Mih-kay-lah steps closer, eyes narrowing as she studies it. “This is like… like being one floor below the pipes,” she says.
I do not know what a “floh-r” or “pai-eeps” are, but the awe on her face makes me tilt my head, looking at the seep. If Mih-kay-lah finds it bee-yoo-tee-ful enough to stare at it, then it must be bee-yoo-tee-ful indeed.
We continue for a little more before the ground falls away sharply, leaving a narrow ledge clinging to the wall. It follows the curve of the drop toward the sound of more trickling water. Past the ledge: nothing. Just black space and the upward pull of cold air.
“Path… thin,” Kelvan says in our own tongue for Mih-kay-lah’s benefit. He tests the edge with his foot, his brow tightening. In the mindspace, his words are more exact: “Only wide enough for one male to walk it. Two, if we press close.”
“I can go alone,” Mih-kay-lah says immediately.
She says many other things after that, too fast for me to catch. But I recognize the set of her shoulders, the tilt of her head.
She is about to do something stubborn.
She is preparing to walk into danger on purpose.
Dust, she is magnificent.
My insides turn to mush. I want to scoop her up, tuck her under my arm, and carry her back to the main cavern. I want to wrap her in soft furs and carry her everywhere so her feet never have to touch sharp stones again.
This female makes me weak.
A new kind of weakness. Hot, strange, and not entirely unpleasant.
But I am notthatweak.
She steps forward, and I simply slide my body in front of hers, blocking the path completely.
“Noh,” I say, and this time I use her language. The word comes out rough but clear.
She stops, gaze snapping to mine.
I uncurl my claws and force my face to soften. When I speak again, I switch back to Drakavian, slowing the words the way Rok does when he practices mouth-speak with Jus-teen.
“You… small,” I say, and then grimace. “You… little. If stone… moves?—”
I scoop a handful of loose grit and small stones from the path in front of us, and let them trickle over the edge. They vanish into the dark.
“I… catch easier… if I am there.” I tap my chest.
Her throat moves as she swallows. She glances at the ledge, the drop, the seeping line of water.
“Okay,” she says at last. This is one of the few words I know for certain in her language. A soft agreement. “We stay close.”
We.
I know that word too. It means “us”. Together.
Is it for all of us or only me?
My dra-kir decides it is for me only and kicks harder.
Haroth volunteers, as Haroth always does. “I’ll go first,” he projects, rolling his shoulders. “If the stone is angry, it will hit me, not the Daughter.”
Zan cuts across him. “Kelvan knows the stone better,” he sends, practical as always. “He should lead.”
Kelvan grunts, not displeased.
“No,” I send, surprising even myself. “I go first. Then Mih-kay-lah. Then Kelvan. Haroth next. If the path fails, you are the strongest to haul us back. You can lift three on a spear rope. I have seen it.”
