home

search

Your Wound, My Hands

  The sun hung low in the sky, spilling golden light through the winding paths of Raqs Town. Morning had only just begun, yet the streets already pulsed with quiet life—brooms sweeping doorsteps, soft melodies drifting from the fountain square, and the scent of freshly baked bread curling through the breeze like a gentle invitation to linger.

  Elena stood in the open doorway of the small inn, her bag resting heavily against her shoulder. Her eyes lingered on the town—its cobbled paths and color-washed homes, the easy laughter of animals beginning their day. There was a faint pout tugging at her lips, like a child pressed too soon to say goodbye.

  Behind her, Ember adjusted the final strap of her pack with a quiet click of leather. “We can stay a little longer,” she offered, voice low, careful. “If you want.”

  Elena didn’t turn to look. “No…” she murmured. “If we stay any longer, I won’t want to leave at all.”

  And that, she knew, was the truth.

  Raqs Town hadn’t just been a stop—it had welcomed them. In the dance of lights through windows at night, the music that never quite faded, and the warm-hearted chaos of its residents, something inside Elena had softened. She’d laughed here—genuine, open laughter that filled her lungs. She’d slept without fear.

  They descended the inn stairs hand in hand, the old wood creaking beneath their feet. Mr. Sorell, the mole innkeeper with his ever-drooping spectacles and stern mouth, barely paused his sweeping as he passed Elena a small bundle wrapped in cloth.

  “For the road,” he grunted, not quite looking at her.

  Elena unwrapped it—still warm. A fruit bun, fragrant and slightly squished. She smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Sorell.”

  He grumbled something unintelligible, but his mustache twitched like he was hiding a grin.

  Outside, the cobbled street glowed beneath the early sun. As they walked through the square, it didn’t take long for the inevitable.

  “Don’t you dare leave without saying goodbye!” a familiar voice called out.

  Miras, the elder capybara with the comically oversized straw hat, waddled forward, arms spread wide. Elena dropped her bag and ran into his embrace.

  “Of course I wouldn’t,” she said, burying her face in his shoulder.

  “Bah, you little menace,” he muttered affectionately. “Stealin’ all our bread and dancing like you were born here.”

  “You taught me the bread trick,” she teased.

  “I regret nothing,” he sniffed.

  Behind him, the younger capybaras gathered like a tide of fur and chittering questions.

  “Are you going to fight dragons?”

  “Will you come back with a giant sword?”

  “Can we come with you?”

  “You have to write to us!”

  Elena knelt, laughing as she hugged them one by one, pressing kisses to their soft heads. Pip, the loudest of them all, shouted, “You and Ember are our heroes!”

  That made Ember chuckle, arriving with a bundle of travel food under her arm. “We’re not heroes,” she said, ruffling Pip’s head. “Just two idiots who walk into trouble and hope we make it out.”

  “But you always protect each other,” said another capy quietly.

  Elena’s smile softened as she glanced at Ember.

  They moved through the square slowly, their journey stalled by every hug, every farewell. The owls from the bakery passed them warm rolls for the road. The rabbit siblings—shy and clever—offered scarves they had woven with glittering threads. And then, at the edge of town, stood the bears.

  Tall and solemn, their silhouettes were near mythic in the rising light, but their eyes were warm.

  Yuran, the eldest among them, bent down and placed a small carved charm into Elena’s palm. Two figures dancing under stars.

  She clutched it tight. “Thank you.”

  “Let the stars light your path,” Yuran rumbled.

  Behind him, Luto—the one who always danced too hard—sniffled and shouted, “Don’t forget the midwinter ball!”

  “We’ll be back by then,” Ember said before she could stop herself.

  Luto’s face lit up.

  As they reached the town gate, Elena hesitated. She turned back one last time.

  The entire town had come to see them off.

  Capybaras hoisted onto shoulders. Owls fluttering just above the crowd. A soft drumbeat echoing across the square. Someone tossed petals into the air—they shimmered gold in the light.

