It’s silent in the sleeping chambre. Enya has gone down before me, so all that greets me is the occasional tossing and turning. I cross it, adjusting my body to avoid making unnecessary noise. The room in the back is small and claustrophobic, so when I close the door and the light is shut out, I have barely enough space to turn without touching the walls. I take the cloth, the bow filled with clean water and the small vile of wine I grabbed from the kitchen and begin to wash my wounds. The servants won’t be happy about its absence. The coarse fabric rubs against my skin. Each time it touches the open wounds it buns and a nauseating feeling wells up inside me. I’m slow, movements sloppy form fatigue and pain, having to stop every few minutes to wait for the black spots in my vision to disappear. When I’m finished, I lean against the wall for just a minute, allowing myself to close my eyes, to be comforted by the darkness. Then I go to my sleeping spot.

Kara is there, next to mine, curled up, back turned to the empty beds that separate us form the other fighters. I hunker down, preparing myself for yet another sleepless night. If the boy attacks someone in the morning and I’m not awake to stop it, he’s dead. Like Mykiel. Five months. His chest rises and sinks. My eyelids grow heavy. My sense of time is washed away like autumn leaves on a mountain steam. I’m tired.

I wake up panting and sick to my stomach, ripped form a world of still, pain contorted faces, unmoving eyes and too much bare skin. Fuck.My eyes dart around in a panic. The boys gone, most of the others areas well. I jump up before I’m even fully awake, so fast that the world begins to spin for a moment. My gaze locks onto two fighters. They look at me with a mix of confusion and fear.

“Where’s Kara?”, my voice is sharp and cold.

One flinches: “I… I don’t know. I didn’t pay attention too...”

The other has built himself up as if to shield his companion: “Your pet monster has gone off to train.” I leave without a second glance.

Karas in the middle of the room, jumping & transforming, angry movements that leave him panting each time he lands. Some are staring at him, enthralled by the spectacle. Most look down or glance around nervously, meeting my eyes for but a second before moving on. Non look hurt.

“Kara”, I say. Why do you care?

He stops and turns: “What?”

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“We need to talk.”

“No we don’t! If all of you want me to be a killer so bad, then at least let me train to become one in peace!”

I turn to the others: “All of you. Leave!”

Muffled whispers erupt. Some shuffle out instantly; others complain and scoff. One person spits in my direction, but they all obey in the end, filtering out of the room one by one until the boy and I are the only ones left.

“I’m doing it your way”, the boy gestures around, “what more could you plausibly want?!”

“You’re not training; you’re simply wallowing in your anger.”

“So what if I am?!”

“It will get you killed.”

“Could you stop that for once?! I’m sick of you holding my survival over my head like it’s some kind of reward to get me to do your magic tricks.”

“Is that how you feel?”

“Why wouldn’t I? Isn’t that what you’ve been doing since the moment I got here.”

“Look around you. Most people from before will probably be dead in a few years’ time. Me even sooner. What makes you think you’re special? I am not holding it over your head, I am trying to make you focus on what’s important.”

“Aary’s dead! Don’t you care at all?!”

“It does not matter if I do. Grieve for her, take your time.” A little more. “But acting like this for anyone, let alone a dead girl will be your doom. And what for? I won’t do her any good.”

“She has a name you know!”

“She had one.”

“FUCK YOU! You make yourself out to be some sort of protector. But I saw the way you and Enya exchanged glances. If he didn’t kill her, you would’ve!”

“Then what would you have done? Let Niilan send his guards? Do you honestly think that would have been better for her?”

“He KILLED her Njra!”

“We’re killers, all of us. Get off your high horse.”

He throws a dagger at me. It ricochets off the wall several meters next to me: “FUCK!”

What are you doing? His emotions will kill him. This isn’t helping. He must learn! Three months. I close my eyes. The darkness it creates calms the screaming mess in my head. Let the anger teach him then. “You want to train?”, I say, “Then let’s spar.”