"Miach, see to the horses," Adhémar ordered. "Morgan and I are going to train."
Morgan watched as Adhémar walked off, rolling his shoulders and swinging his arms about as if he prepared for heavy exercise indeed, and wished she had said him nay.
Miach took the reins out of her hands. "You needn't do this, if you'd rather not."
"I'll humor him," Morgan said, draping her cloak over her saddle and unfastening her sword from the same. "Perhaps it will shut him up."
"We couldn't be so fortunate," Miach muttered. "But if anyone can manage it, it will be you. Go to, gel, and earn us some peace.
He reached out and patted her shoulder, then led her horse away.
Morgan smiled inside, then turned and walked over to where Adhémar was boasting proudly of his accomplishments with the sword to no one in particular. Morgan couldn't bring herself to sort out truth from wishing anymore with this tool. She let his babbling wash over her and set to her labors.
She fought with him until the sun was well into the afternoon and he determined that to train any longer would put a strain on her. She sent him oft, sweating and panting heavily, to find lunch. She went oft to find Miach.
He was sitting on a fallen log, staring off into the distance as if he saw something she could not. She had wondered absently if he slept with his eyes open and unseeing. Now, she could see that he was most certainly awake, but very, very far away. She didn't dare disturb him. Something poured off him; the echo of something that she might have called magic if she hadn't known better. Perhaps hewasdreaming and his nightmares were of the same stuff as hers. Whatever the case, she thought it best to leave him be.
But she couldn't bring herself to move away from him.
So she sat very quietly and found herself unwholesomely glad to have that place. Was it familial affection? She couldn't have said for certain, not having had a brother.
She suspected it was something far different.
She found herself wanting to be near him, to talk to him, to watch him smile to himself when something amused him. She liked it when he put his hand on her hair, or when he pulled her up by her hand and ran with her.
And why not? He was, she could admit quite objectively, actually rather more handsome than his brother, but in a quieter sort of way. She imagined that Adhémar would eventually go to fat. He would likely sit in his chair in his old age and tell his greatly embellished stories in a very loud voice. Miach would be harvesting turnips or something else useful until the day he died.
Besides, she liked the laughter that seemed to ever run beneath the surface of his eyes, even when they were bloodshot or serious.
"Spells, now?" Adhémar boomed.
Morgan was so startled, she jumped. Miach was so startled, he fell backward off the log and landed with his feet up in the air. Morgan glared at Adhémar but received a conspiratorial wink in return. She found nothing at all amusing or inviting about that wink, so she shot him another glare, then hauled Miach back up right. He looked quite dazed.
"Miach?" she asked. "Are you well?"
"Fine," he said promptly. "I'm fine. I should go."
"I'll come with you," Morgan said.
"But the spells," Adhémar protested. "Wouldn't you care to have another one or two at your command?"
"Later," she said, standing up and pulling Miach with her. She looked at him. "Walk or ride?"
"Ride."
She followed him because she feared not to. He looked almost fey, as if the slightest thing would have plunged him to a world where she would not have been able to call him back. He saddled both their horses before Morgan could gather her wits to help him. He boosted her up into her saddle and swung up into his.
"Where?" she began, but there was apparently no need to ask. Reannag seemed determined to follow his brother, leaving Morgan having nothing to do but hold on and hope she would manage it for as long as was needful.
Miach was, she could admit without shame, the far superior rider. Indeed, it seemed as if horse and rider were one, each knowing what the other intended so there was no need for commands. There came a time that Morgan suspected Miach would have given his horse wings if he'd been able to. Morgan envied him his skill. Perhaps when he was in a less frenzied state, he would be willing to teach her how he did it.
They rode until the sun was setting, though the horses were not winded and seemed fully prepared to continue on. She was, therefore, very grateful when they reached camp again, her horse stopped, and she was able to slide down to the ground. She rested her head against her horse's neck and sucked in great breaths full of horse and sweet night air.
Miach jumped down off his horse and held out his hand for her reins. "I'll walk the horses."
"So will I," she said, holding on to her reins. She absolutely refused to be subjected to the companionship of Adhémar alone by the fire. She shooed Miach on ahead. "Reannag and I will follow you. I'll do what you do."
Miach looked over her head at his brother, then looked at her and smiled faintly. "I see."