  It was ridiculous. Sweet. Utterly overwhelming.

  Tears slipped down her cheeks before she could stop them. She waved both hands and shouted through the thickness in her throat, “I’ll miss you all!”

  “You better!” someone shouted.

  “We’ll keep the fire going!”

  As the gates creaked open and the forest beckoned, Elena turned back to Ember, blinking rapidly.

  “I didn’t realize how much I needed that,” she said, barely above a whisper.

  Ember’s fingers slid into hers. “I know.”

  The path was quiet at first, winding through light brush and soft slopes. The sun climbed slowly, casting a filtered glow through the leaves. Birds chirped. Leaves whispered. It felt almost too gentle.

  Elena paused more than once to wave back at the last of the capybaras still trailing them. “I think I’ll miss them,” she sighed. “Especially that one with the sunglasses.”

  Ember smirked. “The way he danced with you? Pretty sure he’ll miss you too.”

  They shared a quiet laugh, but as the forest thickened, the mood began to shift. The light grew dimmer beneath the canopy, and the warm memories of town slowly gave way to silence and shadows.

  A few hours in, they came upon a gnarled tree beside a cluster of uneven stones. Elena sank down onto the moss, arms stretched, breathing deep. “You think this next village’ll be kind?”

  Ember crouched beside her. “It’ll be… something. Shelter. Food, maybe. Maybe something new.” She looked sideways. “What about you?”

  Elena didn’t answer right away. Her eyes had caught something strange. Off the path, nestled between twisted roots, stood a tree—taller than the others, bark glimmering faintly, its leaves dark violet, curled like smoke.

  She stood without thinking. “Hey, have you ever seen a tree like—”

  The earth cracked.

  A thunderous snap. The ground erupted.

  “Elena, move!”

  A blur surged from behind the strange tree—massive, fast. No time to scream. Ember slammed into her, sending them both rolling. A clawed limb smashed into the ground where Elena had just stood, splitting the stone beneath it.

  The creature towered above them—four-legged, its hide a grotesque fusion of bark and flesh. Moss clung to armor-like plating. Its eyes were molten amber, glowing through cracked sockets. Rage boiled off of it like heat.

  Ember shoved Elena behind a nearby boulder. “Stay down!” she yelled, flames igniting at her fingertips.

  A bolt of fire surged across the clearing, striking the beast’s side—but it barely staggered. It roared, the sound shaking leaves from the trees, and charged.

  “Elena, stay back!”

  But Elena wasn’t watching the beast anymore. She was watching her.

  Ember leapt, dodged, flung flame after flame. Then a strike—a heavy claw catching her just under the shoulder. She flew back, hit the ground hard.

  “Ember!” Elena screamed.

  Her legs moved before her mind could catch up. She slid beside Ember, hands useless, shaking.

  Why am I always the one watching?

  The moss beneath her palms began to glow. Her breath caught. Everything… shifted.

  She was somewhere else.

  That same shimmering space. No sound. No pain.

  A voice—old, echoing.

  What do you want?

  “I… I don’t…”

  What do you want?

  It came again, gentle but firm.

  Elena’s hands curled into fists. She stared up into the light.

  “I want them to stop fighting,” she whispered.

  The world snapped.

  A wall of ancient vines exploded from the trees, slamming between Ember and the beast. The creature reared back, confused. The vines pulsed with a soft hum—not threatening, but calming.

  The beast huffed, pawed at the ground, and—slowly—turned. It lumbered back into the forest, swallowed by trees.

  Silence.

  “Elena…?” Ember’s voice was barely audible.

  Elena scrambled to her, hands pressing against the wound. Blood soaked her shirt. Ember’s breath was shallow.

  “You’re okay. You’re okay—just stay with me—”

  Ember managed a weak smile. “That… thing almost made mulch out of us…”

  “Don’t talk,” Elena whispered, pressing harder. “Let me fix this.”

  Ember’s fingers brushed her cheek. “You did something.”

