Page 96 of Lore of the Tides

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It would be another full day’s hike before they would reach the griffin nesting grounds. Lore’s calves were sore from traversing the desert. Most of the ground was rock hard, but there had been a few dunes they’d had to climb. Soft, deceitful powdered sand that threatened to trip her up. More than once, she’d skidded back down the dunes, the sand slippery, and she’d had to make the climb back up.

When they finally reached the top of one slope, they had to climb down the other side before reaching the next. The mountain itself was layered rock. Stripes of golds, pinks, and oranges. It would be beautiful if Lore wasn’t close to tears.

Pytheah, who was trying not to show her frustration at Lore’s slow pace, had begun to fill the hours with stories of her travels. She’d been all over the world. She’d explored continents Lore had never even heard of and fallen in love with towns so small they hadn’t earned their spot on a map yet.

Pytheah’s stories got Lore through the worst of it.

The second day was easier; when Finndryl saw the sorry state of Lore’s palms and fingers (she dared not use the book in front of Pytheah, though she could have healed herself with magic), he fashioned her a pair of gloves from one of his vests. He hadn’t had much time before even his fae eyes had to stop sewing due to the darkness as the fire was banked and the clouds covered the moon and stars. But the next morning, he fit the gloves around Lore’s hands, and she was able to climb more easily.

Pytheah didn’t have to wait as long for Lore to catch up.

The third night in the Golden Cascades, Lore curled into the fetal position, pulling her legs up to her chest. Her monthlies had started, and fierce throbbing cramps were attacking her insides. She was glad that she had prepared for this time of the month with cloth strips sewn together, but she wished she had remembered to bring ginger and lemon tea to help with the cramping.

She’d asked Pytheah during their bathroom break (they usually went together for fear of some desert monster choosing that time to eat them) if she had any, but Pytheah was an orc and bled very rarely. She wasn’t due for another half-decade or so.

The fae and their magical cousins had it better in every damned way; even their uteruses treated them better.

So here she was, biting her lip, curled up with her back to the fire, trying not to appear as miserable as she was.

Without prompting, Finndryl slid in behind her, molding his body to hers.

“You are in pain,” he murmured into her ear. It was not a question.

“Yes, my body chooses to betray me once a month. I have half a theory that it’s punishing me for not getting pregnant.”

“Where does it hurt?”

“My stomach, mostly. Here.” Lore moaned, squeezing her eyes shut as a particularly bad cramp attacked her. She felt a little like her insides were being twisted with knitting needles.

Some months were worse than others. Some months she barely cramped, barely felt her emotions change at all. And then there were times like this. When everything made her want to cry, rage, or shout. Fatigue weighed her body down; doubts clouded her mind.

Finndryl reached around her and placed his hand on her belly. His hand was warm, hot from his magic even, and the heat immediately helped her muscles relax.

She sighed into her bedroll.

“When my sister’s cycle comes, I don’t usually see her for a week. But I know that heat helps her, so I thought...”

“Yes, you thought right. Can you make your hand even hotter?”

Finndryl used his newfound magic to push more heat into her—guiding it beyond her skin and threading it through her muscles. Lore sighed with happiness. Her cramps had turned to a dull pain, one that anyone with a uterus could manage without a second thought.

Lore whispered, “Finn?”

“Yes?” His breath tickled her ear in the best way.

“Can you sleep with me tonight?” she asked. “Unless this makes you tired.”

Finndryl tightened his hold around her, shifting her closer to him. “This is easy for me; I’ve been practicing control over my magic while we walk.”

Lore huffed a quiet laugh. “Of course you are. I’m trying not to fall to my death, and you act as if you are on a casual stroll.”

“Stop complaining; this adventure was your idea, remember?” His chuckle sent vibrations through her back. She nuzzled closer. “But as I was saying, I’ve been practicing, and warming you up shouldn’t tire me out at all. Only let me know if it gets too hot—I don’t want to burn you.”

“I would gladly accept burns, I think. If it meant I didn’t have to feel that pain anymore.”

“That... is concerning.”