In a way, Farrah was relieved that there were no structures… no posts left in the ash remnants of the square where twenty women—
“Farrah?”
She blinked and met Brela’s stare. “Sorry, what?”
Brela’s pale eyes flashed with concern before she said, “I asked if you wanted to tell the story of learning to use throwing knives.”
“Oh, sure,” Farrah whispered, clearing her throat. “She gave me three practice throws before moving to hold the target.”
Serill choked on his stew. “Wait, what?”
“She was a natural, I wasn’t worried,” Brela replied with a shrug. “She hit the bread with ease.”
“I also hit your thumb with ease,” Farrah mumbled. “And ruined a perfectly good loaf of bread with your blood.”
Her friend wiggled the digit with a smile. “It’s still my favorite scar.”
“That is such a weird sentence,” Cason replied, shaking his head.
Brela’s tongue darted over her teeth. “Oh, don’t tell me you don’t have a preference for a certain scar located on my—“
“Nope,” Serill blurted, wrapping his hands over his ears.
Cason, to Farrah’s surprise, merely lifted a brow teasingly toward Brela. “Maybe.”
How? How in the world had they gotten to the point of sharing their lives with these men? How could Brela be so comfortable around Cason when she still believed he’d betray her?
Elias leaned forward and glanced between the fire wielder and Brela who were now in a heated staring contest. “No, no, please continue. I’m wondering which one it is, because there are at least three along the inside of her—“
Serill threw his wadded up blanket at Elias, earning another chorus of laughter, but Farrah didn’t join in. Instead, she slipped away from whatever chaos was happening, making her way to the horses.
Moonheart shifted uncomfortably as she began brushing his mane, his eyes trained on the Veil wall a few miles in the distance. Being a little further away, Farrah’s magic didn’t feel as uncomfortable as it did before. Still, she distracted herself and the horse with a water butterfly while playing with the crystal bird in her pocket, Lenni’s parting gift.
“I know. It makes me a little jumpy, too,” she whispered.
It wasn’t the horse to snort in response.
“I’m glad I’m not the only one who speaks to animals,” Brela chuckled, leaning on Cason’s horse as she watched Moonheart snap his teeth at Farrah’s water creation. “Ceirdephal wasn’t this responsive to my half of the conversation, though.”
Farrah let the horse catch the butterfly as she glanced back toward the fire. “I didn’t mean to avoid—“
“It’s okay. You don’t have to explain. Today is tough.”
She frowned. “Bre…”
“What?” Brela asked, raising a brow. “You think you’re not allowed to be triggered by this place because I was the one who was here? That you can’t show that you’re hurting because of what this place is to me, even if it reminds you of him?”
Farrah swallowed.
Brela offered her hand, still keeping her distance. “Your pain is not any less important than mine, nor are either of our hurts invalidated because of where we are.”
“What about tomorrow?”
Hand still extended, Brela didn’t flinch. “Tomorrow is not here yet, but the same rules apply.”
Farrah stepped forward and rested her fingers in Brela’s. “Sometimes I don’t know how you can do this.”
“Oh, it is not easy,” she whispered, her eyes drifting to the burned town. “I never knew how much of a blessing it was that I couldn’t remember what happened here. I should have died.”