  “I didn’t do anything,” Elena said, voice shaking. “I just… I didn’t want to lose you.”

  They stared at each other—everything else falling away.

  “You saved me,” Ember said.

  “No. You’ve saved me a hundred times. I just… I couldn’t be the one watching again.”

  She pulled Ember into her arms. Held her there, trembling.

  “I think,” Ember murmured, “you’re finally starting to believe in yourself.”

  Elena let out a soft, broken laugh. “Don’t push it.”

  “I mean it,” Ember said, resting her head against her shoulder.

  They stayed like that beneath the strange tree—two girls pressed close in the quiet aftermath, as the forest around them sighed and the birds, one by one, began to sing again.

  Elena pressed harder on Ember’s wound, her breath coming in ragged gulps as panic curled inside her. Blood still seeped through the cloth, warm and too vivid. Ember gritted her teeth, but a hiss escaped her lips.

  "Don’t press so hard," she muttered, wincing.

  "I'm trying to stop the bleeding, not make you comfortable," Elena snapped, then immediately softened. “Sorry. Just—hold still, okay?”

  Ember sucked in a breath and bit back another pained sound. "You say that like I’ve got a choice."

  The forest was quiet again, unnervingly so. The creature—whatever it had been—had vanished into the trees like a bad dream, and the thick vines Elena had summoned (or had they summoned themselves?) still hummed faintly with energy. Everything smelled like earth, bark, and blood.

  Elena’s hands trembled as she folded another strip of cloth, pressing it gently this time against Ember’s side. “That beast—it didn’t look real. Like… I don’t even know how to describe it.”

  “It was… made of bark. And moss. Like a tree that got up one day and decided to pick a fight,” Ember murmured, eyes half-lidded.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it. Not even in stories.”

  Ember exhaled slowly, then looked at her. “But you did something, Elena. You—those vines. They came when you said something, right?”

  Elena paused, then nodded slowly. “I heard a voice. When I thought I was going to lose you. Everything went quiet, and I was… somewhere else. It was like the forest was breathing. And it asked me what I wanted.”

  Ember’s brow furrowed. “A voice?”

  “It felt old. Like it wasn’t just a person. Like it was everything. The trees, the dirt, the air. All asking me.”

  Ember stared at her for a moment longer, then nodded slowly. “That sounds like something one of the old tribes might’ve had. A sigil that awakens in moments of desperation. Maybe you're not just some average girl with nice hair.”

  Elena scoffed. “You think this is a sigil?”

  “Maybe.” Ember winced again and pushed herself upright with effort. “Whatever it was, it saved us.”

  “I saved us,” Elena muttered under her breath. “You were about to be mulch.”

  “That’s not very comforting.”

  “I’m not trying to be comforting,” she said, helping Ember up. “You almost died, and now I’m angry at you for it.”

  Ember chuckled dryly. “You sound like my grandmother.”

  “Oh no. I’m worse.”

  They hobbled slowly toward their makeshift tent pitched earlier near the edge of the forest—nothing more than a weather-worn tarp stretched over branches, but it offered some shelter. The golden light from earlier had dimmed now into a soft orange glow, filtered through tree canopies above.

  Ember groaned as she lowered herself onto her stomach, her shirt now clinging awkwardly to the dried blood on her side.

  “Try not to move too much,” Elena said, kneeling beside her. “I need to check if it’s still bleeding.”

  “I’m not exactly doing cartwheels,” Ember muttered, pressing her forehead to her folded arms.

  Elena placed a hand gently on her lower back. Ember tensed, then relaxed under the warmth.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  “It wasn’t a sigil,” Elena said quietly. “It didn’t feel like power. It felt like… prayer.”

  Ember didn’t respond.

  “And I didn’t mean to do it. I just—wanted everything to stop.”

  Then, without thinking, Elena leaned forward and rested her face gently on Ember’s shoulder.

  Ember screamed.

  “AAAH! GODS—ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME?”

  Elena flinched back, nearly falling over. “OH—oh no! I forgot! I’m sorry—I forgot—your shoulder—!”

