Emerald
Rustlerustlerus-wuthwACK
rusthwack-crack
snap
The towering, lumbering half-orc in tarnished and scorched scale mail pummeled this way through the forest's brush and undergrowth. The lacquered and steel-studded wooden shaft of his heavy flail would appear over his shoulder, next to his ear, or across his bicep before striking the vegetation ahead. He stringy black hair clung to the back of his thick neck with exerted sweat.
“This is all your fault,” he mumbled in a low, gravelly voice. He kept his head forward and his chin up, but clearly aimed his voice behind him. “You just had to hunt for reagents, didn’t you?”
“You said you could get us back to Garrog and Viktor after we split up!” Wysteria moved aside some of the vials dangling from her vest and stuffed a fistful of roots into a belt pouch.
thwrustle
“No, I said I'd keep an eye on you in case you got lost.” Tyroshi stopped and turned around. A wry smirk creased his tusked, rugged maw. “Which you did.”
Wysteria curled a lip and bit her tongue with a little shake of her head. “Just keep hacking the forest to death, O Mighty Trail Blazer.” As Tyroshi returned to bushwhacking with a knowing, playful scoff, the half-elf went on the defensive. “You out of all of us should be grateful for my alchemy. The wounds I've sealed, the dirtbags I've roasted, the—”
“The eyebrows you've singed,” Tyroshi interjected. “The vomiting you've induced. The taste buds you've rendered permanently inoperable.” He swung his flail haft and another sapling fell, never to reach the sunlit canopy above. He glanced over his shoulder just long enough to mutter, “I still haven't forgiven you for taking crocodile meat away from me.” He slurped and went back to work.
Wysteria rolled her eyes. She sniffed at her pick of deep red flower buds and marveled at their smooth, coppery aroma before finally putting them in separate pouch. “Experimentation and innovation, my good hulk of a man. Great sacrifices demanded by experimentation on the course toward greater perfection!” she added, jabbing a finger toward the sky.
“Pahbrbrbrrr,” came the response from behind her.
“Shut up, Frank,” Wysteria hissed over her shoulder at the old, roan stallion.
“Clearing up ahead,” Tyroshi called before thrashing away with renewed vigor.
Wysteria grabbed Frank's reins and pulled him along. A minute later, the three of them emerged into a flat, grassy clearing ringed by thick oaks stretching in nearly every direction. Dandelions poked out here and there, and the sun shone in bright yellow shafts through the canopy. Wysteria picked a couple of the weeds and chewed on them absentmindedly as Tyroshi looked around. He pointed to a shadowed, half-tunnel trail in the trees.
“There's a creek. I think we can find them along there.”
“Then what are we waiting for?” Wysteria pulled on Frank's reins once more, and the stubborn old horse begrudgingly followed her into the narrow path.
The bends and elbows along the coast saw the creek grow from a trickle, to a burble, to a babble, to a rush. It soon became a full-fledged river, as well as more familiar. Fog rolled in as they continued down the path for what seemed like hours. Wysteria realized that they should have crossed the river when it was still a creek. She stopped and crossed her arms under the bust of her padded, red-and-black vest. Frank took the opportunity to gnaw on some shrubbery, and Tyroshi stopped a step ahead of her.
“What's wrong?” he asked, turning to face her.
Wysteria held out an open hand toward the foaming river. “It's way too deep here. We'll have to go back and cross where it's shallower.”
Tyroshi scoffed. “What happened to experimentation?” He slung his flail over his shoulder. “Let's keep going. Maybe one comes up ahead.”
“Myah-nyah-nyer.” Regardless of her polite mockery, Wysteria followed Tyroshi along the riverbank.
“See?” Tyroshi soon gloated, pointing ahead. “Like I told you.”
Wysteria followed his finger to a rope-and-wood bridge crossing over the river. The fog blanketed nearly the entire river ahead, and tendrils of mist billowed over the visible planks of the bridge. A sudden unease washed over her like a splash of rapids-spray. When Tyroshi marched toward it, Wysteria grabbed his forearm.
He jerked to a stop. “What now?”
Wysteria stared at the bridge ahead. “Let's keep going. I don't know about this place.”
