Iscah panted as she crested the ledge, stopping to catch her wind again and take in the view.

Above the boundaries of the forest, the landscape had shifted to gently rolling plains of wild grass already shifting to gold from summers initial touch. In the distance, rising hills tipped in the dark greens of coniferous trees buttressed jagged peaks of mountains cutting blue and grey against the clear sky.

Here her vantage point of sea and mountain made directional orientation easy, though the sparse trees miles apart left her exposed to the burning sun and a dry wind the humid forests near the coastline didn’t have.

Giving her cantina a shake with dismal results she sighed, peeling the wax cap back and taking a small, measured sip.

She supposed if it got too bad she could go back down into the suffocating heat of the airless forest to look for more water, but for now walking through the knee-high grasses seemed the lesser of two evils.

The lesser of two evils. A sardonic grin tugged at her lips before decaying quickly at the irony. That seemed the theme of her life lately. Make a choice, and pray the consequences weren’t as horrible as the other options she had to pick from. The latest decision had been made in panic, and that motive still drove her.

In the time after Apoch had left, she had put herself back together at a rate she couldn't help but feel a little proud of. Witnessing Triki’s murder had not caused her to faint like the previous attacks had, as if she was growing used to seeing death. She had inched her way across the floor like a caterpillar to a shard of broken pottery, using the sharp edge to saw through the rope he had tied her wrists together with and nicking herself half a dozen times in the process.

It had taken hours, ones she didn’t even know if she had. Dozens of emotions had plagued her in that time, from panic attacks, to nearly uncontrolled fits of terror to anxiety she would fail before he returned. When the final fray snapped she hadn’t celebrated, instead had just bent to cutting her ankles free even though the muscles in her hands and arms were screaming in pain. It was sheer force of will to not immediately flee once she had cut herself loose, taking a few precious moments she didn’t even know if she had to shed her ripped dress and put on an oversized robe of Triki’s. Another steadying breath, and then she grabbed a shoulder sack and stuffed whatever she thought she would need into it.

Staying with Apoch was no longer an option. He had shown his true self, and she had realized that while she would be a social outcast, it beat being murdered. She might also be able to use her family’s reputation at the Tower of the Balenciai to seek aid getting not only the dreams ended, but the bond no amount of scratching or scrubbing her arm had removed.

She had traveled through the late day and most of the night, the biting insects making sleep impossible, but she still felt decent enough to press on. By mid morning that had changed. Her exhaustion was making her take two breaths for every arduous step. The cantina was bone dry, and already she had regretted not taking more time to gather more rations and another bag of water.

Stopping she adjusted the rope that was holding the hem of the oversized robe in place and scan the landscape before her, needing to rest and get out of the baking heat.

Not far off a lone acacia tree gave respite, and Iscah grit her teeth and changed course for its shade, her hair rippling into her face with the sea breeze at her back. She had no energy to even try to remove it off of her sweat-crusted cheeks.

A chirp interrupted the constant whine of the wind and Iscah stopped, wondering if she was hallucinating. Turning she shaded her squinted eyes beneath her hand to study the way she had come.

Bu’u’s excited greeting echoed again when he saw the girl had spotted them and picked up the pace in his eagerness. Without thinking she dropped her bag and ran for the tree, Apoch bellowing what sounded like a warning.

Iscah looked up from her tunnel vision on the tree to the tawny-colored animal crouched much too close, panic making her limbs run cold when she recognized the shape of a predator. When she met the alert, gold eyes the lioness sprung into action, muscles visible beneath the short fur as she hurled herself over the ground at alarming speed. The girl froze in paralytic fear, watching the animal barrel towards her with fatal grace before the cat’s side twitched violently as Apoch’s blade sunk between her ribs. She stumbled and lost her footing, crashing into the grass and rolling to a stop in a cloud of fine dust.

