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My Brooks looks away from me, distance still in her eyes, and I know I have done right to draw back. She is no longer shaking, and so I should let her go entirely. Selfishly, I do not want to, every part of me aching to hold her closer, not let her get away. But I sit back, leaving only my hand on her leg just beneath her knee. Easy enough for her to pull away from such a touch if she desires.
She does not move, and I take some quiet delight in this.
“Do not worry, my Brooks. Whatever challenges lie ahead, I will help you with them. And with no expectations in my heartspace. I will help you because I know how it feels to have failed to protect someone in your care.”
She looks back at me, her brows furrowing as she examines my face.
“You do know, don’t you? You’re not just saying that.”
I sigh. I would rather not have my female know my shame so soon into our acquaintance. But she deserves the truth from me in this. I would not try to hide it from her.
She will hate you for it, the voice tries, but the words do not manage to cut. My Brooks might consider me weak, a poor warrior. Such feelings from her would cut at me, but I am quite certain ‘hate’ will not feature in her emotions. Not when her eyes still shimmer with the strength of her feelings about her own failings. Failings she cannot even remember. That she cannot even be sure have happened.
She knows how much it breaks a warrior’s heartspace to fail to do his duty. I suspect she knows that however ill she thinks of me could not compare to how ill I think of myself. Because her turmoil, her upset, tells me her own feelings run similar to mine. And I could never hate her. Compassion only rises in my heartspace for her plight, and it soothes my own hurts to think that our feelings and experiences may well be mirrored in this also.
“I was charged with the care of one of my tribe sisters,” I say, my voice a little thick. “A human female called Sam. She is sweet and kind and very small. Not well equipped to deal with the dangers of the forest. We were travelling to visit with another tribe - to persuade them to join their strength with ours so that all our sisters might be better protected. Our chieftess thought they might be better persuaded if they saw what it was they were being asked to protect, and I think she was right in this. But I wish-” I swallow down my rising emotions. “-I wish that the idea had never occurred to her. That I had travelled alone to Walset.”
I focus on the memory, conjuring an image of Sam into the dreamspace. At first, the dreamspace cycles through a few different memories - walking through the forest, Sam smiling up at me, finding pretty stones in the river for her collection. Then Sam winning over Walset’s tribe, using the power she had to befriend anyone, even without speaking their language. Then that night, the attack by Basran’s tribe. Hurrying Sam away from the camp, trying to keep her from their hands. Several of Basran’s brothers coming upon us at once.
Telling her in the only words I had to run.
My Brooks is silent as she watches the scenes play out, even when it comes to the moment of finding Sam’s pack abandoned on the ground, blood on the floor beside it.
“We searched for her, of course we did,” I say. “But the big rains were upon us and they washed away all trails. We searched, but we knew in our heartspaces it was an impossible task, that our precious sister was lost to us. Her safety was my responsibility, and I let her be taken.”
My Brooks looks at me, brow furrowed, eyes narrowed.
“What did they say in your mission debrief?” she says.
“Mission debrief?”
“You know, your superior officer? What did they have to say about how the mission went down?”
“My tribe chief?”
I think of Gregar’s attempts to console me, to convince me that the blame for Sam’s taking did not lie at my feet. He did not even question me about my actions, convinced already that I had done everything in my power.
My Brooks shakes her head, making an impatient noise. She shifts so she is no longer sitting across me, but beside me. Spreading her hands wide, she raises two fingers on each, then draws them together. It is as if she grips the memory, shrinking it down so the view of the forest, of my brawl with Basran’s tribe, is tiny in front of us. Around us, we are back in the blank, white room.
She moves the memory to the space between us, one hand beneath the scene, one above it. She moves her fingers, manipulating the memory so it winds backwards to the moment of waking Sam in the tent. All this she does so naturally, as if reversing memories is something she has done many times before. I am so busy marvelling at this that when she speaks, it almost makes me jump.
“Okay. Talk me through it. You’re both asleep in the tent?”
“No. I had taken the first watch, so was awake when the attack came.”
“In the tent or outside?”
“Outside.”
“Then let’s go further back.”
She swipes her hand across the memory, sending it even further back into things I have not shown her. With another flick of her fingers, it starts playing out in the correct direction. Me on my watch, hearing the alarm raised by one of Walset’s brothers. Immediately running to Sam.
“From here, then. You’re on watch, and someone alerts you to the approaching hostiles. Then?”
“Then I go straight to the tent I was sharing with Sam.”
“Why?” Her tone is not accusatory, just firm.
