He sits alone, on the far side of camp, shoveling rice into his mouth. Across the fire, Ren sits between Ko and Qia, pointedly ignoring him. Yaelic is chattering Qia’s ear off, while Haaman eats quietly next to Ko.
Once again, Basuin is the outcast among the people he fights alongside. He didn’t miss it—when Ren called the army “them,” rather than referring to the legion as his. Betraying her trust has lost him that privilege, surely. Bass never meant to betray her trust.
Ignorance is such bliss, until it crumbles.
Ren laughs aloud, all church bells and glee. It washes over him even from so far away, grip on his wooden cup crushing as Ren elbows Ko in jest. Something floods him, all bitter but filling him up until he’s swollen with it. Envy, and desperation, flavored by something a little mean.
He wishes he could make Ren laugh like that. Like she’s just a woman with no cross to bear, no duty weighing on her thin shoulders. Oh, what he wouldn’t give to make her laugh like that. Not just a god, but someone once human. Like him.
Then, a blue-inked bruise blots the back of Ren’s thigh. Out of nowhere. Edges purpling as it disperses through her skin. She doesn’t even flinch, so he flinches for her. Bass is on his feet in an instant, storming over to her, his mission to fix it, fix it, fix it.
Ko turns his head as Bass approaches, but Ren doesn’t even move. He lays a hand on her shoulder. “You’re hurt,” he says.
And Ren shrugs off his touch. Ignoring him. He draws his hand back like she’s slapped him. Ren doesn’t say a word to him, doesn’t look at him, doesn’t do anything. She snubs him completely.
It makes him want to snort. How childish. This woman who claims that she is nothing more than a god is giving him the cold shoulder. How petty.
How human.
It almost wrangles a smile out of him, but then Ko leans over and says, “Allow me, Am-sa.” With a yellow-green glow of magic, Ko passes his hand over the bruise that’s formed. Not touching Ren, but glossing over her skin. As easily as Ko breathes, he heals the wound that the forest has dealt Ren, smiling all the way.
Basuin burns with a new jealousy. It’s fierce and biting and he can’t explain why it chokes him. He shouldn’t feel so heated over this. He should be grateful that Ko eases Ren’s pain.
He should apologize to her. It would make this rotten feeling in his stomach disappear. Eat the envy out of him.
The wolf-man rolls onto its back, paws in the air, sneezing with a laugh.
“Thank you, Ko.” Ren’s voice is almost startling. Basuin stares at the back of her head for far too long, willing her to look at him. If she would only look at him, he would apologize.
But then Ren does look at him. She whips her head back to him, glaring at him from over a stiff shoulder as if to say, You’re not welcome here anymore.
Basuin takes a step back, and when Ren tosses her hair back and returns to her dinner, he turns and leaves.
Maybe there’s no apology that will make Ren forgive him. But Basuin made a promise to her, and if she won’t help him figure it out, then he’ll figure it out himself.
He needs to learn to be a god before Kensy gets what he wants. And then he needs to learn what Kensy wants, so he can stop Kensy from getting it, from destroying the forest entirely.
It’s no longer a duty. It’s a necessity.
When the camp disperses for the night, Bass catches Ko alone for a moment. It isn’t planned, but instinctual. Ko seems like the best option out of all the choices he has in camp—since Ren has decided to ignore him.
“Do you have a moment to talk?” he asks, feeling more diplomatic than ever before. Smart, for the first time.
A sleepy smile raises Ko’s lips as he tucks his hands in the sleeves of his robe. “Of course. What is it that I can do, Wolf God?”
Basuin winces, and Ko notices. “Basuin,” he amends. “How can I help?”
They walk to a circle of sitting stones, ground flattened in paths worn through years and now abandoned. A deep guilt boils in Basuin’s gut as he follows the footholds to sit across from Ko.
“You’ve been a part of this forest for a long time,” he says. “You must know much about the gods.”
Ko laughs, a quiet chuckle. “Are you calling me old?” Before Basuin can jump to refute, Ko continues. “You would be right to.” Ko leans back on his hands, long curtain of black hair falling in seams over his shoulder. “I am very old now. Much too old for war, though it is here anyway. How inconsiderate.” Ko looks at him, but he wears a joking smile.
Basuin’s mouth is dry. “I’m sorry.”
Ko shakes his head. “No fault of your own.” It’s the first time anyone has said that to him. Ko, perhaps, is the only spirit in this forest that’s never looked at Basuin like he was just a soldier, nor a god, and without hostility. “Yes, I know of the gods. I wouldn’t say I know as much as you might think.”
“More than I do.”