Another lioness moved in Iscah’s peripheral, her focus unbroken by the fall of the other feline as she sprinted for the human. Iscah screamed the words of a fire spell and flames blazed to life across the animals face, the responding roar of pain close enough to vibrate through Iscah’s chest though she had no time to watch.

The entire pride was in on the hunt, and none of them seemed shaken by the loss of two members.

A young male leapt for her, Iscah unaware of the attack until she heard the sound of bodies colliding, Apoch and Bu’u launching themselves into the fray. He ducked the massive paw that swung out at him with deceiving speed, lashing out with his remaining dagger though the male had backed off, sensing the lethality of the cambion.

Two more females flew out of the grass, changing their charge for him instead and he turned to face their feral attacks, moving with his own speed that matched the animals. One of the duo’s snarls cut off abruptly as he dodged her passing swipe and plunged his remaining dagger into the side of her neck, sinking into the powerful muscles easily before shoving the blade down with both hands to cut through her throat. The other female leapt onto him and he twisted with the impact, screaming with the exertion of using his legs to launch over five hundred pounds up and through the air, her tail whipping furiously to land back on her feet.

The male that had backed off took the opportunity to attack, slapping his paw across Apoch’s back and drawing a ragged scream from the warlord as his claws bit through leather and flesh. Bu’u took the male down before he could sink his fangs into the cambion’s neck, the large sickle-claws on his hind legs butchering the animal with terrifying efficiency.

Apoch had recovered but there was no fight left, the remaining lions retreating with their ears laid flat and heads low, vanishing into the grasses. Turning he limped back to the corpse of his first kill, retrieving his dagger from her side and exposing the four deep gashes on his back to Iscah.

She gasped in shock at the bleeding mess though he didn’t seem phased, going back over to Bu’u and rummaging through a side satchel even as the denimal began tearing out mouthfuls of organ. Pulling out needle, sinew and one of the bags of water he rounded on her angrily.

“Ansato ku queshi,” he spat, smacking himself upside the head to signify the demeaning word before moving towards her. “Queshi!”

“Stay away from me!” She yelled, backing away and tripping over the hem that had fallen loose in her haste. Struggling to get back on her feet she screamed when he grabbed her, crossing her arms over her head to protect herself from a strike that never fell.

“Iscah.”

“Get away!” she sobbed. He sighed heavily and gave her space, squatting down out of reach and waiting for her to calm down. When she realized he had backed off she sat up, sand-crusted tear lines dirtying her face.

He slowly held up the waterbag, waiting for her to take it. When she finally did he turned around, flicking the belts open on his armor before sliding it off. Iscah felt her stomach roil at the sight of the ragged meat exposed on his back, taking a deep breath through her mouth as she realized what he expected.

“You want me to stitch you up? I-…I don’t know how. Iyo.”

“Eeh!” He snarled, Bu’u flinching at the fury in his voice. Iscah bit the inside of her lip, guilt creeping in at the sight of his wounds from defending her life.

Picking up the water she poured it over his back, washing the grime and blood away as he unwound the sinew and split it into manageable threads for her. When the skin around the gashes was clean he held up the threaded needle for her to take.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Reaching up she touched the point into the edge and hesitated as her fingers shook uncontrollably. Apoch gave a long, noisy sigh, visibly relaxing his shoulders and easing the tension that had strung his body taut. Iscah swallowed thickly, closing her eyes and following his intentionally controlled breaths until her trembling had abated.

Knowing she'd have to do it sooner or later she took a deep breath, and pushed the needle in.

She stitched up the first gash awkwardly, but by the end of the first row her sutures were more even. Suddenly she was grateful for the embroidery lessons her mother had dragged her through, although the woman most likely would drop dead if she knew how her daughter was implementing that skill.

Tapping the hilt of his knife in request he pulled it out of the sheath, angling his arm to hand it back to her without sparing a glance. She cut the sinew and set it back into his waiting palm, and began on the next furrow.

