Her guardian against a team of beasts and their masters, sent to maim and destroy.
So they had plunged ahead, until something had struck them down, and they were falling...
Falling...
And wings were about her, holding her close, supporting and protecting.
Frantic whispers in her ear not to tense, to go limp, that he loved her...
Before they plunged into the sea.
And she could not remember after that.
It had not been an arrow. Two heavy stones twined together wrapped about his wing, keeping him from being able to use it. And a single wing was not nearly enough to support them both. She could remember the cliff, could remember the terror at the drop off, the angry looks of the riders as they were kept from following their prey.
They must have drifted. Or been found and brought to shore. Her hands wiped at her eyes before she leaned over Grim, trying to get words past her unwilling throat. “We made it,” she promised him, hoping he would open his eyes, that he would come back to her. “You did it. We are both here, and your people are watching us, and I need you with me.” A sob, a welling of her eyes that still stung with the salt from the seawater that drenched her clothes, her hair bringing fresh rivulets down toward her mouth and nose. “Please,” she entreated, her lips at his ear, his cheek.
He had worked so very hard to see them here, and it had torn at her daily that there was no more she could have done. That there was no burden she could offer to carry for him, to make it easier for him.
A fluttering of his eyelids, and she lurched back, trying to give him room but desperation keeping her close. “Grim?” she urged, her hands stroking and rubbing at his chest, his arms, bringing warmth and hopefully some comfort too. “Please, Grim.”
Another groan and his eyes fluttered open.
How she loved those eyes. Rich and green and soft when they looked at her, or burning with need as he took her so sweetly, and even when they looked at her now with some confusion, she could not help her smile of triumph all the while.
They had made it, and he lived, and so did she.
She could feel eyes watching them, but she could not bring herself to care. Not just yet.
“We are making quite the scene,” she informed him, smoothing down his tunic, hating how cold it was against her palms. They needed a fire, needed a place to rest and recuperate, but she suddenly feared what that might look like. He might receive some hospitality from those surrounding them, but she...
Soon the suspicion would come. Soon an explanation would be demanded of her, and she did not have one ready to give. She had always imagined going directly to the sages, of presenting their situation as calmly and plainly as she could, to those who already knew her.
Not to a group of common-folk who had to fish her out of the sea.
Grimult groaned, turning to his side and coughing, dribbles of salt water coming from his mouth. She rubbed at his back, wanting to hide, wanting to tuck them both away until they were strong and had decided on what to say, how to present themselves so they might be received most favourably.
But that was not possible, and although there were only ten at most scattered about them, it felt a far greater number.
She did not relish being watched, not again, and she doubted Grimult would care for it either, not when he was so vulnerable.
She felt movement at her side, and she forced herself to look, only to find a man pick up the device that had felled Grim, studying it curiously. “We will need that,” she managed to get out, turning so her entreaty could be more readily acknowledged.
He glanced at her, his brow furrowed. “This was done on purpose,” he observed, and Penryn looked back to Grim. He was staring first at her, and then drifting to those about them. When he was suddenly struggling against her in attempt to sit up, she supposed that meant he was not as slow to consciousness as she had been.
She did not try to thwart him, moving so that he could do as he felt he needed, his breaths deep and full, his eyes wandering to those around him. Did he know any of them? Nothing about his features betrayed any recognition, but she still wondered. These were sea-folk, however, who made their living from the depths below, casting nets or simply diving beneath as their ancestors had done. Grim spoke of farmland and animals to milk. She did not think the sand still pressing into her palms and delving into her skirts would be conducive for such things.
She held out her hand to the man still holding the weapon. “Please,” she added, realising belatedly that she was used to her commands being heeded, even the silent ones, and in another time she might have felt embarrassed by her presumption, but not now. She was weary, and afraid, and they needed to keep hold of all evidence that they could before they reached the sages.
The man did not appear ready to oblige, not at first, but when Grimult got to his feet, his expression all stern angles and intimidating posture, the man relented.
“Thank you,” Penryn murmured, although it did not feel wholly earned, not when she had been so thoroughly ignored.
Grimult turned, holding out the stones and rope to her, swaying slightly as he did so. She took them quickly, surprised by their weight, and understood why he would have difficulty maintaining his balance with them. She deposited the whole contraption in the pocket of her cloak, fully aware that it would weigh heavily on one side and her shoulder would likely tire before too long.
But they had no more pack, and she was finally able to
