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“It was cold.” He merely shrugged.
“You don’t have to do this.” Anthea took the cup from him.
“Do what?”
“Coddle me. I’m not as fragile as you think I am. A little chill won’t kill me.”
Eldrion raked a hand through his black hair, a strand falling onto his handsome face. “I know that, Anthea—You were cold, I wasn’t. That’s all it was.”
“Still. I don’t appreciate the special treatment.” The lie slipped out before she could catch it. Truth was—she was thankful, thankful for the extra warmth his cloak had provided. But she just couldn’t stomach the thought of him thinking of her as needy and fragile. It was clear enough—she was the weakest link. Anthea didn’t need it to be spelled out.
Eldrion took a slight step back. “I am sorry if I offended you.”
“Eldrion, you didn’t. I just?—”
She was cut off by Haldrian emerging from the rain. “The path ahead is slippery. We won’t make it to the cave before night fall.” He threw a slight glance at her way.
“Then we’ll make camp and reach it tomorrow.” Eldrion had turned away from her.
“The next valley is riddled with patrols,” Syrafina said next to the small fire. She had been warming her hands.
“We’ll find somewhere safe.” Eldrion was unyielding.
Anthea knew it was because of her. She couldn’t keep the pace. She was the slow one. The one they all had to accommodate. Blinking away angry tears, she gulped down her porridge. She wouldn’t make them wait for her any longer than necessary.
After breakfast, and after everyone had packed their supplies, they continued moving. They had another mountain pass to cross.
The group moved in the same formation as the day before.
It was cold and wet. Heavy rain poured down on them. Anthea had been drenched the moment she had stepped outside the rock overhang.
She pushed herself harder than the day before—kept her focus on the muddy ground, kept insisting they keep moving when someone proposed taking a break, and if they did take a break, Anthea forced herself up sooner than she was ready.
Gritting her teeth and counting steps, she pushed forward. Her legs burned with every step, muscles ached, and head pounded until she felt nauseous—but she kept pushing forward, refusing to be a crutch for the others.
It was working. They were making better time than the day before.
After a brief lunch, they continued further up—Anthea could see the mountain pass. If she just willed her legs to move faster, they could make it in no time.
Then, she stumbled, hitting her knees on a hard rock. Anthea cried out in pain. Eldrion was there in an instant, supporting her elbow and helping her up.
“I’m fine,” she lied.
“Do you need to rest?”
“No!” She yanked her arm from his grasp and continued moving, pretending that every step didn’t hurt.
She made it to two hundred and thirty steps before she stumbled again. This time she didn’t make it to the ground; Eldrion caught her before that.
Another sixty three steps and she slipped again, strong grip on her elbow steadying her.
She blinked away angry tears—why won’t her fucking legs work?
“Go ahead and make camp!” The sharp order came from the elf still gripping her elbow.
“There’s still plenty of daylight left,” Beldor said from the front. “We can make it to the pass.”
“No! We are done for today.”