“Are you worried about trolls?” Tyroshi pulled free and continued to the bridge. Against her gut feeling, Wysteria pulled Frank along. She reached her half-orc companion just as he knelt between the bridge's wooden anchor posts. Tyroshi clapped his hands and rubbed them together, sending shivers in the summer afternoon up and down Wysteria's spine.
“Wuh-w-what are you doing?”
Tyroshi shrugged. “Repairing the bridge.” He pointed his thumb at Frank. “It can't support his weight like this. Stay here. I'll be right back.”
Tyroshi laid his hands on the first plank.
“Wait,” Wysteria whispered.
The warped and cracked wood bent straight, rejoining with a groan.
“Don't,” Wysteria tried again.
Tyroshi moved to the next damaged plank.
“Stop it!” Wysteria croaked out.
Wood creaked over her protest.
Tyroshi moved on.
“Tyroshi!”
Wysteria lunged forward, but the fog blocked her from the bridge. She slammed her fists on the vaporous wall.
Tyroshi, now a silhouette in the mists, knelt. The creaking of wood pealed out over the river.
Again.
And again.
And over and again, each building on the last.
Wysteria wailed against the wall of fog for what seemed an eternity.
“Tyroshi, please!”
Her voice, harsh and blown from shouting, echoed in the air.
Wysteria fell forward onto the planks of the bridge as the fog finally lifted. The thunderous creaking of wood had finally ceased. Wysteria struggled to her hands and knees, finally getting a clear view across the bridge.
The bank was empty.
Wysteria gasped as tears welled in her eyes. She turned to mount Frank, but found him missing as well. Wysteria gritted her teeth and grasped the straps of her pack. She hustled across the perfect planks to the far shore. She dropped to her knees and searched for tracks – footsteps, drag trails, anything – that could indicate where Tyroshi went. After a while, she found some wood shavings near the end of the bridge. Caked and filthy, Wysteria traced the shavings to a pile at the anchor post.
A moan escaped her soul.
A sign had been nailed to the anchor post.
“Ohh, no, no, no...”
Two words were carved into its wooden surface. Wysteria wept tears like the river at her side as she read the words over, and over, and again, as if multiple passes would change their meaning.
Tyroshi's Bridge
* * *
Wysteria heaved a dual lungful of air and jerked sideways up in the bed before, bewildered and confused, she tried to roll over. A heavy, scratchy weight pinned her right arm down to something firm. She yanked her arm free and sat upright.
As soon as she freed her arm, though, a creature rumbled in the bed next to her.
She watched it turn over in the dying candlelight and rising sun rays. When the creature faced her, purring and snoring, everything started clicking together.
Wysteria rubbed her hands over her face. Her body was slick and pungent with a mixture of bodily fluids – sweat, saliva, a little bit of blood. And tears.
Most freshly, tears.
Her eyes still welling up, Wysteria stared at the naked calico cat-folk sharing her bed. Black and brown fur covered her lithe body, accented by large splashes of white. Her muzzle twitched, briefly revealing the fangs that pierced Wysteria's mahogany flesh just-too-harshly hours before. Her tail curled up lazily over her uncovered, naked body to rest next to her stomach, its white tip tucking against the bottom of her sternum.
Dyesaba Mitaka. A catfolk raised among elves just looking to make some treasure and a name for herself. Another misfit in Wysteria's life just trying to survive. Just like Wysteria's own elven mother.
Just like Tyroshi.
And until last night...
Wysteria gently pushed the bedspread away from her narrow, naked waist and turned away from Saba. As soon as her bare feet hit the lush carpet, Wysteria began to dress herself and gather her gear.
* * *
Saba awoke slowly in the morning, lazily opening her eyes. Golden sunlight bathed the lush, green-themed royal guest room. Heavy curtains framed the frosted glass window across from the bed. Saba stretched with a smile, clenching her eyelids tight.
It was a beautiful morning to offset such a bittersweet night.
She had wanted to find her mentor and open her heart's true desires. When Saba first laid eyes on Wysteria Garland, though, her insides did backflips. Those curiously half-pointed ears. That cute little upturned nose. The slightly off-kilter way her eyes absorbed and examined the world around her. That time Wysteria just casually joined Saba for a bath... Saba didn't know whether to pounce or hide!
