(49) If You Wish

Tara trudged forward, her breathing becoming labored. The path had ceased being lined with stalagmites, the walls closing in around her instead. The cavern walls surrounded the path, now around five feet wide, and they ran with small streams of water, as if the earth were weeping.

All this water gathered and ran down the path in a small river that currently occupied the right-most portion of the path, though it was inconsistent. The small river twisted and turned, this way and that, sometimes on the left, sometimes in the middle, and even sometimes occupying the path in its entirety, forcing Tara to splash through the tunnel, practically calling out to any creatures that a tasty morsel was nearby.

The path had acquired a gradual incline over the past hour, and now it was nearly forty-five degrees, by her estimation. The climb was made even more difficult by the water, which made each step she took calculated and precise, lest she slide—or worse, tumble—backward.

Finally, when she was nearing the point of needing a rest, the ground leveled out, the cavern widening a bit on the right. Stepping over the trickle of water, Tara was greeted by a small space, perhaps ten feet wide from water to wall. It was tiny, realistically, yet it was to the side of the path, which lent it a restful quality in her mind, as if a natural waystation.

She sat down with a huff, leaning her back against the wall gratefully. She removed her coat, noting that the air was not nearly as cold as the exterior had been, and fished around in her pack for a few seconds. She froze, her hand buried up to her elbow in her pack, as she recognized the sound of breathing once again.

This was breathing that a person might make, rather than a monster, though Tara was unsure if that was fortunate or unfortunate. She shifted slowly, turning her head so that not even her hair against the stone wall made a sound, and beheld the curled form of a woman in the opposite corner of what she had dubbed the ‘rest area’.

The woman was curled about herself, facing away from Tara, but she could see a distinct blue hair scattered across the ground behind her. She wore a white robe that looked far too thin and did not cover nearly enough skin—it was not as cold as outside, but it was certainly not warm.

She wore sandals of animal hide that left most of her feet exposed, and Tara could see her shivering even from several feet away. Despite the cold, she had somehow managed to fall deeply asleep, as while she took care to step softly, Tara did not hold any illusions that she had approached stealthily.

What should she do? Who was the girl? She appeared older than Tara, but only slightly—perhaps fifteen or sixteen. Why was she here? She must have made it past the ogre, at the very least.

Did that make her a danger?

Tara’s hand went instinctively to the dagger at her waist, gripping its handle with white knuckles.

She forced herself to breathe, consciously loosening her grip on the knife. Images of the ogre child leaning against its dead parent flashed through her mind. Murdering what appeared to be a normal girl in cold blood was too much, too hasty, even for her.

Well, what, then?

She could easily get up and move past, continue on her way. She could stop to catch her breath further on. Sure, resting on an incline was not ideal, but it was doable. There was no reason she needed to risk anything with or for this girl. They did not know each other. She could be…an assassin or something, for all she knew!

Tara sighed.

She scooted over to the girl, sliding her backside across the smooth stone until she sat next to her shaking form. She laid the coat over her, positioning it to cover as much of her body as she could manage. The glow of a shield that Tara recognized as having previously covered her own body leaped around the girl, and her shivering stopped almost immediately.

Satisfied, Tara scooted a couple of feet away, once again fishing around in her pack. She withdrew her water skin and drank deeply. It was strange how thirsty she was…or, not really. She had done a great deal of physical labor over the past few hours, yet it felt strange to be so thirsty, even though she was surrounded by water.

She put the skin back and withdrew a small bag of wrapped meat. Halla and Willem had given her a little treat last night, knowing she would be out training all day. The meat was simply smoked, and there was a large roll accompanying it—nothing fancy, but her mouth watered looking at it now.

This meat would be especially good if she split the roll in half and ate it all at once like a sandwich—

Tara glanced over, feeling more than seeing the girl’s eyes. She sat up straight now, staring at Tara’s food with unrestrained desire. Tara had suspected, by her pale gray skin, that she was a nuarch, but the ears poking through her hair, which spilled over her shoulders and framed striking blue eyes, confirmed it.

“You’re hungry?” Tara asked.

The girl shook when addressed, her cheeks coloring noticeably, as if she had been unaware how intensely she was staring.

“I’m…go ahead! Sorry for staring. I didn’t mean to interrupt…” she said, scooting against the wall and hugging her knees to her chest.

“How long has it been since you’ve eaten?” Tara asked, breaking the roll in half and stuffing the smoked meat inside.

“Only a few days,” the girl answered, her voice soft.

Tara sighed.

“Here,” she said, tossing the sandwich to the girl, who caught it in surprise.

“The whole—no, please! I can’t take it, especially after…” she trailed off, rubbing the edge of the coat with her fingers.

“I had a big breakfast. I’ll be fine,” Tara reassured, trying not to stare at the girl’s ankle, which almost glowed a fiery red.

“I—” the girl started.

“Just eat it. I don’t have the energy to argue. Let me rest for a while, please,” Tara ordered.

The girl looked at the sandwich for several long seconds, but she could only restrain herself for so long, eventually tearing into it like a ravenous animal. Tara almost chuckled. It was not often she met someone who could give her own lack of manners a run for its money.

“I’m Tara. What’s your name?” Tara asked, leaning her head against the wall and closing her eyes.

“Myra. Are you here to train with the master, too?” the girl asked between bites, her speech barely comprehensible around her full cheeks.

“Yeah, I suppose I am. You’ve been at it for a few days, then? How did you make it past the ogre?” Tara inquired, suddenly turning her head and affixing the girl with an intense stare.

“I…went around it. Why, what did you do?” Myra asked, obviously confused.

Tara grimaced, leaning her head back again and saying no more.

The cavern was silent for long minutes, the stillness broken only by the sound of Myra wolfing the sandwich down and, eventually, crouching over the running water to drink. She sighed in satisfaction, scooting close to Tara—carefully maneuvering her right ankle, Tara noted—and leaned her head against the wall.

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“Thanks, that was delicious. I was pretty sure I was going to starve to death here. I was actually debating whether I should even drink the water. Surely, if I were going to die, it would be faster to die from dehydration,” Myra mused.

Tara found the way she referenced dark subject matter casually refreshing. It reminded her of her own life. How was she supposed to talk about her past, if not irreverently? She couldn’t be dour and miserable all the time.

“No problem. How did you hurt your ankle?” Tara replied without opening her eyes.

“Oh, I…uh…” she stammered, eventually sighing, “I fell. Tripped on the wet incline and rolled it. I don’t know how damaged it is, just that it gives out when I put my weight on it.”

Tara did not voice the fact that Myra had not mentioned the pain, which was undoubtedly severe, if she could not so much as put weight on it. The girl was tough, obviously.

The two sat in what Tara thought was companionable silence for probably fifteen minutes before Tara opened her eyes and stood.

“Right, let’s get going. No sense falling asleep and wasting time. We can sleep at the top,” she said, offering Myra a hand.