, so I leave it there. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. You’ve been much kinder than I deserve.”

“I understand. It’s been a long night.”

“It’s been long weeks,” I say quietly.

“How so?” he asks gently enough that I find myself opening my mouth to tell him all of my problems and about my kidnapped family before I wise up and lock my lips shut.

I shake my head. “Nothing.”

He looks like he wishes to press the issue, but he must see me poised to run, as instead of asking further, he merely says, “How may I help?”

I look up, surprised at the offer, and see only kindness and sincerity in his eyes. It spins me for a loop. I lean against a tree again, convincing myself that it’s better this way. “Thank you kindly, but no. Wait, there is one thing.”

“Yes?” he prods quickly, as if afraid I’ll change my mind if I think too much on accepting his help.

“The knight’s family—Oh Great King, I don’t even know his name.” I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to convince myself this is not the time for tears.

Warm arms envelope me again, and I stiffen, almost pulling back. But his warmth calls to me on this slightly chilly morning. His voice rumbles from his chest. “It’s alright. His name was Sir Jacob Braveheart Solare. I will help you when it’s time to tell his family, but for now, know it’s alright to feel. It’s alright to cry. Let it go.”

And I do. I grieve for a man who gave his life for mine. I grieve for a family I’m not sure I will ever see again. I grieve for a wise father who I miss dearly and need even more every day that passes. And I grieve for the innocent little girl I used to be, and who I will never be again.