She had regained energy slowly in the night. The vibrant life of the forest around her helped, but keeping up their disguises was still a drain, so she had yet to heal completely. Burns were subtle, expensive injuries, with so many layers of skin to individually rebuild.
She looked down at her hands, the skin still covered with burns. She felt a little vain, but she didn’t want him to see her like this. She would use what energy she could gather. She reached out into the pines, the roots, the fungi, a family of robins, a stand of birch—gathering what she could without injuring them. Gradually, she eased the skin and muscle back into the way it was supposed to be.
She twisted herself back into a chipmunk. She had to find some food. It felt a little safer until she could be sure there was really no one nearby.
What did chipmunks eat? She took a deep breath, and a wave of scents washed over her, suddenly appealing. Instincts twitched. Time to scavenge some breakfast.
When Aven awoke, he was still a chipmunk. He didn’t mind being a chipmunk quite as much as he’d minded being a mouse, and Mara—or at least a chipmunk he assumed was Mara—was piling dark green needles and small nuts nearby.
Eat! she said. Are you all right? You’ve been a chipmunk too long. Eat, and then we can go back to being ourselves again.
He felt surprisingly well as he plodded over to the pile she was making. What if we didn’t? he thought, only partly joking.
Didn’t what?
Didn’t go back to being ourselves. Just stayed here in the forest, as chipmunks.
She stilled, an acorn between her little paws. The wound on her shoulder she had shown him was still there, even in this brown-furred form. Just stayed? You would stay here? With me?
He nodded as best he knew how as a chipmunk. What if we did? I would. We could.
I wish that were true. She dropped the acorn and scurried away.
Was it something he’d said? He made his way slowly to the little pile, sniffing. Once he caught their fresh scent, they smelled surprisingly delicious. He chomped away.
A few minutes later, she returned with more nuts and ate. Watching her cheeks bulge made him snicker to himself, and for a moment he was amazed at all that he’d experienced since she’d plucked him from his balcony on the mountaintop. So much that he’d been missing, so much to discover.
All right. Ready to be a man again?
If I ever was one. Sure. He laughed, half to himself.
Boy, man, hardly a difference in most that I’ve met. Okay, brace yourself.
He shut his eyes, sat as still as possible, and after a few moments, the dizzy whirling began. It seemed to last not quite so long this time nor be quite so horrifying, and he opened his eyes to find the two of them on hands and knees above a tiny mound of pine needles.
He burst out laughing, and so did she. He immediately regretted it, though, with all the aches and pains that came back with the gesture. They both lurched stiffly to their feet.
“That seems to get easier every time,” he said.
“You get used to it,” she grunted as she tried to stretch out her shoulders. She glanced up at the sun and around them. “Well, I have no idea where we are now or where my bag is. I can call the horses, or they may be able to find us on their own or get free if someone hasn’t locked them up too well.” She looked upset at the thought. “I’ll call them, and then we’ll head out.”
“Which way?” He listened for pursuers as she seemed to pick a direction. “They’ll still be looking for us.”
She nodded. “We’ll go in the opposite direction and hope for the best. That way.” Then she crouched down to the earth. He wasn’t sure how she could manage it if she was anywhere near as sore as he was. Placing her palm flat on the dirt, she let out a long, low whistle. Her eyes were closed, her mind clearly moving somewhere else, the sound of the whistled note beautiful. He had a sudden longing to fall to his knees and kiss her. Before he could do anything crazy, it was over.
She stood, dusted off her hands, and smiled. “They heard, I think. They’re free, or at least so it seemed. Let’s head out. They’ll catch up.”
They had been traveling an hour, maybe two. Aven’s ears caught the sound of horse hooves clomping slowly on dull earth. Mara grabbed his arm and pulled him with her into a crouch. They scrambled behind a nearby pile of brush.
He caught her eyes. “Our horses?” he whispered.
“No, they’d be at a gallop.”
They waited. Could it be the Devoted? Around a large pine tree, horses finally came into clear view. Several wagons shuffled along, with women, men, and children shuffling along beside them.
Nomads, Aven thought.
“Regin, he’s getting weaker,” someone called out. “We need to stop.”
“They could still be nearby.” A woman’s voice.
A long moment of silence. Aven spotted a wiry older man with tawny brown skin and peppered hair who moved forward and peered into one of the wagons. Then he spoke, his voice grim. “We have no choice. Make camp. Huz, Muj, do a search of the area for signs of them. The rest of you, hunker down.”
He could feel Mara tense without looking at her. They were not hidden at all. Should they try to get out of here? Who were these people? They certainly didn’t seem like Devoted. The nomads started their search on the opposite side of the road, giving them a moment to consider. They clearly weren’t soldiers—there was nothing systematic or experienced to their searching. He glanced at Mara. Her eyes darted around. He braced himself for another transformation.
Instead, she stood up and motioned for him to follow her. She walked boldly toward the people moving just off the road to make camp. Still surprised, he staggered up and followed her.
The old man noticed them almost immediately. He made no sound, only watching them levelly, still, hands clasped in front of him. Waiting. Another man noticed, then another, as their footsteps crunched needles and branches with their approach.
“Hold,” a man’s deep voice rang out. “Announce yourselves.”
The nomads all fell silent now, turning toward them. They might not be soldiers, but their faces were grave and serious, like the war-torn.
“We cannot announce ourselves,” Mara called, “but we mean you no harm.”