Saba relaxed. It was finally clear. The previous night's intimacy surpassed Saba's wildest imagination. The passion was at times intense, then gentle. Warm, then harsh. Wysteria knew when to teach and guide, when to relax and take. She was a perfect first lover. She was excellent. Exceptional. Exquisite.
Gone...?
Saba whipped over to the other side of the bed. She patted it down frantically, fruitlessly. She looked around the room. Wysteria's strewn clothing was missing. Her pack and kits were gone, as well.
But Saba's fine, black, studded leather armor was folded neatly on the dresser next to the door.
Saba berated herself as she suited up and went back to her own room to gather her things.
How could I've been so stupid?
I shouldn't have tried anything. That was no time for silly dalliances.
Was I no good? Is she ashamed off me?
She lifted Corseer, her drowsy little fruit bat, up to her eyes. Saba poked the cuddly gray creature under the ringed cross-piece of his harness. He chirped and squirmed, now fully awake. Saba grinned.
“Well, little scamp. It looks like it's just you and me. How about we get some breakfast? Then we can decide where we go on full stomachs and clear minds.”
Corseer squeaked. He scrambled up Saba's arm. He perched on her shoulder, nuzzled against her neck, and dozed off again.
Saba carried her gear and pet through the palace halls to the dining chamber. The servants seemed to pay her no mind. She could feel the guards watching her through their slotted helmets. When she reached the dining chamber, the two guards there informed her that she couldn’t bring any of her gear inside..
Saba grumbled, but relented. One of the guards ushered her to a holding room across the hall. Saba removed her fighting spade, longsword, shortsword, and spear before looking for a place to place them.
She set her first round of weapons on a table in a neat group. As she unsheathed her star-knives and daggers, she spotted a backpack on the table next to hers. It was made of tanned, studded, singed leather. Glass vials, some empty, others full, still others in-between, dangled from strings and sat in various pockets.
Saba's eyes widened. The cat-folk dropped the rest of her weapons on the table in a pile. She held Corseer close to her chest and shrugged off her pack. Saba bolted from the holding room, crossed the hall, squeezed through the guards, and stopped halfway between the open threshold and the end of the long and fancily dressed dining table.
“Wysteria?!”
Corseer chittered frantically as Saba tried to compose herself. She cleared her throat. She looked at each of the seven patrons of the twenty-seat table. Only a single full head of uptied, shimmering black hair had not turned to her.
Saba waved at the assembly and lowered her head. She shuffled toward Wysteria and sat next to her so she wouldn't be alone in the middle of the table.
“Hello, Wysteria,” Saba said with mustered measure. She put Corseer on the table. She began to pile her plate with steak, bacon, and a bit of morning salad.
“Saba.” Cold. Distant. Hollow. Wysteria munched on her fried eggs. Her plate held her full attention.
A moment passed in silence as the pair ate next to each other. Saba couldn't bear it.
“What's wrong? Did I bite too hart? Was I no good? Was it too weird? Was I too—?”
Wysteria held up one hand. “No, no, it's not you. I mean, it's...” She held her focus on her plate. “We made a – I made a...”
Wysteria sighed. She put her fork down and folded her hands over her lap. Her lips pressed into a firm line, and she finally faced Saba with red and swollen eyes.
“Last night was great. Fantastic, maybe.” Wysteria gulped. “But it has to stay last night. Okay?”
Saba's soul sank through her stomach. “Oh. Okay.” Saba picked at her food. She sat up straight, dropped her fork, and turned to Wysteria. “But why?”
“It just has to, okay?” Wysteria returned her full attention to her plate.
Saba scooted toward the edge of her chair. “Well, yes, okay, but why?”
“It doesn't matter.”
“Clearly it does!” Saba waited impatiently for a response. “I thought we had something last night. I know you think so, too.”
“That doesn't matter,” Wysteria whispered half-heartedly.
“Then tell me why so. I won't stop 'til you do!”
Wysteria jerked toward Saba. The lavender pools of the half-elf's eyes were inches from the cat's.
“I don't want to hurt when you die!”
