I nodded, not needing to ask who she meant. I knew she asked just to verify that we were still heading in the right direction and that I was not simply leading us aimlessly.
After a while, she asked, “What’s that like?”
I stared ahead, the snowy rise of ground lighter and softer than the surrounding night. We’d left the protection of the trees since dark had fallen—the risk of being spotted lower now—to cover more ground faster.
“It feels”—my shoulder lifted in a shrug—“like it’s not just me anymore. There’s my heart inside me and”—I patted at the center of my chest—“now his, too, right beside mine.”
“So you’re never alone.” She sighed. “That must be nice.”
Nice. And a torment.
We finally took shelter for the night, slipping into one of the many tunnels riddling the mountains, bedding down in a small cave that shot off a winding stone passage, one of thousands in the Crags.
As I curled up in my bedroll, listening to water drip from a stone overhang, I tucked my hand beneath my cheek and reached for Fell through the darkness. I found him there. The faint pulse of him,the beat of his heart not as forceful as usual but still there. He’d been quieter lately. Or maybe it was me, tired and grimly intent on my journey.
“I’m coming,” I whispered. “Hold on. Just a little longer.”
THE SUN SHONEwarmly on my skin. It was hard to imagine that only days ago we’d been in the grips of a squall. This felt almost like spring … if not for the layer of snow covering everything. The icicles hanging from branches dripped water, and yet this teasing thaw would not last. Winter was here, advancing in a slow, indelible march.
Kerstin sat on a rock that jutted out from the white blanket of snow, rubbing the soles of a bare foot. Her boots sat on the ground where she’d removed them along with her thick wool socks. “These feet are not made for walking.”
“That is exactly what they are made for,” I disagreed, leaning against a rough boulder, ready to resume walking but striving for patience as I let Kerstin have her respite.
“Not such great distances,” she countered. “I’m a dragon.” She gave me a pointed look that I did not miss. It was a reminder that she and I were the same. “Built for flying. Not a human built for walking.”
“You are both,” I insisted.Weare both.
She gave me another look. “What a strange creature you are, Tamsyn.” She shook her head and released a huff of laughter that made me feel quite foolish, as though I’d gotten it all wrong—as thoughIwas wrong. “I am not both. And neither are you.”
I shrugged as though it was not worth arguing and glanced away, wondering if she understood the nature of what we were better than I did. That unsettled me … and annoyed me. Until I thought that perhaps it was the other way around. PerhapsIunderstood our nature better.Iwas the one who’d had a taste of both worlds, after all. I had been brought up a human. I could empathize with humans as well as with dragons. No one else could say that in the pride.
Maybe I was the only one who understood we were both things. Dragon and human.
What a strange creature you are, Tamsyn.
I didn’t want to be a strange creature. I wanted to belong, to fit somewhere.
I rubbed my palm against the side of my thigh, the soft buzz there so faint that it made me tense and anxious.
Lately, Fell had been quiet. We weren’t exactly roaming aimlessly, but I didn’t feel as locked in on our direction as before.
I tossed an impatient glance Kerstin’s way. “Are you ready? We need to keep going.”
“Fine,” she groaned, reaching for her boots.
I started forward and made it only a few feet when my hand went suddenly cold. The steady thrumming beat at the center of my palm stopped. Went dead. A line cut.
I gave my hand a fierce shake as though it had fallen asleep and that would stimulate the pulse that had once hummed and throbbed and guided me like the rudder of a ship.
Nothing.
My hand felt nothing.
Fear lanced my heart and my knees wobbled. I turned in an unsteady circle as though I might see something in the blur of snowsplattered rockscape that would clear up my confusion. My mind raced, thoughts churning, frantic to grab hold of something.
Perhaps I’d simply moved too far in the wrong direction, away from Fell, and my palm had gone silent.
I charged one way, my cloak snapping behind me. Then another. And another. Desperately searching for the faintest sign from him. Just a hint. A lifeline. The tether that was always there.