  Ember groaned and buried her face deeper in her arms. “What part of ‘giant monster hit me like a wagon’ made you think leaning on the injury was a good idea?!”

  “I was trying to be sweet!” Elena cried, flailing a little. “It’s habit! You were lying there and I thought, hey, let me be cute and affectionate and then you screeched like I stepped on a mouse!”

  “Because you basically stabbed me with your FACE.”

  “I’m SORRY!”

  “Don’t come near me!”

  Elena gasped. “Don’t say that! That’s cruel! That’s the cruelest thing anyone’s ever said to me!”

  Ember didn’t even look up. “You’re faking.”

  “I’m not!” Elena wailed, dramatically wiping nonexistent tears from her cheeks.

  “You always fake cry when you’re in trouble.”

  “I have never—!”

  “You always do that tiny sniff-sniff thing and make your eyes all shiny like a sad fox.”

  “I’m part fox,” Elena sniffled. “That’s racial profiling.”

  Ember snorted despite herself, then groaned again, clearly regretting the laugh. “Gods above, just… stay at least one shoulder’s distance away from me until the pain stops.”

  Elena huffed, crossing her arms. “Fine. I’ll just sit here, being lonely and underappreciated and maybe traumatized.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And if I die of heartbreak, that’s on you.”

  Ember turned her head just enough to peer at her with one eye. “If anyone’s dying today, it’s me. And it’s because you can’t tell the difference between a loving gesture and a freaking tackle.”

  “I barely touched you!”

  “You hit me with your whole head.”

  They stared at each other for a beat, then Elena broke into a crooked smile.

  “…You’re smiling.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You are.”

  “I’m in pain.”

  “You like me.”

  “I tolerated you before. Now it’s complicated.”

  Elena chuckled and shifted closer—carefully this time—just enough that her fingers brushed Ember’s hand. She didn’t hold it, just touched it, grounding them both.

  “I was really scared,” she said, voice quieter now. “More than I’ve ever been.”

  Ember sighed, the fight draining from her. “I know.”

  A long pause settled between them. The kind that wasn’t empty—just… full of unsaid things, of breaths not yet taken.

  Then Ember muttered, “You still leaned on my wound though.”

  Elena groaned. “Are we back to that?”

  “You leaned on my wound, Elena.”

  “I get it!”

  They laughed, even if one of them winced the whole time.

  And as the moon began to rise behind the trees, casting silver light over the vines still curled like gentle guardians around the clearing, the forest grew still again.

  Not silent.

  Just still.

  As though it, too, were listening.

  The morning sun broke through the canopy in sleepy gold streaks, dappling the ground with shifting light. Birds chirped lazily above, unconcerned with the pain of bruised bodies and the quiet resentment brewing on the forest floor.

  Elena was dragging.

  Literally.

  The bag she held onto—no, wrestled with—was twice the size it had been when they first left Raqs Town. Its bottom caught on every root, every dip in the trail, every cursed rock that existed purely to make her stumble.

  She groaned loudly for the fifth time that hour, sweat clinging to her forehead and her arms aching. “What in the name of all that is green and growing is in this bag?!”

  Up ahead, Ember barely turned her head. “Supplies.”

  Elena yanked the bag again and nearly tripped. “Supplies? It feels like I’m dragging a whole town. I swear something moved in there. Are there live chickens in this thing?”

  “No chickens,” Ember said over her shoulder. “But you insisted on bringing back everything Ayler gave you.”

  Elena paused, panting. “...What?”

  “The trinkets, the spices, the handmade blanket, the mystery box with the rattling sound... and the honeyed sweets you said you'd ‘die without.’”

  “That was one jar!”

  “And the books.”

  Elena’s eyes widened. “Books aren’t heavy!”

  “You brought six. Two of them are hardbound.”

  She made a noise somewhere between a gasp and a wounded kitten. “Okay—but still! Why didn’t you say anything before?”