“I demand—” the man started.
“Demand all you want, we cannot,” she said.
She looked down at her hands, the skin still covered with burns. She felt a little vain, but she didn’t want him to see her like this. She would use what energy she could gather. She reached out into the pines, the roots, the fungi, a family of robins, a stand of birch—gathering what she could without injuring them. Gradually, she eased the skin and muscle back into the way it was supposed to be.
She twisted herself back into a chipmunk. She had to find some food. It felt a little safer until she could be sure there was really no one nearby.
What did chipmunks eat? She took a deep breath, and a wave of scents washed over her, suddenly appealing. Instincts twitched. Time to scavenge some breakfast.
When Aven awoke, he was still a chipmunk. He didn’t mind being a chipmunk quite as much as he’d minded being a mouse, and Mara—or at least a chipmunk he assumed was Mara—was piling dark green needles and small nuts nearby.
Eat! she said. Are you all right? You’ve been a chipmunk too long. Eat, and then we can go back to being ourselves again.
He felt surprisingly well as he plodded over to the pile she was making. What if we didn’t? he thought, only partly joking.
Didn’t what?
Didn’t go back to being ourselves. Just stayed here in the forest, as chipmunks.
She stilled, an acorn between her little paws. The wound on her shoulder she had shown him was still there, even in this brown-furred form. Just stayed? You would stay here? With me?
He nodded as best he knew how as a chipmunk. What if we did? I would. We could.
I wish that were true. She dropped the acorn and scurried away.
Was it something he’d said? He made his way slowly to the little pile, sniffing. Once he caught their fresh scent, they smelled surprisingly delicious. He chomped away.
A few minutes later, she returned with more nuts and ate. Watching her cheeks bulge made him snicker to himself, and for a moment he was amazed at all that he’d experienced since she’d plucked him from his balcony on the mountaintop. So much that he’d been missing, so much to discover.
All right. Ready to be a man again?
If I ever was one. Sure. He laughed, half to himself.
Boy, man, hardly a difference in most that I’ve met. Okay, brace yourself.
He shut his eyes, sat as still as possible, and after a few moments, the dizzy whirling began. It seemed to last not quite so long this time nor be quite so horrifying, and he opened his eyes to find the two of them on hands and knees above a tiny mound of pine needles.
He burst out laughing, and so did she. He immediately regretted it, though, with all the aches and pains that came back with the gesture. They both lurched stiffly to their feet.
“That seems to get easier every time,” he said.
“You get used to it,” she grunted as she tried to stretch out her shoulders. She glanced up at the sun and around them. “Well, I have no idea where we are now or where my bag is. I can call the horses, or they may be able to find us on their own or get free if someone hasn’t locked them up too well.” She looked upset at the thought. “I’ll call them, and then we’ll head out.”
“Which way?” He listened for pursuers as she seemed to pick a direction. “They’ll still be looking for us.”
She nodded. “We’ll go in the opposite direction and hope for the best. That way.” Then she crouched down to the earth. He wasn’t sure how she could manage it if she was anywhere near as sore as he was. Placing her palm flat on the dirt, she let out a long, low whistle. Her eyes were closed, her mind clearly moving somewhere else, the sound of the whistled note beautiful. He had a sudden longing to fall to his knees and kiss her. Before he could do anything crazy, it was over.
She stood, dusted off her hands, and smiled. “They heard, I think. They’re free, or at least so it seemed. Let’s head out. They’ll catch up.”
They had been traveling an hour, maybe two. Aven’s ears caught the sound of horse hooves clomping slowly on dull earth. Mara grabbed his arm and pulled him with her into a crouch. They scrambled behind a nearby pile of brush.
He caught her eyes. “Our horses?” he whispered.
“No, they’d be at a gallop.”
They waited. Could it be the Devoted? Around a large pine tree, horses finally came into clear view. Several wagons shuffled along, with women, men, and children shuffling along beside them.
Nomads, Aven thought.
“Regin, he’s getting weaker,” someone called out. “We need to stop.”
“They could still be nearby.” A woman’s voice.
A long moment of silence. Aven spotted a wiry older man with tawny brown skin and peppered hair who moved forward and peered into one of the wagons. Then he spoke, his voice grim. “We have no choice. Make camp. Huz, Muj, do a search of the area for signs of them. The rest of you, hunker down.”
He could feel Mara tense without looking at her. They were not hidden at all. Should they try to get out of here? Who were these people? They certainly didn’t seem like Devoted. The nomads started their search on the opposite side of the road, giving them a moment to consider. They clearly weren’t soldiers—there was nothing systematic or experienced to their searching. He glanced at Mara. Her eyes darted around. He braced himself for another transformation.
Instead, she stood up and motioned for him to follow her. She walked boldly toward the people moving just off the road to make camp. Still surprised, he staggered up and followed her.
The old man noticed them almost immediately. He made no sound, only watching them levelly, still, hands clasped in front of him. Waiting. Another man noticed, then another, as their footsteps crunched needles and branches with their approach.
“Hold,” a man’s deep voice rang out. “Announce yourselves.”
The nomads all fell silent now, turning toward them. They might not be soldiers, but their faces were grave and serious, like the war-torn.
“We cannot announce ourselves,” Mara called, “but we mean you no harm.”
“I demand—” the man started.
“Demand all you want, we cannot,” she said.
