“Just as your people have made a habit of eating mine,” Shea pointed out.
They might think themselves the victims, but she had grown up with stories of mythologicals. They were not so innocent of wrongdoing as he would like her to believe.
The bat creature shifted as the other two watched her with assessing gazes.
She gave them an expectant look. “Just so we’re each clear. I’m not agreeing to anything that hinders our ability to fight off an attack. We have just as much right to defend ourselves as you.”
“Humans. You always assume the worst of us. My people do not prey on your kind. We consider those who consume the flesh of sentient creatures to be tainted by the very thing that turned this world to ruin,” he said, his voice a low growl.
“Maybe that’s true for your people.” Shea dropped her arms as she balanced on the balls of her feet. She didn’t know if she could be hurt in this dream, but the instinct for defense when a hunter nears was hard to deny. “Can you say the same for the rest of the mythologicals?”
There were stories upon stories featuring mythologicals and the terror they had wreaked on the rest of the Broken Lands when they ran loose. Today, most of those stories were considered myth and fantasy, having been retold over so many generations they could no longer be considered strictly fact. However, Shea suspected there was more than one piece of truth in those retellings.
He didn’t say anything, just watched her with those dark eyes.
That was alright with her. She knew it to be true. “I think we’re a lot more alike than either of us wants to admit,” Shea said. “Neither one of our species can be categorized as just one thing or another.”
“If that’s the case, perhaps this alliance is doomed before it starts,” Covath challenged.
“Shea,” a voice called.
Shea ignored it. She needed to make Covath understand. Just because something seemed impossible didn’t mean it was. The only way to get to the top of a mountain was to take one step at a time. If you thought about the journey ahead of you while still standing at its base, you’d be defeated mentally long before you got anywhere near the summit.
Shea started to argue with him. Before she could do more than open her mouth, a hand grabbed her shoulder and a voice said, “Shea.”
Shea woke with a start, straightening in her chair as she blinked at her surroundings in confusion. For a moment she had dual vision, the scene of the clinic superimposed over that of the strange dreamscape she’d just left.
Trenton stood beside her. It was his hand that had pulled her from the dream. He frowned down at her. She looked from him to Chirron, whose tired gaze met hers. He’d taken a seat on one of the cots next to her stool. Exhaustion lined his face and his lean frame looked gaunt. He’d worked tirelessly over the last few hours to save those he could and comfort those he couldn’t. It had taken its toll on the man.
Warmth crept up her arm, taking with it some of the aches and pains that were leftover from the day’s battle. She noted with a start that he held her hand in his and the spot where he touched her was the origin of that strange tingling warmth.
She gave his hand a squeeze of gratitude before removing hers from his grip. “You should preserve your strength for those who need it.”
He looked faintly surprised at her words. She imagined not many understood his abilities. If they did, there was a very good chance he’d be ostracized. People tended to react poorly to things they didn’t understand. If he’d been born in the Highlands, his village elders would have driven him out at the first sign of oddity. She could only assume the Trateri were more tolerant of a person’s strangeness. They’d kept her, after all.
It was a rare ability, but perhaps not always if Covath was to be believed.
It wasn’t magic—she didn’t much care for that term—but it was something that couldn’t be explained by modern thinking.
He didn’t question her statement or ask clarification on what she meant. That, more than anything, confirmed her suspicion his position as healer was to hide his innate ability to heal with a touch.
“All of the wounded have been tended to,” he said with a tired voice. “There’s no reason to leave my telroi in pain.”
“Except even I can see you’re exhausted,” Shea returned, her expression frank. “Rest. I suspect this won’t be the last long night you have.”
She patted him on the shoulder as she stood. He was right. She was sore, and there were parts of her that hurt where she’d never hurt before. The jump off the wall and the battle had affected her body more than she had realized.
The one good thing about adrenaline was that it enabled you to mask pain even from yourself, enabling you to perform feats your body would normally prevent you from attempting. It did make the aftermath a bitch to deal with, however.
Shea stepped out of the makeshift infirmary, Trenton trailing behind her. Despite the short nap, she didn’t feel any more rested. Exhaustion still weighed on her, making every step an effort.
“Where’s Fallon?” she asked.
“He’s meeting with Darius and the rest,” was the quiet response.
Shea’s progress halted and she hung her head. She wanted her bed almost more than she wanted her next breath. It was becoming less of a want and more of a necessity with each passing moment, but she couldn’t find rest when Fallon was out there still working. He would be every bit as tired as she was, having done a lot more actual fighting than she had.
With a weary sigh, she reversed direction. “Take me to him.”