  “I did. Several times.” Ember gave her a faint smirk without turning around. “You were too busy dancing with capybaras.”

  “I regret nothing,” Elena muttered dramatically. She yanked the bag again. “And this is still heavier than all that!”

  “That’s because,” Ember added casually, “you also brought the polished stones from that bear craftsman, and the scarf the raccoon lady gave you, and a pot for boiling tea, and—”

  “Okay, okay!” Elena threw her head back and groaned. “You should have stopped me!”

  “I tried.” Ember stopped at a bend in the trail, looking back at her. Her short red hair stuck slightly to her cheek with sweat, and though she didn’t say anything, her eyes were gentler than usual. “But you looked... happy. I didn’t want to ruin that.”

  Elena froze for a moment, fingers still curled around the rope of the bag. “…Wait, so you’ve been carrying all my stuff this whole time?”

  Ember nodded like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

  “And not once did you complain?”

  “You complain enough for both of us,” Ember said, the smirk returning.

  There was a flicker of something in Elena’s chest then—warm and uncomfortable. A realization settling in with the weight of every small, unnoticed thing Ember had done.

  “…Is there anything in this bag that’s yours?”

  “Just an old weapon,” Ember said. “Not even sharp anymore. I tossed it days ago.”

  Elena blinked, then looked down at the bag. She gave it a tug with renewed shame. “…So I’ve been whining over my own gifts while you’ve been bleeding and limping next to me like some noble, silent—ugh.”

  “Ugh?”

  “I hate how good that makes you look.”

  Ember only gave her a shrug. “I didn’t carry it for praise.”

  “I know. That’s what makes it worse,” Elena muttered. “I feel like I should… kiss you or something.”

  Ember raised an eyebrow. “You can’t. You’re too far behind.”

  That was true. Ember, even wounded, was several paces ahead, her gait slower than usual but steady. A faint bloodstain still marred the back of her tunic, dark and persistent. Elena bit her lip, eyes on that mark, dragging the bag with renewed effort. It was still frustratingly heavy.

  After another hour, Elena finally snapped.

  “I need a break.”

  “We haven’t even made it past the ridge,” Ember said, pausing but not turning.

  “I need a break,” Elena said again, dropping the bag and flopping onto a mossy patch like her soul had left her body. “This bag is filled with joy and love and the hopes of a dancing town—and it’s killing me.”

  Ember turned and gave her a long look before her own shoulders sagged a little. “Fine. Ten minutes.”

  They settled near a small creek trickling between rocks. Ember found some strange, round fruits hanging from a vine and tested one with a careful cut of her dagger before handing half to Elena.

  “This one’s safe. Tastes like honey and lemon.”

  Elena took a bite, and her face lit up. “This might be the only good thing about today.”

  They sat in silence for a while, chewing slowly. The light through the trees flickered. Elena’s eyes kept drifting back to Ember’s shoulder.

  “…Let me check the wound.”

  “No.”

  “El—”

  “No, Elena.”

  “You don’t even know if it’s still bleeding.”

  “It hurts.”

  “I’ll be careful.”

  “You leaned on it yesterday!”

  “I forgot!”

  “Which is why I’m saying no.”

  They locked eyes. Ember’s stubbornness flared, but Elena’s pout was weaponized. Slowly, Ember’s resistance crumbled.

  “…Fine. But no face-leaning.”

  “I solemnly swear.”

  Ember sighed and turned, unlacing the back of her tunic with careful fingers. Elena waited until the fabric was low enough to reveal the wound—angry and red, but no longer bleeding.

  “Looks better,” Elena said softly. “Still raw though.”

  Ember nodded, tensing as Elena’s fingers brushed just below the wound.

  Then—without warning—Elena leaned in and pressed a soft kiss just behind Ember’s neck, where her skin met her shoulder.

  Ember flinched. Hard.

  “What—was—that?!”

  Elena grinned mischievously. “That was for carrying my ridiculous bag of emotionally meaningful junk all this way.”

  “You kissed my spine!”

