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“I trust your sense, Tessa,” he said softly as the incline grew steeper. “You know this village better than I and have seen many orc battles if I’m not mistaken.”
I nod back. My calves are beginning to strain as we climb up the hill.
“They aren’t the most clever bunch, but I don’t think they get enough credit,” I said, my breath beginning to heave as we climbed. “They use that assumption against us. That is how they easily infiltrate. It’s when our guard is down, and we expect little of them.”
Varzig has huge strides, so he gets to the top of the mound a good sixty seconds before I do. He stands there, solitary and noble, his big body a magnificent silhouette under the glittery moon.
He holds out a hand to me, not with chivalry or any form of manipulative intent. I can see it in his eyes. He simply wants an excuse to touch me.
I take it, my tiny paw like a jewel in an open sea of his clutches.
“There you go,” he said softly as I settled next to him. “This is all vital information for me, Tessa. Thank you.”
I feel his hand lingering on mine. It doesn’t feel like any hand I’ve ever touched before. It’s scaled like a snake, but it isn’t unpleasant. His thumb strokes mine for a moment, then he lets go, letting his arm dangle a mere breath away from my own.
He clears his throat and looks out beyond the hill. The landscape is a mystical beauty at the late hour. I watch as his eyes narrow, looking out and analyzing any potential battlegrounds.
Before he speaks, he lifts a hand and flows one long finger over the land like a painter over a canvas. The strokes are mesmerizing. Only some sections of the scenery are visible due to the silvers of moonlight peeking through the chrome-gray clouds.
“The forest beyond is a great hideaway. I’m sure you know that,” he says, maintaining a direct and casual tone. “The canopies of the trees make for great camps, but the flicker of torchlight will make them quickly visible.”
Varzig moves his finger over from the tree line, over the clear and delineated pathway that leads into the village, and circles in the air like a whimsical sorcerer over another steep hill to the West.
“You will only see your enemy after it’s too late if they choose to approach in that direction,” he says. “If they are as unexpectedly capable as you say they are, they may lure you in with torchlight by the forest, then approach over yonder. That would be my tactic, anyway.”
My heart beats like a stampede of tauras at the thought of another battle, but I nod, securing the feeling away for when imminent danger is present.
“That is helpful, Varzig,” I said, looking over the moon-spilled scene.
I feel his eyes on me, and my chest begins to move up and down, no longer with fear but with that lustful sense of being observed. My hair is tied in a loose braid, and a few wisps of hair are stuck to my forehead, swaying lightly in the brush of night air.
I don’t want to look at him. I’m afraid of what I will see, afraid that it will just be exactly what I need.
“I’m sure you’ve thought of that before,” he said softly. “A storyteller like you has the advantage of an imagination.”
I let out a scoffing belly laugh, and it eases my tension.
“Oh, Varzig, you are generous,” I reply. “I don’t know if I’d be of any help in the ways of war.”
“Don’t underestimate yourself,” he said, his voice growing sweeter by the second. “I’ve heard things about your tales as I moved around the village. They’re rather charming, I find.”
I turn to him, and a smirk strikes across my face. He looks slightly alarmed at the sight of my face, likely wind-chafed and exhausted from the tense days behind us.
“Heard things?” I said, grinning. “From Demi, I presume?”
The look of alarm on his handsome face melts away, and he nods. “She told me a few of yours and a few of the elder, Abigail’s.”
The sound of her name makes my heart ache, and I turn back to the landscape, my throat beginning to dry up with grief. It’s a feeling that is, and will likely remain, ineffable, won’t it? That sensation of loss, of bursting presence, the air that is stolen from your lungs when you recall the part they played in your life is over.
Varzig senses my sorrow and touches my wrist. I cannot look at him again because I’m exposed, and exposure often leads to behavior that is not quite thought out.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I realize that she must have meant a lot to you.”
I nod, a shudder of recognition moving through my body.
“She was the only person that made me feel any sense of hope,” my breath was emerging from my chest like a ghost. “Her stories gave me permission to form my own, to dream beyond the life I’ve been forced into. It was such a gift that I fear I hadn’t thanked her for enough.”
My words sound foreign to my own ears, and the understanding of reality rose up through me, settling at the center of my chest, as it always seems to.
