The dunes stretch out ahead, the light harsher as the suns rise higher. The heat presses in from all sides. My steps are slower, not from uncertainty, but from fatigue. It’s settling in deeper, harder to ignore.
He shifts his pace to compensate. I don’t comment on it. I don’t thank him, but I don’t miss it either.
We crest another rise, the wind dragging sand across the surface in thin, shifting lines that blur the edges of everything. My footing slips and I catch myself, forcing my balance back under control before it turns into something worse, but my leg doesn’t fully recover.
The strain lingers. I take another step. Then another. The third one falters. Not a fall, just a hitch. He’s there immediately. His hand closes around my arm, steadying. Holding me in place until my footing settles again. I stiffen instinctively, then stop. He’s not forcing anything. Just… keeping me upright. I exhale slowly.
“I’m fine,” I say.
“Not.”
Flat and certain. I almost argue, but then I don’t, because he’s not wrong. I pull my arm back gently, creating a small amount of space.
“I can walk,” I say instead.
He watches me for a second longer, measuring, then releases. We move. Slower and more controlled.
The terrain shifts, the sand firmer in places, looser in others. The wind picks up, carrying heat with it, drying my throat furtherwith every breath. I swallow, trying to ignore it. Trying to push through it, but it doesn’t work.
My pace drops further. Less than before, but enough. He adjusts. Again. I glance at him, irritation flickering before I can stop it.
“I don’t need you to?—”
I stop, because I do, and we both know it. Instead, I exhale slowly and shift my focus forward. Keep moving. That’s what matters.
A few more steps. Then I reach for him. Not thinking. No plan. Just—need.
My hand closes around his forearm, and the change hits the same way it did before, but stronger this time. His entire body stills for a fraction of a second, not in resistance, not in tension, but in alignment. His breathing slows and deepens.
The constant edge under his movements eases enough that I feel it through the contact. Through the way his arm shifts under my hand, not pulling away, not reacting, just… stabilizing. I steady myself at the same time.
It’s not just physical. Everything settles. My pulse and breathing, but also the tension that’s been sitting too high since the moment he took me. I don’t pull away and neither does he. We stand for a second longer than necessary.
Connected. Balanced.
Then I let go.
The shift reverses, but it’s not as sharp or as immediate on its return. That underlying readiness. That constant awareness. I watch it happen. Track it. Understand it.
“You need that,” I say quietly.
It’s not a question. His gaze drops briefly to where my hand was. Then back to my face.
“Yes.”
He doesn’t hesitate or try to deny it. I nod once, more to myself than to him.
“Good to know.”
The words are steadier than I feel, because that changes things. Not everything, but enough. I look ahead, then take another step forward. He matches me exactly, side by side. I don’t look at him, because now I understand something.
He keeps me alive. I keep him steady. And neither of us is getting out of this without the other.
8
KAELRETH
Imove.