“You have no idea the damage you’ve done,” she murmured, voice breaking as tears began flowing again. “I can never go back to the University I was happy at. I can never read the books that had almost made me feel sorry for the tragedies your race has suffered. But now that I know one so personally good riddance— I hope your whole species is killed off.”

Her wavering voice faltered at that last thought, knowing she wished nothing of the sort.

“I have nothing now because of you,” she continued, losing herself in the patterned work. “I'll be an outcast, if my family will even take me back. At best I'll be sent to be forgotten on a distant estate, at worst locked up with the madmen.” The third line breezed by as she continued talking, and she stared at the final laceration dismally.

“What do you want me to do, stay with you?” She snorted a laugh, poking the needle into his flesh. His deep rumble of displeasure at her less-than gentle ministrations vibrated through her fingertips. The muscles in his upper back shifted as he glared over his shoulder venomously at her, sweat dripping down his face in heavy lines.

“Did my prick hurt you?” She crooned, stabbing the needle in even harder than necessary as she matched his scowl with her own before pulling the thread through.

“Don’t worry, you won’t have to suffer my company for much longer” she whispered. “If you won’t let me go, then I’ll end it for both of us since you can’t seem to do it yourself.”

She cut the knotted thread and returned his dagger, and he rotated to face her casually, though by the burning look in his eyes she knew he was furious. Reaching up he took the needle out of her hand, locking her palm inside of his so that her index finger was braced extended. With a leisurely movement he jabbed the tip into the pad of her finger shallowly, not allowing her to jerk it back when she gasped in pain.

“Preek hurss?” He teased back with mock sympathy. Iscah glared bitterly at him, clamping her lips together tightly to keep from making any sound.

Canting his head to the side he twisted her finger, licking the heavy droplet of blood that was threatening to fall. His eyes closed as he drew her digit into his mouth, and Iscah could feel her heart begin to hammer in her chest at the sensation of his tongue running over the small wound.

It felt like he was drawing something out of her, more than just blood. He shuddered visibly as if he, too, could feel the effect. Her breath grew irregular as he pulled her finger out of his mouth, drawing her wrist up to press his lips against her racing pulse exposed between the tendons.

She whimpered when he rubbed the front of his canines against the tender skin, as if he wanted to sink them into the vein, heart palpitating as fresh fear sent sweat trickling down her spine.

“Don’t,” she pleaded, his breath cascading across her exposed skin as he exhaled to take another deep inhale of her scent. “Please.”

Eyes of blood opened once more, and drawing back to study her wrist still captured in his grip. The skin was raw, scratch marks running perpendicular to the permanent stains.

He knew it was futile. Once, two brothers had tried to find a way around the binding. One had bound his sibling and flayed the skin off his arm, burning the offending marks in a fire. Yet when the flesh had regenerated, it had come back still bearing the runes. Death was only one known way out of this, but if Triki’s associate knew another alternative, Apoch would not give up.

Still though, seeing such visible signs of her pain bothered him. He was used to harsh realities, used to suffering. If it wasn’t for his races heightened regenerative abilities, his whole body would be one giant mass of broken bones and scar tissue at this point.

He moved further from her slowly until he could stand, returning the needle and thread to the small triage kit he carried. Taking the waterbag he had left Iscah tipped it back to wash over her face, cleaning the salt and dust away before resealing it.

Looking out over the now-empty plains, towards the woods edging the mountains, Apoch mulled over the distance. They were deceivingly farther than what they looked. It would’ve been two days of hard riding across the golden belt, but with Iscah’s current state they would have to go much slower.

They were also well south of the main road used by caravans, which was a blessing and a curse. The ancient roads were built linking water wells together for travelers and trade, many too small to support more than two permanent residence at most. There were watering holes scattered randomly across the grassland, but they could be miles apart and most out of the way.

They had no choice; being seen was a larger risk than he was willing to take with Garl’s warning.

