Page 27 of A Fae’s Guide to Tactical Botany

“I did not—” Mara huffed and fled into the sand, refusing to continue the foolish children’s argument.

She did not fetch everything Ethan would need, not on this trip, just his cooler, the sunshade, and the large first-aid kit he’d left at his camp that morning. It was later in the day than she’d realized, though there were yet a few hours until the sun would depart. She would need to fetch his tent before sunset, and his air mattress, perhaps…

Ah, gods, she was nurturing him now. How ridiculous. She should make him walk down the hill and drive away despite his injuries, her only concession to his humanity unbarring his downward passage so he could leave.

But even as she thought it, she knew she would not do it. She was already heavy with guilt at his injury, and while she still did not like Ethan, she would also dislike herself more if she were to treat him so.

When she returned, he was fussing with the fabric ties at his hips, though his fingers were slack and shaky. His eyes were closed again.

“Lie still,” she said sharply, depositing her burdens beside him. “And open your eyes.”

“You’re back,” he said. “I was waiting for you.”

“You are unable to walk.” She went to her knees and opened the first aid kit, frowning at it. How did one bandage a head wound when there was hair in the way? Did she need to shave his head? Such a waste, she thought, and then grimaced at the thought. It was just hair, and she cared about it as little as she cared about him. “You had no choice but to wait.”

“No,” he said stubbornly. “I wasn’t just waiting waiting. I mean, I was. Obviously. But this was specific waiting. You had to be here for this.” He cleared his throat.

“I am trying to—”

“Maraaa!” he bellowed, reaching high as if in supplication. His cry echoed off the hills around them. “I curse this, the day of my defeat at your hands! You have won and I have lost! I concede my defeat! Maraaa!” He flopped his arms back to his sides. “Ow. Does that do it?”

Why did she suddenly want to cry? “I suppose.”

“Sorry it was a little weak. I can try again when the world stops spinning.” He glanced at her sidelong. “It just seemed a waste not to do it now, when I have two uncaring skies.”

“There is only one sky,” she said, looking at her fingers riffling uselessly through the packaged bandages. She should choose one.

“Usually,” he agreed affably, then fell silent, closing his eyes again.

It should feel blissful, the silence. It was all Mara had wanted for days, to be alone with the buzz of bees and the calls of desert birds. But instead it was oppressive. Unnatural. Peaceful nature might be her own natural setting, but it felt wrong for Ethan. Another reason why he should have left long ago. He made her feel that she herself should speak, made her want to break the silence with—

“I’m not asleep,” he said.

“I…did not think you were.”

“I know I’m not…supposed to sleep with a concussion. But I feel like Dracula, you know? The light, it buuurns.”

“I’m sor—” Mara stopped the apology on her lips. She was not sorry! This was his own fault! “I have your sunshade,” she grumbled instead. “I suppose I could set it up.”

“Thank you,” he said in a soft voice, sighing when the shade was in place. “You are a goddess among women.”

“I am not a goddess.”

“I was being metaphorically complimentary,” he said, voice slightly slurred. He turned his head slightly from side to side. “How bad is it? Do we need to amputate?”

Mara rolled her eyes. “You wish me to amputate your head? Gladly.”

“Ooh, tough crowd.” He chuckled and linked his hands over his stomach. “Give it to me straight, doc. What’s the diagnosis?”

“I…” She huffed out an annoyed breath. “I do not know what to do. There are too many different bandages, and you have too much hair.”

He turned his head to the side, regarding her. Now that he was not in the bright sunlight, his eyes were a gentler color, and there was a surprising softness to them. “Is there a lot of blood?”

“Some, but not…” She gestured vaguely. “Not a dangerous amount.”

“And how long was I out?”

“A minute? Perhaps two.”