I stare at him, though he’s barely more than a silhouette in the darkness. “We’ll freeze.” Despite escaping the wind, the chill’s already piercing my skin now that I’ve stopped exerting myself.
“That’s a wool coat. Sheep survive nights out here just fine.”
“Their coats are a lot thicker!”
I regret my outburst almost immediately, my jumbled emotions clogging my throat. It’s not his fault I’m so clumsy. But before I can apologize, he stretches his arm out, pressing his hand against the hillside. A few seconds later, he slumps, shaking his head.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
He sighs. “Nothing. You’d still be cold, and it’d just exhaust me.”
My jaw clenches, and something snaps within me. “Stop trying to make me feel bad for being human. I do enough of that on my own.”
Taran jerks his head toward me. “I didn’t… That wasn’t my intention. You’re not—” He pauses, his glowing eyes turning tothe ground. “I’m sorry. I’ve put more on you than you deserve, but you’re still carrying it. You shouldn’t feel bad.”
My muscles relax as he rubs his brow, his words slowly sinking in. With a heavy sigh, he removes his coat and sits next to me. My entire body locks up as he pulls me against him and wraps his coat around us. His heat blazes against my back, and his soothing scent of musky pine does nothing to release the tension coiling within me.
What is happening?
“Just go to sleep,” he says.
I don’t dare speak. I close my eyes and try to focus on my breathing, but my nerves twist tighter with every exhale as his warmth flows through me. My exhaustion eventually overtakes me, and I drift away to the sound of his racing heart.
* * *
Taran wakes me just before dawn. He’s gentle about it, rustling my shoulder with his fingers. With his warmth blanketing me, it’s difficult to pull away, and his hand lingers on my arm until I finally do. We have a quick, silent breakfast and set off right as the sun rises. He seems to have taken my outburst to heart, as he doesn’t force as arduous a pace, allowing me more opportunity to appreciate the sights.
The landscape remains similar to Landore’s. The hills have turned rockier, but they’re mostly rolling and green, with patches of trees here and there. But by rolling… I mean, actually rolling. As if the grass is breathing. There’s a subtle movement to it, too rhythmic—like a pulse—to be from the wind. The idea of capturing it with paint seems depressingly impossible; my best efforts would result in something as boring and lifeless as home.
After a brief stop hiding behind a tree on our way downhill, Taran points to a river cutting through the lowlands ahead, its deep blue waters glimmering in the sunlight. I’d guess it’s at least fifty yards across.
“That’s Anwen’s Tears,” he says. “We’ll need to cross it by midday. Can you swim?”
My chest sinks. “No.” But I can’t let that bring me down—there has to be another solution. “Are there any bridges?”
“They’re out of the way, and too risky.” Taran chews on his thumb, seemingly considering our options. “Come on, we need to keep moving.”
The hillside slopes smoothly down to the river. Trees speckle the terrain, and he moves us from one to another, connecting them with our path to the water’s edge. When we reach it, Taran takes a moment to refill our waterskins, then gestures me over.
He kneels by the water, a smile curling his lips as he glances my way. “Time for you to see some fae magic.”
Taran holds his left hand out, but instead of breaking the surface, the water flowsaroundhim. As if he set an invisible boulder in its path. He holds his right hand out, flicking his fingers for me to approach. I carefully lower myself to the riverbank beside him, and he wraps his arm around me.
“You’ll need to stay close, and move with me,” he says.
For some reason, those words feel intimately familiar in a way that sends my heart squirming into my throat. I swallow, then he takes an awkward step forward. I do my best to match him without falling over, and right before our feet enter the water, the current bends around us.
My body tenses with every step, going deeper into the river. Sunlight filters through the water, reflecting off the silvery scales of fish flitting by. Our boots sink into the mud, and within a few steps, the river’s surface flows high above Taran’s head, as if we’re standing inside a giant bubble..
Such a feat is impossible with incanting. If he lets go, I’ll undoubtedly drown just from the force crashing down on me. The harsh grip of that fear keeps my wonderment at bay.
“You need to breathe,” Taran says.
I force out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding, then inhale deeply. My chest is so tight I choke on the cold, damp air, but my next inhale releases the tension slightly. I maintain my vise-like grip on his torso.
“Would you like to hear how Anwen’s Tears was named?” he asks, his voice calm.
I try to nod. When that fails, I let out a stammered, “S-s-s-sure.”
