"No one is trying to kill us, Codric." Alar groaned, pressing his hand to his stomach. "Or maybe they are." His face turnedan interesting shade of green. "Oh, drak," he muttered. "I think I need to?—"
"Over there." I pointed to a cluster of bushes off the trail. "We'll wait."
While Alar disappeared behind the bushes to empty his stomach, I took the opportunity to check on others in our group. Most were doing fine, but a few showed signs of fatigue. I encouraged them to take small sips of water and offered a few words of encouragement.
There wasn't much more I could do.
"You're good at this," Shovia observed when I rejoined her. "I mean, the nurturing healer thing. Maybe that's what you should do if you don't get to be a rider."
I shrugged. "Gladly. Anything is better than riding a dragon."
Codric snorted. "I beg to differ. It's the other way around. There is nothing better than bonding with a dragon. That's the ultimate experience."
Alar emerged from the bushes looking pale but more composed. "That was unpleasant."
Diarrhea never was, but the relief after purging the stomach felt good.
"Better out than in," Shovia said cheerfully. "Now come on, we're falling behind."
"You need to drink." I handed him one of my canteens. "Dehydration is your enemy out here."
He shook his head and pushed my canteen away. "Mine is still full. Conserve your water."
"Then take a few sips," I ordered. "Not from the tea. Just plain water."
"Yes, ma'am." He offered me a cheeky smile, and my heart broke into a gallop.
When he was done drinking, I had the stupid urge to lick the few drops of water that clung to his lips, but then he wiped his mouth with his sleeve, breaking the momentary thrall.
"Let's move," Shovia said. "We are holding everyone back."
We quickened our pace to catch up with the rest of our group, who had gained some distance on us. The trail was steepening gradually, and I could feel the burn starting in my calves. Four months of training helped, but nothing prepared me for an all-day trek with short breaks every couple of hours. I'd never trekked for so long.
Suddenly, there was a yelp of pain from ahead, and my gut clenched in fear. I was only able to release it once I realized that no one was tumbling down the mountain to their death and that there were no screams to accompany the original.
"She twisted her ankle!" someone yelled. "Get the medic."
I hurried forward to help, grateful for the excuse to focus on someone else's problems instead of my own growing anxiety about how high we had already climbed.
"Let me look," I said, crouching beside the woman. The ankle was already swelling, and when I probed gently, she winced, but I didn't feel anything broken. "It's probably just a sprain. Do you have a compression bandage in your first aid kit?"
"Here." Shovia handed me hers. "Use mine. I'll get a new one from the medic when he gets here."
"Thank you." I took the bandage and wrapped the ankle tightly. "You will need a walking stick," I told the woman.
"You should go back," Shovia told her.
The girl shook her head. "I don't want to. I want to finish the pilgrimage."
Shovia pursed her lips. "Your choice. But this ankle is only going to get worse, and you will regret not opting for the stretcher sooner."
When Lysara returned with the medic, the guy inspected my work and nodded his approval.
He pulled out a collapsible walking stick from his pack, extended it, and offered it to the girl. "Don't put your full weight on your foot," he instructed. "And tell someone immediately if the pain gets worse."
"I will," she promised.
"Are you sure that you can continue?" Lysara asked her.
