I cast my gaze over the moist ground, peering at the blinding white of the snow, and spy a set of tracks moving off to the south. Did he leave me behind?
That’s when I hear a whistle in the woods, faint and certainly far off but high enough in pitch to be heard over the rustling of the trees and the pattering of clumps of snow falling from heavy-laden tree boughs. The returning whistle is lower in pitch and staccato in rhythm.
I stand and listen as two more back and forth calls drift my way and then silence returns to the land. I work to busy myself around the camp, beating as much moisture as I can from Bastien’s bedding before rolling it up.
I change into a new uniform, staring longingly at my camo pants, but I know with the new chill on the air, I will need the insulation the uniform offers. Winding my hair into a bun, I draw the hood of my jacket up over my head to keep the small flakes falling from the sky from sliding down my neck.
I nearly have the tent packed away when Bastien returns with a handful of glossy, purplish berries. It looks like they had at one time been encased in ice. Judging by the bright-red patch on his palms, he used his own body heat to melt them. “Breakfast is served.”
He dumps over half of the berries into my open palms and tosses the rest back. A small bubble of purple bursts between his lips, staining them momentarily. The corners of my lips twitch into a smile before I lower my gaze. “Friends of yours?”
“Scouts. We’re closer than I thought. Must’ve taken a shortcut through the foothills and brought us out on the wrong side. No wonder I didn’t find camp last night.”
“Do we need to go back?” I ask. Supplies are in greater abundance than they were the year before, what with our supply lines better manned as more soldiers continue to mutiny against Drakon, but we never needlessly abandon resources if we can help it.
“No, a truck will be dispatched to collect it. We need to get you back to base. The sooner we arrive, the sooner we can go after Drakon.”
I wipe my hands clean on the sides of my pants, thankful that the purple stain won't show through the black material. I wish I could say the same for my hands, but at least breakfast wasn't wolf again.
If I’m not exhausted by the time we stop tonight, I’m going to go hunting. I could really go for roasted rabbit right about now.
“You ready?”
“Yeah.” I reach for my pack, but Bastien is already there, snatching it away to sling over his back. His hair is lightly dusted with snow. Droplets drip from the spiked ends onto the bridge of his nose as we brush down the campsite to clear away any signs of our stay.
Even though this area is well within our territory, we can’t be too careful. A rogue Sky Ship could easily spot a campsite from above if poorly attended.
The snows come and go throughout the day, falling in sprints of thick blankets and then fading away to nothing more than a faint trickle of flakes. The hike keeps us fairly warm and the slick terrain helps me remain focused, but when lunch rolls around and we stop to eat, I find myself longing to sit alone.
Thankfully, Bastien doesn’t seem to be in a talking mood either. He spends his time fiddling with the zip of my pack, his gaze averted. I can tell he is lost in thought and wonder if he’s thinking about our conversation last night.
The forest is quiet today, the birds nestled in their trees to weather the storm. The sound of our boots crunching becomes monotonous as we walk, heads bowed against the winds. I had hoped by heading south we would reach slightly warmer weather, but so far the tip of the southern borders have been less than welcoming.
From time to time, I hear the call of a hawk spiraling high overhead. I consider asking Bastien to stop to check out the newly killed animal to see if the meat is still usable, but I remain silent. I’ll suffer through another meal of wolf meat if it allows me to keep the peace.
I envy the birds, swooping and gliding on the driving winds, viewing the world from an angle I haven’t seen in a long time. I haven’t flown since the day we attacked Drakon. A part of me wonders if I’m even capable of it anymore, but I still remember the feeling of the wind whipping through my hair. The feeling of freedom and weightlessness.
You aren’t the only one that can fly, I think as I stare at the hard set of Bastien’s shoulders as I walk behind him. I know he is angry. I just can’t decide if that emotion is entirely pointed in my direction or if he has reserved a bit of it for himself.
The snows rise over my ankles, making our hike more arduous. With each step, I can feel myself wearing down, but Bastien never slows, although he seems more aware of my condition than Eamon was. Bastien may be driven to run from his own demons, but at least he is considerate along the way.