Saba narrowed one eye. A corner of her mouth made an awkward curl. Her nose and whiskers twitched. Corseer picked at her plate.
“What?”
Wysteria sat back and reached toward one of Saba's paws. She paused. She folded her hands in her lap.
“I have been losing family and friends ever since before I left... home. My mother died when I was very young. My brother protected me ever since, and I wanted to do the same for him, but he was killed the day before you arrived. Last night, Garrog is killed by his doppelganger. Today I find out Viktor is off chasing dinosaurs.” Wysteria shook her head. “I can't protect who I care about. It's only a matter of time before something gets you, too.”
Saba continued to hold her contorted expression throughout Wysteria's heartpour. She thought about the words and blinked. She frowned.
“You're not cursed.” Saba raised an eyebrow. “Is that what you think?”
Wysteria visibly waffled. “Well...”
Saba pursed her lips to one side. “Oh. I get it.”
Wysteria glanced at and away from Saba. “Yes. Thank—”
“Here we are, in this strange, new world. Families left behind. Friends dead or gone. You can't risk being close to me because you dread being left all alone.”
Saba paused and waited for a response. She grew impatient.
“But if you push me away, what good do you do? All we've got is each other.” Saba tilted her head. “Do you say I'm not worth the risk?”
“No, but...” Wysteria lifted her head. “What if I can't protect you?”
Saba rubbed Wysteria's back, between the shoulder blades.
“I'm more worried about you. But if it makes you feel better, how's this? You watch my back. I watch yours. We travel together. We fight together. Whenever you want, we'll stop together. We'll live together. If you get bored, we can pack up, go, and do it all over again.”
Wysteria sniffled.
Saba smiled and stroked Wysteria's cheek.
“We can make the best of living in these Gems. Hmm? If you ask me, I'd say the best is getting to spend my living with you, elf-lady.”
Wysteria watched Saba. A doubtful, questioning tear crept into her eyes. Nevertheless, she nodded.
“Okay. Let's try it out.”
Saba held out a hand, rough palm up.
Wysteria stared at it. A flurry of emotions and thoughts raced behind her eyes. She reached out her own hand and grasped.
Saba's heart leapt up into her throat.
rusthwack-crack
snap
The towering, lumbering half-orc in tarnished and scorched scale mail pummeled this way through the forest's brush and undergrowth. The lacquered and steel-studded wooden shaft of his heavy flail would appear over his shoulder, next to his ear, or across his bicep before striking the vegetation ahead. He stringy black hair clung to the back of his thick neck with exerted sweat.
“This is all your fault,” he mumbled in a low, gravelly voice. He kept his head forward and his chin up, but clearly aimed his voice behind him. “You just had to hunt for reagents, didn’t you?”
“You said you could get us back to Garrog and Viktor after we split up!” Wysteria moved aside some of the vials dangling from her vest and stuffed a fistful of roots into a belt pouch.
thwrustle
“No, I said I'd keep an eye on you in case you got lost.” Tyroshi stopped and turned around. A wry smirk creased his tusked, rugged maw. “Which you did.”
Wysteria curled a lip and bit her tongue with a little shake of her head. “Just keep hacking the forest to death, O Mighty Trail Blazer.” As Tyroshi returned to bushwhacking with a knowing, playful scoff, the half-elf went on the defensive. “You out of all of us should be grateful for my alchemy. The wounds I've sealed, the dirtbags I've roasted, the—”
“The eyebrows you've singed,” Tyroshi interjected. “The vomiting you've induced. The taste buds you've rendered permanently inoperable.” He swung his flail haft and another sapling fell, never to reach the sunlit canopy above. He glanced over his shoulder just long enough to mutter, “I still haven't forgiven you for taking crocodile meat away from me.” He slurped and went back to work.
Wysteria rolled her eyes. She sniffed at her pick of deep red flower buds and marveled at their smooth, coppery aroma before finally putting them in separate pouch. “Experimentation and innovation, my good hulk of a man. Great sacrifices demanded by experimentation on the course toward greater perfection!” she added, jabbing a finger toward the sky.
“Pahbrbrbrrr,” came the response from behind her.
“Shut up, Frank,” Wysteria hissed over her shoulder at the old, roan stallion.
