They kissed, and kissed again, each flowing into the other with quiet joy. The fire popped and crackled as if it approved.
“The babes will wake soon,” Amari whispered.
Orval nodded, drawing her head to his shoulder. “But not just yet. For now, for this moment, just let me hold you here in the warmth of our Hearth.
Amari nodded, pressing close.
“When the babes wake, when the others return, we will face our challenges.” Orval said.
Amari reached for his hand. She wove her fingers into his. “Together.”
“Together.”
Aftermath
The Liam knelt in the sandy soil of the Wastes, feeling dirt and sand shift under his knee. The peoples with him fanned out, searching. Two stood with him, bearing witness.
Vren’s crumpled and broken body lay sprawled on the ground before him.
The weight of failure settled on the Liam’s shoulders, pressing him down as he sighed. He was the leader, the teacher, the wise one. He was supposed to instill hope and courage, to lead his people with confidence into the future.
All he had within him was empty, hollow despair.
“I will see to him,” he forced himself to say. “Aid the others in their search.”
Instead, they moved closer, offering silent support. Which crushed him even more. Even in defeat, they stood by him.
He was not worthy, did not deserve…the sun’s heat burned his shoulders, even through his clothes and straw hat.
What had happened, that it had come to this? He tried to reconcile it, even as he reached for Vren’s right hand, taking it in his own. “Vren of the Horse,” the Liam spoke, clearly, loudly, trying to speak with hope, knowing it was hopeless. “Vren, sworn of the marcusi, answer me.”
Those cold, parted lips did not move. There was no heartbeat in the wrist.
“Vren,” he demanded. “Vren, the Liam calls. Answer.”
There was no response.
Hands reached out to aid him in shifting the body so that he could pull the left arm from underneath. The Liam grasped Vren’s left hand. “Vren of the Horse, defender of the Blood of Xy, answer my summons.”
Only the wind, and the soft movements of small creatures in the brush around them.
As they straightened the legs; the Liam could hear the grind of broken bone. Left foot, right foot, he repeated the ritual, each time calling Vren’s name.
But the silence was absolute and final.
The rite complete, the Liam sat back on his heels. “His pack?”
He knew, the moment he put his hand on the wrappings, that the vial was intact. The Liam breathed a sigh of relief as he stood.
“The others?” he asked as he started to carefully pull the wrappings off the precious package.
“Dead,” came the response. The Liam nodded as he peeled back the last bit of cloth and revealed the vial, intact, the blood bright red in the sun.
His first impulse was relief; the vial was intact. His next thought vanished, driven out of his mind by the vivid color of the fluid.
It took a breath for the implication to sink again, and he looked down at the corpse, almost expecting to see signs of life. But no—
“Check them again,” he commanded, sure he would be obeyed, as he hastily re-wrapped the vial.