Checking the secondary water bag he found it full before glancing at Iscah who sat staring out towards the ocean with a haunted look on her face.

Apoch had seen the same expression before on warriors after their first kill, the look of facing death for the first time and surviving, forever burned into their psyche and ripping something from their soul. He had killed so many over the decades he had forgotten what that loss even felt like.

Having left her with Triki would’ve been the best option, but after that lunatic had drugged and bound them, he had to die. He knew Iscah took seeing death hard, and that knife of regret twisted deep in his chest once more as if in retaliation.

He rubbed his face tiredly, wondering where this had all gone so terribly wrong. A silent laugh huffed from between his fingers. The Great Warlord, bound to a little girl with demon’s knew how many hunters chasing them now.

Bu’u had eaten the choice parts of the lions while Iscah had taken care of Apoch, swiping the blood and bits of meat off his face with the pads of his fore claws before licking them clean. When Apoch finished rummaging through the packs he still wore, Bu’u moved over to Iscah, sniffing at her dress until she pushed his head away. He nuzzled her again worriedly, licking her hand. Apoch observed their interaction, wondering if maybe Bu’u could help her through healing mentally more than his presence would.

It would leave him the ability to track for water, and the two could head in a direct path for the mountain ridge Triki had told him to go. He still hated the idea that they were being lead rather than making their own decisions, but if there was a chance of reversing the binding he was desperate enough to comply for now. Besides, what else could they take from them at this point?

With the course settled he approached her again, trying to ignore the way she cringed when he reached for the water pack. He retied it to Bu’u’s saddle and pulled out a pair of linen pants, jerking the thong out of his hair and sticking it in his mouth before stripping down to nothing with practiced efficiency to switch out of war leathers and into lighter linen and bare feet. All this he did without sparing her a glance, and when the leather thong was wet with his saliva he pushed all of his hair back into a high ponytail and retied it so that it was out of his face.

He exhaled slowly, stretching out his legs and limbering the muscles in preparation for the long run to come. The sutures were tight lines of red-hot pain, but already he could feel them knitting closed, the wounds itching. When he was finally ready he turned back to her.

“Come on, time to go,” he urged, offering Iscah a hand. She shrank back and looked away from him, Bu’u gently butting his head against her arm.

Apoch stepped away and let the denimal soothe the girl, ushering her onto his back using soft sounds and crouching on braced forearms to make it easier for her to mount.

The warlord watched in disbelief.

How many times had that same denimal gutted soldiers and victims in raids before? How many times had he been covered in human blood, painting that same maw? It was almost like he was treating the girl like a hatchling rather than a person. Was this his paternal instincts?

With Iscah in the saddle Bu’u turned gold frosted eyes towards Apoch and waited.

Shaking his head at the oddity he rubbed the denimals muzzle, looking back out over the mountains until he saw the characteristic peaks that marked the Broken Tooth ridges. He squared himself to it and Bu’u rested his jaw on his shoulder, following his gaze and locking on the same location.

He snorted through his nostrils and Apoch turned, cuffing his snout playfully. Bu’u hissed in response, snapping out with a taloned arm though the cambion ducked out of range, setting off at an easy lope that the beast fell in smooth step with.

Late into the afternoon Apoch stopped, retrieving the water bag that had already been opened. He offered it to Iscah who declined, shrugging at her choice before pouring the rest of the bag into Bu’u’s waiting maw. The little that was left he drank, shouldering the empty bag and patting his mount’s shoulder affectionately.

“Keep straight, I’ll catch up. Keep her safe.”

Bu’u barked back, and turned to continue the way they had been headed. Iscah looked over her shoulder to watch as he changed his path and broke into a ground-eating jog.

Apoch had found his bearings as they had walked through the morning, and he knew of a small watering hole that wasn’t too far away. Still though, it meant two days apart from his gear and mount and only his daggers to see him through.

It was more than enough.