“Clearing up ahead,” Tyroshi called before thrashing away with renewed vigor.
Wysteria grabbed Frank's reins and pulled him along. A minute later, the three of them emerged into a flat, grassy clearing ringed by thick oaks stretching in nearly every direction. Dandelions poked out here and there, and the sun shone in bright yellow shafts through the canopy. Wysteria picked a couple of the weeds and chewed on them absentmindedly as Tyroshi looked around. He pointed to a shadowed, half-tunnel trail in the trees.
“There's a creek. I think we can find them along there.”
“Then what are we waiting for?” Wysteria pulled on Frank's reins once more, and the stubborn old horse begrudgingly followed her into the narrow path.
The bends and elbows along the coast saw the creek grow from a trickle, to a burble, to a babble, to a rush. It soon became a full-fledged river, as well as more familiar. Fog rolled in as they continued down the path for what seemed like hours. Wysteria realized that they should have crossed the river when it was still a creek. She stopped and crossed her arms under the bust of her padded, red-and-black vest. Frank took the opportunity to gnaw on some shrubbery, and Tyroshi stopped a step ahead of her.
“What's wrong?” he asked, turning to face her.
Wysteria held out an open hand toward the foaming river. “It's way too deep here. We'll have to go back and cross where it's shallower.”
Tyroshi scoffed. “What happened to experimentation?” He slung his flail over his shoulder. “Let's keep going. Maybe one comes up ahead.”
“Myah-nyah-nyer.” Regardless of her polite mockery, Wysteria followed Tyroshi along the riverbank.
“See?” Tyroshi soon gloated, pointing ahead. “Like I told you.”
Wysteria followed his finger to a rope-and-wood bridge crossing over the river. The fog blanketed nearly the entire river ahead, and tendrils of mist billowed over the visible planks of the bridge. A sudden unease washed over her like a splash of rapids-spray. When Tyroshi marched toward it, Wysteria grabbed his forearm.
He jerked to a stop. “What now?”
Wysteria stared at the bridge ahead. “Let's keep going. I don't know about this place.”
“Are you worried about trolls?” Tyroshi pulled free and continued to the bridge. Against her gut feeling, Wysteria pulled Frank along. She reached her half-orc companion just as he knelt between the bridge's wooden anchor posts. Tyroshi clapped his hands and rubbed them together, sending shivers in the summer afternoon up and down Wysteria's spine.
“Wuh-w-what are you doing?”
Tyroshi shrugged. “Repairing the bridge.” He pointed his thumb at Frank. “It can't support his weight like this. Stay here. I'll be right back.”
Tyroshi laid his hands on the first plank.
“Wait,” Wysteria whispered.
The warped and cracked wood bent straight, rejoining with a groan.
“Don't,” Wysteria tried again.
Tyroshi moved to the next damaged plank.
“Stop it!” Wysteria croaked out.
Wood creaked over her protest.
Tyroshi moved on.
“Tyroshi!”
Wysteria lunged forward, but the fog blocked her from the bridge. She slammed her fists on the vaporous wall.
Tyroshi, now a silhouette in the mists, knelt. The creaking of wood pealed out over the river.
Again.
And again.
And over and again, each building on the last.
Wysteria wailed against the wall of fog for what seemed an eternity.
“Tyroshi, please!”
Her voice, harsh and blown from shouting, echoed in the air.
Wysteria fell forward onto the planks of the bridge as the fog finally lifted. The thunderous creaking of wood had finally ceased. Wysteria struggled to her hands and knees, finally getting a clear view across the bridge.
The bank was empty.
Wysteria gasped as tears welled in her eyes. She turned to mount Frank, but found him missing as well. Wysteria gritted her teeth and grasped the straps of her pack. She hustled across the perfect planks to the far shore. She dropped to her knees and searched for tracks – footsteps, drag trails, anything – that could indicate where Tyroshi went. After a while, she found some wood shavings near the end of the bridge. Caked and filthy, Wysteria traced the shavings to a pile at the anchor post.
A moan escaped her soul.
A sign had been nailed to the anchor post.
“Ohh, no, no, no...”
Two words were carved into its wooden surface. Wysteria wept tears like the river at her side as she read the words over, and over, and again, as if multiple passes would change their meaning.