  “It was sweet and grateful!”

  “It was startling!” Ember turned to glare at her, but her face was red. “Warn me next time before you start blessing me like some forest spirit!”

  “Too late. I’m full of mystery and affection now.”

  “I will throw you into the creek.”

  “You’re too injured to lift me,” Elena said smugly.

  Ember stared at her, exasperated, then muttered, “Don’t tempt me. Pain is temporary. Revenge is forever.”

  Elena laughed and leaned her chin on Ember’s good shoulder, eyes soft. “Seriously though… thank you.”

  Ember looked away, pretending not to hear—but the corner of her mouth twitched.

  “You’re welcome,” she finally said. “Just don’t add more to that bag.”

  “…What if we find more dancing animals?”

  “Elena.”

  “Okay, okay!”

  The bag still waited for her, heavy with memories and gifts and shared history—but it felt a little lighter now.

  Before they resumed their slow trudge down the mossy road, Elena knelt beside the bag and gave it a firm tug that almost tipped her over again.

  “Nope. Still cursedly heavy,” she muttered.

  She opened it up, sighing at the jumbled contents inside. Crumpled clothes stained with berry juice. Empty jars that once held jam or pickled mushrooms. A tangle of thin ropes she didn’t remember packing. She started pulling things out one by one, inspecting each like a merchant evaluating a deal, then flinging them dramatically into the underbrush.

  “Goodbye, jam jar. You were loyal, but empty. Goodbye, torn tunic, you’ve lost your flair. Goodbye, mystery stick—wait, why did I even have this?”

  Behind her, Ember was watching with arms crossed and a raised brow. Her injured side was stiff, her movements slower now, but she still managed to look both unimpressed and vaguely amused.

  “You know if you ever want that stuff back,” she said, “you’re not gonna find it. Forest eats things like that.”

  Elena didn’t look back. “That’s okay.”

  “You sure?”

  Elena turned, dusting her hands off. “Yeah. All I really want…” She took a step toward Ember and poked her lightly in the chest, “...is already with me. The rest doesn’t matter.”

  Ember blinked. Her face softened for half a second before she frowned again, probably out of habit.

  “You say that now,” she said, reaching into the pile Elena had made and holding up a slightly squished, knitted cap with a button eye sewed onto the front. “But what about this? The hat the capybara gave you?”

  Elena gasped as if Ember had just drawn a sword on a child.

  “You wouldn’t.”

  Ember lifted an eyebrow, slowly moving her arm back like she was about to toss it.

  “Know your limits,” Elena warned, snatching it from her hands with dramatic urgency and cradling it like a kitten. “This stays. It has character.”

  “That’s what you said about the mystery stick.”

  “That had mystery!”

  With that, Elena stuffed the hat back into the slightly lighter bag, slung it over her shoulder with a grunt, and started walking.

  “We better find a place before sunset,” she said, glancing at the sky that was bleeding orange and gold through the forest. “I’m not dragging this bag into the dark.”

  “More likely we’ll be spending another night on the ground,” Ember muttered, limping slightly as she followed.

  “Then we better find a comfy patch of ground.”

  By the time the sky had dimmed into deep purples and smoky pinks, they’d covered only a little more ground, slowed by Ember’s injury and Elena’s stubborn insistence on finding a “perfectly flat, soft camping spot.” The trees thinned slightly into a gentle clearing ringed with smooth stones and fallen logs, and in the grass between them, small orbs of light began to rise.

  At first, Elena thought they were just fireflies—but they weren’t gold.

  They were blue.

  Soft, glowing blue, like tiny stars drawn up from the soil instead of falling from the sky. Dozens of them floated lazily around, humming gently through the dusk.

  “Are they…?” Elena whispered.

  Ember nodded slightly. “Forest fireflies. I’ve seen a few. They only come out near water sources. Means we’re near a spring.”

  Elena dropped her bag with a satisfied thud. “Then this is the place.”

  She got to work building the camp, determined not to make Ember lift a finger. She even waved her away when Ember tried to help roll out the matting.

