Page 129 of Starside

But slowly, the cold of the fog falls away, slipping off my skin, melting from my bones as I walk through the forest in quiet awe. Something about this place feels just like the Bone Woods … Ancient. Untouched. Yet instead of piercing, cold dread, all I feel here is steady warmth. It’s not just the sun, which felt absent in the fog. No. The trees are so tall, they cast so much shade, that sunlight is shredded into glimmering ribbons, unraveling through the woods.

It’s something else. A warmth from the nature, maybe. A pulse like a heartbeat.

We keep walking. Raker’s posture never changes. But about an hour later, he stiffens. Turns. I hear it.

The gentle lapping of water. I don’t even wait for him. My feet are snapping against twigs and kicking up dirt as I run toward the sound, and then suddenly, I’m kneeling by a creek. Perfectly clear water. Finally. I could laugh. I could cry. I take it by the handful, drinking from my palms, washing my face. My back is still crusted in blood.

The stream isn’t deep, but it’s enough water to bathe.

I turn toward Raker, who is approaching with far less vigor. He’s covered in blood too. But none of it has reached his skin except for his hands, not with the armor, hood, and mask. I open my mouth. Close it. Decide it’s not worth the trouble of asking.

But he’s already reaching into his pack. I hear something break and nearly collapse in shock as he presents a piece of his soap. Before I can say a single word, he tosses it at me. It lands in my lap.

His soap. The one I like so much. I blink, not able to find the words. Not knowing how he possibly just did something that resembles a kindness. Before I can attempt to thank him, he says, “You need it.”

Then he turns to leave.

Even his insult can’t breach my happiness. I breathe his soap in, and sigh. Mine, I think. All mine.

When I can’t hear Raker’s metallic steps through the woods anymore, I begin to take my clothes off piece by piece.

The fabric sticks to my skin, bound by the dried blood. It peels off painfully. Raker’s right. I stink. But with just a few scrubs with his soap, the blood clears. My hair is smooth again. I tie it back into my normal style, letting the braid hang down today, then I wash my clothes, before unfolding them to dry.

As I wait, I lie against the rocks, sighing into the stone, letting the shallow, gentle rush of the water smooth across my body. Across my markings. It’s strange, being out in the open, with all of me showing. But Raker’s far away. These woods are silent.

I need—I just need a moment to rest and remind myself that I am alive.

I survived. No, we survived. The last weeks are a haze, filled with thirst and hunger and pain and blood. So much blood.

I stare at the sky and melt further into the rocks. This world has taken bites of me. I can feel them. It has gnawed at my confidence. It has chewed through all my assumptions. It has punched holes through my fear.

I’ve only been here twenty days, yet I feel transformed. Like years have been folded into moments. Seconds of bravery, of skill, of foolishness that determined my fate.

I feel like those pieces at the forge, scraps of metal that Stellan and I would give a second life—smelt into a completely new sword. I’m not sure what I’ve turned into, but I know that I am not the same.

And some of those new pieces, some of those shards of strength I found in this world … they were forged by Raker. They were forged from flames that rose in response to the taunts, to the figure it out, to the moments he didn’t interfere, forcing me to rise by myself. Forcing me to dig into the trenches of my soul and claw out the embers of my strength.

I curse him. I thank him.

I don’t know how I expected to make it to the gods. But now, for the first time, I feel like I really could.

A flash of movement has me sitting up, breath caught in my throat, water parting around me.

I reach for my blade … and promptly let my grip sag.

I watch a glowing, translucent horse gallop through the forest—then disappear in a curl of mist.

I blink. Just when I’ve convinced myself I imagined it, the horse appears again, several feet in front of where it disappeared, sparkling silver trailing behind it, like a star-swept breeze.

Its hooves gently clop upon the forest floor, before it stills. It turns—and spots me. As its eyes bore into mine, I don’t feel a single ounce of fear. Maybe I should. Especially as the horse canters in my direction, stopping only at the edge of the stream.

This could be another illusion, I think. Another beautiful thing I’m supposed to fear.

Slowly, I rise from the water. I keep my sword in my grip, just in case. I walk over toward the horse, expecting it to be spooked.

But as I get closer, it simply dips its head. And my silver markings glimmer beneath a stream of sunlight as I reach out to touch it.

It’s cold as ice. Its mane is soft as silk. Its fur is coarse. I smooth my hand between its eyes, and it huffs out of its nose.