She looked over her shoulder with a smile. A slim youth looked back at her with eyes far wiser than his short years would suggest. The normally engaging grin that could make you smile just from being its recipient was missing. Grief had carved maturity into that baby face, transitioning it further from the youth he’d been to the man he would become. His frame still held the leanness of his age, but he looked older than when he started this journey.
Shea was to blame for some of that, and it pained her to think of the part she’d played, even if it had been through no fault of her own.
He gave her a small, barely-there smile, just a tiny up-tilt at the corner of his lips that didn’t touch the stark grief in his eyes.
He’d withdrawn since Charles’s death and Shea didn’t know how to bring him back. Instead, she’d left him to his sorrow, knowing he had to find his way back to them on his own. This was the first time he’d made an overture since they’d been forced to kill Charles. She gave him a happy look, letting him see how glad she was that he’d reached out.
That tiny smile got just a little bit bigger.
Fallon strode up, his intent gaze noting Clark’s presence among the scouts who’d adopted Shea.
“Inform your men they need to split into groups of five,” Fallon ordered Eamon. “A pathfinder will take each group into the mist and guide them to the other side. Make sure you have warriors as well as scouts in every team. You’ll go through first.”
They looked at the gray haze, their thoughts reflected on each other’s faces. None of them were happy about the solution to this obstacle, but they wouldn’t complain.
“I’ll see that it’s done,” Eamon said with a sharp nod as he walked away. As the Western Wind Division Scout Commander, he was responsible for his men and the burden of relaying orders fell to him.
“I’ll make sure my men are prepared as well,” Buck said.
Fallon shook his head. “Not you. You have different orders.”
Buck hesitated, his gaze turning to Shea. She didn’t respond to the question in his eyes, giving Fallon a frown. It must be time.
“Good luck. Don’t do anything stupid.” Eamon sighed and slapped Buck on the back, then he and Clark walked away.
Buck grunted as he turned his solemn focus on Fallon.
“Is it finally my turn for a mission?” Buck asked, eager eyes going from Shea and back to Fallon.
Shea couldn’t help but feel his eagerness, even as worry at sending her friend into a dangerous situation nagged at her.
They’d decided days ago that Buck was the one for this. His exposure to Shea and everything he’d picked up as a result made him the perfect choice. They’d delayed in sending a second party back to where their people waited in Lowlands, wanting to wait until they made it to the final destination.
Now, Buck and a few others would be sent to give word to Fallon’s general.
“Did my father give you a guide?” Shea asked.
Fallon nodded, his face still tensed.
At least that was something. Buck, and whoever went with him, would need help finding their way out of the Highlands. This was unfamiliar terrain to them, difficult to navigate even under the best of circumstances. The only question was whether they could trust the pathfinder assigned to help.
“Who did he assign?” Shea asked.
“A woman by the name of Des,” Fallon responded.
Shea frowned in thought and crossed her arms over her chest. “She’s good.”
“As good as you?” Buck asked in a hopeful voice.
Shea snorted. “No one’s that good.”
Buck snickered. “It seems we’ve created a monster. I remember when you were humble. Ah, the good old days.”
Shea shook her head and ignored him, focusing on Fallon. “It’s been a few years, but the Des I remember takes her commitments seriously.”
“You trust her?” he asked.
Shea hesitated. “To a point.”