Tyroshi's Bridge
* * *
Wysteria heaved a dual lungful of air and jerked sideways up in the bed before, bewildered and confused, she tried to roll over. A heavy, scratchy weight pinned her right arm down to something firm. She yanked her arm free and sat upright.
As soon as she freed her arm, though, a creature rumbled in the bed next to her.
She watched it turn over in the dying candlelight and rising sun rays. When the creature faced her, purring and snoring, everything started clicking together.
Wysteria rubbed her hands over her face. Her body was slick and pungent with a mixture of bodily fluids – sweat, saliva, a little bit of blood. And tears.
Most freshly, tears.
Her eyes still welling up, Wysteria stared at the naked calico cat-folk sharing her bed. Black and brown fur covered her lithe body, accented by large splashes of white. Her muzzle twitched, briefly revealing the fangs that pierced Wysteria's mahogany flesh just-too-harshly hours before. Her tail curled up lazily over her uncovered, naked body to rest next to her stomach, its white tip tucking against the bottom of her sternum.
Dyesaba Mitaka. A catfolk raised among elves just looking to make some treasure and a name for herself. Another misfit in Wysteria's life just trying to survive. Just like Wysteria's own elven mother.
Just like Tyroshi.
And until last night...
Wysteria gently pushed the bedspread away from her narrow, naked waist and turned away from Saba. As soon as her bare feet hit the lush carpet, Wysteria began to dress herself and gather her gear.
* * *
Saba awoke slowly in the morning, lazily opening her eyes. Golden sunlight bathed the lush, green-themed royal guest room. Heavy curtains framed the frosted glass window across from the bed. Saba stretched with a smile, clenching her eyelids tight.
It was a beautiful morning to offset such a bittersweet night.
She had wanted to find her mentor and open her heart's true desires. When Saba first laid eyes on Wysteria Garland, though, her insides did backflips. Those curiously half-pointed ears. That cute little upturned nose. The slightly off-kilter way her eyes absorbed and examined the world around her. That time Wysteria just casually joined Saba for a bath... Saba didn't know whether to pounce or hide!
Saba relaxed. It was finally clear. The previous night's intimacy surpassed Saba's wildest imagination. The passion was at times intense, then gentle. Warm, then harsh. Wysteria knew when to teach and guide, when to relax and take. She was a perfect first lover. She was excellent. Exceptional. Exquisite.
Gone...?
Saba whipped over to the other side of the bed. She patted it down frantically, fruitlessly. She looked around the room. Wysteria's strewn clothing was missing. Her pack and kits were gone, as well.
But Saba's fine, black, studded leather armor was folded neatly on the dresser next to the door.
Saba berated herself as she suited up and went back to her own room to gather her things.
How could I've been so stupid?
I shouldn't have tried anything. That was no time for silly dalliances.
Was I no good? Is she ashamed off me?
She lifted Corseer, her drowsy little fruit bat, up to her eyes. Saba poked the cuddly gray creature under the ringed cross-piece of his harness. He chirped and squirmed, now fully awake. Saba grinned.
“Well, little scamp. It looks like it's just you and me. How about we get some breakfast? Then we can decide where we go on full stomachs and clear minds.”
Corseer squeaked. He scrambled up Saba's arm. He perched on her shoulder, nuzzled against her neck, and dozed off again.
Saba carried her gear and pet through the palace halls to the dining chamber. The servants seemed to pay her no mind. She could feel the guards watching her through their slotted helmets. When she reached the dining chamber, the two guards there informed her that she couldn’t bring any of her gear inside..
Saba grumbled, but relented. One of the guards ushered her to a holding room across the hall. Saba removed her fighting spade, longsword, shortsword, and spear before looking for a place to place them.
She set her first round of weapons on a table in a neat group. As she unsheathed her star-knives and daggers, she spotted a backpack on the table next to hers. It was made of tanned, studded, singed leather. Glass vials, some empty, others full, still others in-between, dangled from strings and sat in various pockets.
Saba's eyes widened. The cat-folk dropped the rest of her weapons on the table in a pile. She held Corseer close to her chest and shrugged off her pack. Saba bolted from the holding room, crossed the hall, squeezed through the guards, and stopped halfway between the open threshold and the end of the long and fancily dressed dining table.
