Page 47

She looked cramped with her back against the wall and her body slipping to the right, which was the way her head had fallen. Orson remained cuddled in her lap with her lithe arms around them to keep them secure.

He looked over her summer outfit, consisting of a dirt-stained cream tunic and brown breeches. From the memories he’d sifted through, women wearing such masculine attire was uncommon for the humans – although not so for the Elvish. He figured she’d forgone dresses for ease of travel.

Her boots lay next to her, sheltered from the wet that had long passed.

They were exceptionally worn. Her hair was neat, recently washed and brushed and, although her bangs were down, the rest had been thrown up in some kind of simple updo that created a fluffy cloud on the back of her head.

She’d seemed content to use its softness against the hardness of the uneven rock behind her.

With his mind, he directed the disc to zero in on her relaxed face so he could inspect it in closer detail.

Her long, dark, and curling lashes created a fan of shadow over her cheeks.

Her round nose tip had the tiniest mar of soot on it, likely from some stray ash fluttering away from her dying campfire.

Her lips were open just slightly, revealing even teeth and a pink little tongue as she gave light, steady breaths of sleep.

Her cheekbones were high, her jaw subtly defined, while her brows were arched and prominent. Her features were... distinctive, from what he could gather, and exceptionally feminine. Made more so by her full, soft-looking lips, and the smooth quality of her brown skin.

Her beauty is quite beguiling. The further he looked through human memories of the souls trapped within Tenebris, the more he found her incomparable.

Even her eyes, although hidden from him in that moment, were such a rich brown with amber flecks in them that they looked like pools of molten liquid.

And that gaze of hers... he’d seen it harden over the years.

She used to appear so wide-eyed and bewildered, so lost and unsure. Now, her eyes held a steadiness in them he found quite attractive. She knew what she wanted, what she wanted to do, and no longer seemed to be denying herself.

Lindiwe’s eyes flickered open just long enough that she, half aware, repositioned herself so she was lying upon the rock on her side.

She gathered Orson to her chest and snuggled them with her nose buried into the back of their neck.

Once more, her eyelids drifted closed with her knees pulled up around Orson.

I like watching her interact with our offspring.

She gave them both affection, despite Nathair’s unwillingness to reciprocate or allow her close enough to even pat his back. He appreciated the lengths she was going to, tending to them in her own way, as it was more than he had expected of her, or any human mate.

She’s keeping this one young to remain with them for as long as possible. He found that oddly tender.

He eyed the line of her hourglass figure, and how her new position made her side more curved than normal. Her backside was round and tight against her pants, and he tried to appreciate it like many other human males seemed to.

He found it to be a pointless endeavour. He’d never be able to feel its ‘squish’ in the palm of his hand like a physical being.

Once her light breaths resumed and she grew limp, he saw no point in peering into his viewing disc anymore.

He waved to dismiss it and turned to the pink flower in his hand.

The petals had a satin finish, and he wondered if it was supposed to be that way or if they should be glossy like a leaf.

He inspected it with a brush of his thumb, watching the way it moulded to his touch.

Every detail of his realm was scrutinised thoroughly.

Every new flower species, every different blade of grass, to even the way a mountain was formed and the kind of rock that created it, was carefully sculptured. Such attention took much of his time.

He strived for perfection, as he was an imperfect thing. He wanted utter completion, as he was an incomplete being. He wanted it to be real, despite neither of them really being so.

It felt like he’d only just finished his first thumb stroke when Lindiwe’s voice rang loud and clear. His name, a linked call, was the only thing that could break through his concentration.

He only hastened his pace to bring forth the viewing disc at the frantic tone of his name being called a second time.

“Yes, Lindiwe?” he asked, before it fully formed – the image of her murky but steadily clearing.

“They’re gone!” she shouted, her hair heavy, wet, and clinging to her neck and shoulders as she climbed out of Nathair’s lake. “Orson and Nathair are gone!”

From what Weldir could tell, in the mere second he’d been inspecting the pink flower petals, many hours had passed. The sky was clear of clouds, revealing bright stars and a falling crescent moon. The area was bathed in light, rather than shaded by an encroaching new night.

“I’ll find them,” Weldir informed her, whooshing his mind forward to create two more discs.

In his periphery, Lindi’s drenched form knelt on the side of the deep lake before she shakily rose to her feet.

She lagged, her clothing clinging to her torso and limbs, as she wrung the water out of her hair before pushing it away from her worried, crinkled face.

Had she dived into the lake in search of Nathair, only to find him missing?