  “Nope. Injured people sit down and look brooding. That’s the rule.”

  “I’m not brooding.”

  “You’re brooding a little.”

  The tent that rose under Elena’s hands was crooked, one side slightly higher than the other, and the stakes were… creative, to say the least. But it stood. Barely.

  Inside, it was smaller than the tents Ember usually made—so small that their bags barely fit inside without pressing against their knees.

  But when Ember looked at it, her mouth twitched into a faint smile. “It’ll do.”

  They sat outside a while longer, sharing the last of their fruits and watching the fireflies drift lazily overhead, twinkling blue against the night. Ember’s fingers slowly found Elena’s, lacing them together without a word. Elena leaned into her side gently, mindful of the wound.

  “Do you think…” Elena started, voice quiet, “...we’ll find a place to stay? Somewhere that’s ours?”

  Ember was silent for a moment. “Maybe.”

  “I liked Raqs Town,” Elena said, watching a firefly land on her wrist before floating away again. “It was warm. And strange. And weirdly loud.”

  “Too loud,” Ember replied. “I don’t want to wake up to a lion playing the flute while a bunny tap dances.”

  Elena laughed softly, squeezing her hand. “Fair.”

  Ember tilted her head back, eyes on the stars peeking through the leaves. “Somewhere with more Iorphians would be good. If there are any.”

  “You think there are?”

  “There have to be,” Ember said, almost to herself. “We can’t be all that’s left.”

  Elena nodded slowly, though her chest tightened with quiet worry.

  She didn’t say what she was thinking. That maybe if they did find the other Iorphians… they might not accept Ember. Because of the sigil. Because of the burning.

  Because of the curse.

  But she said none of it. Just leaned her head against Ember’s shoulder.

  “I bet we’ll find someone,” she said instead. “Maybe even here. Somewhere deep in these forests.”

  “Maybe.”

  They slipped into quiet again, eventually crawling into the crooked little tent, lying on their stomachs side by side, their arms occasionally brushing. The fireflies hovered outside like glowing blue sentinels, lighting the clearing like a dream.

  “I think I like this part of the journey best,” Elena murmured. “When we’re not running, not fighting. Just... talking.”

  Ember didn’t say anything, but she shifted closer, their hands finding each other again in the narrow space.

  A moment passed.

  Then Ember’s voice, soft and unexpected: “...I’m glad you kept the hat.”

  Elena turned her head to look at her in the dark, smiling. “Told you. It has character.”

  “It’s ugly.”

  “You’re ugly.”

  “You’re worse.”

  They both smiled then, faces lit faintly by the dancing blue outside.

  The stars had drifted higher when Elena finally leaned up on one elbow and whispered against the quiet:

  “All right. Time to open that wound again.”

  Ember groaned, face half buried in the makeshift pillow of their spare blanket.

  “You’ve developed a very unhealthy obsession with my pain.”

  “Oh, hush.” Elena crawled over, settling behind her. “I just don’t want it to get worse. Infection is real. You could die. Then I’d be stuck carrying the entire bag.”

  “Tragic.”

  “Unimaginable.”

  Elena undid the loose knots of the cloth around Ember’s lower back, fingers gently peeling away the bandage that had stuck slightly to dried blood. Ember flinched.

  “Ugh, still tender?”

  “It’s a hole in my back, Elena.”

  Elena’s voice dropped to a teasing lilt. “Not the worst hole I’ve seen on you.”

  Ember made a strangled noise. “Please. Do not kiss my neck again.”

  “I wasn’t going to,” Elena said in mock defense, holding up her hands like a saint. “You make one mistake—”

  “That was no mistake.”

  Elena chuckled low in her throat and leaned in closer, her breath ghosting just beneath Ember’s ear.

  “We have plenty of years for that kind of mistake,” she whispered. “Plenty of time.”

  The way she said it wasn’t teasing this time. It was low, warm, certain. Like she meant it not just tonight but for all the days they hadn’t even lived yet.

