"You needed rest." His arm tightens slightly around my shoulders. "We're not racing anyone."
I finally lift my head to look at him, taking in the concern etched across his features. Dark circles shadow his eyes, and I realize he probably didn't sleep at all while I was unconscious.
"When did you last eat?"
"I'm fine."
"That's not what I asked."
He sits up slowly, careful not to jostle me too much. The movement reveals the small camp he's built around us—bedrolls arranged near a carefully banked fire, travel packs positioned to block wind, horses tethered within easy reach.
"I'll eat when you do."
The dried meat and hard bread taste terrible in my mouth, but I chew and swallow. My stomach rebels against the food, cramping with each bite. Vargath watches me struggle through the meal with the intensity of a battlefield commander monitoring troop movements.
"Eat more." He tears off a piece of his own bread and holds it out to me. "The baby needs it."
"I can't. If I eat any more, I'll just bring it back up."
"Try anyway."
"Don't order me around."
"I'm not ordering. I'm asking." His voice gentles, but the determination remains. "Please."
The bread crumbles between my fingers as I accept it. The simple gesture—him offering his own food—carries more weightthan grand declarations ever could. I manage three more bites before my stomach definitively refuses to cooperate.
Snow begins falling as we break camp, fat flakes that melt against my skin and turn the world soft around the edges. The landscape stretches before us in rolling hills of white, broken by the skeletal remains of what must have been a human city. Twisted metal and crumbling concrete thrust up through the snow like broken teeth, monuments to a civilization I never knew.
"How far?" I ask as Vargath helps me toward my horse.
"Another few days to reach the border territories. Maybe a week to find Kaela and Drokhar, depending on where they've settled."
The mounting process proves even more difficult than yesterday. My legs shake under my own weight, refusing to support me long enough to reach the stirrup. Vargath bears most of my weight again, lifting me with careful strength until I'm seated in the saddle.
"I should walk for a while." The words sound foolish even as I speak them. "Let the horses rest."
"The horses are fine."
"But I?—"
"Seris." His tone cuts through my protests. "You can barely sit upright. Walking isn't an option."
Pride wars with practicality as we begin moving through the snow-dusted ruins. The horses pick their way carefully between fallen stones and twisted metal, their hooves finding purchase on uncertain ground. I focus on staying balanced, on not sliding sideways out of the saddle like a sack of grain.
After an hour of riding, the effort of simply remaining upright becomes too much. My vision blurs around the edges, and I feel myself swaying dangerously to one side.
"Stop." The word comes out weaker than I intend. "I need to stop."
Vargath reins in immediately, dismounting before my horse has fully halted. I try to swing my leg over the saddle, to dismount with some dignity intact, but my body refuses to cooperate.
"Let me help?—"
"I can manage."
But I can't. My legs give out the moment they touch the ground, sending me crashing to my knees in the snow. Cold seeps through my clothes immediately, and I feel the baby protest the jarring impact.
Strong arms lift me before I can even attempt to stand. Vargath cradles me against his chest with the same care he'd show fragile glass, and the comparison makes my throat tight with unwanted emotion.