It wouldn’t be the first time Nathair had tried to bring Orson into his favourite place, although Lindiwe was usually quick to stop him.

With his family bond to his offspring, despite the distance and skew of realms, Weldir was able to locate them. The discs brought up their images, overlapping to show they were so close to each other that there was no gap between them.

“They are together. Orson clings to Nathair’s back as they travel through a forest. There is a mountain range in the distance to their right.”

Weldir was unable to tell whether Nathair was aware he had his sibling on his back or not, or if it had been intentional.

He also observed how far the strings of their essences were from Lindiwe, being forever intertwined with her.

“They are quite a distance from you,” he told her. “Northwest from where you are.”

Lindiwe turned to the cliff before her. “How far?”

“I cannot give you a correct estimate. Perhaps a hundred kilometres, or slightly less.”

Her jaw dropped as her eyes bowed in obvious distress. She turned incorporeal to float up the side of the cliff. With her face lifted towards the sky, he could tell by her clenching and unclenching fists that the pace was too sluggish for her.

“How did they get so far in only a few hours?” she muttered in a grouchy whine.

“You forget how fast Nathair can be. He must have left with Orson not long after you fell asleep.”

And not long after Weldir had stopped watching her.

When Lindiwe finally reached the top of the cliff, she didn’t turn physical. Instead, she used the ease and freedom of her Phantom form to cut through trees rather than go around them, saving time as she sped through the surrounding forests.

No matter how fast she was, it was slow in comparison to Nathair, who chased after a scent on the wind.

“Are they safe?” she asked, peering up at the moon occasionally to ensure she was heading in the right direction.

“They are together, but Nathair’s orbs are red. He is hunting.”

“Damnit,” she snapped, seeming to go faster than he thought possible. “Do you know what he’s after?”

In the intertwined discs with black misting borders, it wasn’t long before he watched them come upon a herd of cattle, unfenced, free, and wild. They lazed in an open field asleep, only to spook at Nathair’s growl, and they scrambled up on wobbly legs in a rush to flee.

He tilted his head as he inspected the mostly brown, bulky creatures. “I believe humans call them cows?”

A creature gave a lowing snort and tossed their head as they presented their large horns to ward Nathair back. It was the only one with horns on its head, and Weldir assumed it to be a male for that reason, although its bigger size compared to the others of its herd was another indication.

It protectively charged when Nathair slithered closer.

The battle was over quickly; the bull, although large and strong, was slow and easily caught with a mere tackle and fang lance. Yet Nathair, struck with excitement from fleeing prey, was quick to charge after the females.

Orson, attracted by the scent of blood coming from the male, was left behind when they leapt off to scuttle towards easy food. They stayed behind to eat.

The discs unlinked from their conjoined state so both his offspring could stay in his sight. Nathair seemed set on a particular female cow, while the others ran in opposite directions, the night filled with terrified lowing.

Weldir’s mind was able to soak in the information from all three discs effortlessly, and he watched them all at the same time.

Nathair claimed his prize, and without any of the other cows in his line of sight to distract him, he began to consume it.

Lindiwe continued to float through the forest, but Weldir could tell that she wasn’t close by.

“Lindiwe, Orson is...”

“No,” she whispered. “Are they okay?”

“They are eating a horned male. If Nathair doesn’t come to claim his prize, then they will consume it in full. They are already growing quite large.”

“Fuck!” she screeched, throwing her hands up with rigid fingers. Weldir’s mist collected tighter, unused to this usually prim female swearing so ferociously. “I wanted to be there when they gained their horns. Is there anything you can do to stop it? Anything at all?”

No, there was nothing.

“I’m sorry, little female.”

“But...” Her voice broke, leaping an octave higher, as her eyes crinkled in obvious sadness. “But I wanted to say goodbye to them as they are.”

The right side of his face tightened with pressure, and his reflection in the disc showed he’d winced.

She merely wanted to be there in their final hour as a youngling.

Weldir couldn’t fathom what it was like going through all these different ordeals, especially as her emotional ties to them were so much more profound than his.

He was just as detached as they were.

Nathair, finished with his meal, slithered back towards the carcass his sibling ate at. He didn’t fight them for it, as if he didn’t even seem to notice their very presence or perhaps didn’t care.

The cool hue of the moon’s fading light glistened upon Orson’s white bear skull as their newly formed tail, long and thin with a furry tuft at the end, flicked to the side.

They swiftly ate their way to the bull’s upward-jutting horns, quick to consume them before Nathair could steal the head for himself.