“Wysteria?!”
Corseer chittered frantically as Saba tried to compose herself. She cleared her throat. She looked at each of the seven patrons of the twenty-seat table. Only a single full head of uptied, shimmering black hair had not turned to her.
Saba waved at the assembly and lowered her head. She shuffled toward Wysteria and sat next to her so she wouldn't be alone in the middle of the table.
“Hello, Wysteria,” Saba said with mustered measure. She put Corseer on the table. She began to pile her plate with steak, bacon, and a bit of morning salad.
“Saba.” Cold. Distant. Hollow. Wysteria munched on her fried eggs. Her plate held her full attention.
A moment passed in silence as the pair ate next to each other. Saba couldn't bear it.
“What's wrong? Did I bite too hart? Was I no good? Was it too weird? Was I too—?”
Wysteria held up one hand. “No, no, it's not you. I mean, it's...” She held her focus on her plate. “We made a – I made a...”
Wysteria sighed. She put her fork down and folded her hands over her lap. Her lips pressed into a firm line, and she finally faced Saba with red and swollen eyes.
“Last night was great. Fantastic, maybe.” Wysteria gulped. “But it has to stay last night. Okay?”
Saba's soul sank through her stomach. “Oh. Okay.” Saba picked at her food. She sat up straight, dropped her fork, and turned to Wysteria. “But why?”
“It just has to, okay?” Wysteria returned her full attention to her plate.
Saba scooted toward the edge of her chair. “Well, yes, okay, but why?”
“It doesn't matter.”
“Clearly it does!” Saba waited impatiently for a response. “I thought we had something last night. I know you think so, too.”
“That doesn't matter,” Wysteria whispered half-heartedly.
“Then tell me why so. I won't stop 'til you do!”
Wysteria jerked toward Saba. The lavender pools of the half-elf's eyes were inches from the cat's.
“I don't want to hurt when you die!”
Saba narrowed one eye. A corner of her mouth made an awkward curl. Her nose and whiskers twitched. Corseer picked at her plate.
“What?”
Wysteria sat back and reached toward one of Saba's paws. She paused. She folded her hands in her lap.
“I have been losing family and friends ever since before I left... home. My mother died when I was very young. My brother protected me ever since, and I wanted to do the same for him, but he was killed the day before you arrived. Last night, Garrog is killed by his doppelganger. Today I find out Viktor is off chasing dinosaurs.” Wysteria shook her head. “I can't protect who I care about. It's only a matter of time before something gets you, too.”
Saba continued to hold her contorted expression throughout Wysteria's heartpour. She thought about the words and blinked. She frowned.
“You're not cursed.” Saba raised an eyebrow. “Is that what you think?”
Wysteria visibly waffled. “Well...”
Saba pursed her lips to one side. “Oh. I get it.”
Wysteria glanced at and away from Saba. “Yes. Thank—”
“Here we are, in this strange, new world. Families left behind. Friends dead or gone. You can't risk being close to me because you dread being left all alone.”
Saba paused and waited for a response. She grew impatient.
“But if you push me away, what good do you do? All we've got is each other.” Saba tilted her head. “Do you say I'm not worth the risk?”
“No, but...” Wysteria lifted her head. “What if I can't protect you?”
Saba rubbed Wysteria's back, between the shoulder blades.
“I'm more worried about you. But if it makes you feel better, how's this? You watch my back. I watch yours. We travel together. We fight together. Whenever you want, we'll stop together. We'll live together. If you get bored, we can pack up, go, and do it all over again.”
Wysteria sniffled.
Saba smiled and stroked Wysteria's cheek.
“We can make the best of living in these Gems. Hmm? If you ask me, I'd say the best is getting to spend my living with you, elf-lady.”
Wysteria watched Saba. A doubtful, questioning tear crept into her eyes. Nevertheless, she nodded.
“Okay. Let's try it out.”
Saba held out a hand, rough palm up.
Wysteria stared at it. A flurry of emotions and thoughts raced behind her eyes. She reached out her own hand and grasped.
Saba's heart leapt up into her throat.