  That single line caught Ember off-guard, stalling her breath.

  Years. Time.

  The idea rooted itself in her chest and bloomed fast. She imagined them in a room, quiet, warm. Lying on a bed. Not wearing anything. Elena leaning over her, confident and laughing and gentle—everything Ember didn’t know she could ever deserve, all at once.

  And suddenly, she was blushing. Hard.

  Elena was too focused on the wound to notice at first, but when Ember didn’t respond—when she didn’t even move—she glanced up.

  “You good?” she asked, softer now. “Did I hurt you?”

  “No, I just…” Ember exhaled, face half in her hand now, hiding the deep red that had overtaken her cheeks. “I was just thinking about... us. In a bed—” she cut herself off abruptly, groaning as she buried her entire face in both hands. “Nevermind.”

  There was a beat of silence.

  And then:

  “You don’t have to think about it,” Elena said, almost matter-of-fact. “You can always see it. If you want.”

  That made Ember look up.

  Elena was staring straight at her now, still kneeling behind her, her fingers hovering over her lower back. Her gaze wasn’t playful or smug. It was open. Steady. Inviting.

  Like every single thing she had just said—she meant.

  Ember’s breath hitched.

  The forest was suddenly too quiet. The tent felt impossibly small. And the way Elena was looking at her made her skin prickle with heat.

  Still staring, Ember slowly reached back and took Elena’s hand in hers.

  Elena blinked—but she didn’t pull away.

  Then, with a movement that was quiet and certain, Ember pulled her forward, guiding her down onto the padded floor of the tent until Elena was on her back, half beneath her, their legs tangled slightly.

  “Don’t test me,” Ember murmured.

  Her voice had changed. No longer playful. It was low. Rough. Almost shaky.

  “Why?” Elena whispered, breath brushing against Ember’s cheek. “What’ll you do if I do?”

  Ember didn’t answer right away. She leaned in close, close enough that her forehead brushed Elena’s, close enough to feel the flutter in Elena’s throat.

  Her lips hovered near Elena’s jaw, ghosting over the skin but not touching.

  “I’m already one spark away from burning this tent down,” Ember said. “And I don’t mean that figuratively.”

  Elena laughed softly—nervous, maybe—but wrapped her arms loosely around Ember’s waist, avoiding the wound with practiced care. “So what you’re saying is… I should test you more often?”

  Ember’s lips hovered just above hers now. The tension between them coiled like a drawn bow. Her hair framed their faces, brushing Elena’s cheek, and somewhere outside the tent the blue fireflies flickered lazily like they were watching.

  “You’re playing with fire,” Ember murmured.

  Elena smiled, heart thudding.

  “I’ve always liked a little danger.”

  Ember closed her eyes for half a second—like trying to calm the storm inside her—and then pulled back just enough to keep control. She didn’t kiss her. Not yet. But her hand slid along Elena’s side, possessive, gentle, warm.

  The air between them pulsed, charged with something that neither of them knew how to name yet—but both of them felt it.

  They didn’t move for a while.

  Not because they couldn’t—but because it felt like, if either of them said anything, the fragile spell around them might break. The soft hum of the night, the warmth of skin close to skin, the rise and fall of their breathing—it all felt too right to disturb.

  Outside, the blue fireflies pulsed gently, their light dancing against the thin walls of the tent like stars brought down to earth.

  Ember’s fingers traced a light pattern on Elena’s side. Not intentional. Just... instinctive. Her thumb moved in slow circles, half for comfort, half to remind herself this was real. That Elena was right there, holding her, despite the chaos and curses and bleeding backs.

  Elena was the first to whisper, “Are you gonna keep staring at me like that all night?”

  Ember blinked. “You’re literally the one staring at me.”

  Elena grinned. “Yeah, but you’re making it obvious.”

  “I’m injured,” Ember said flatly. “I get to do whatever I want.”

  “Uh-huh. Sounds like a power trip.”

  “Sounds like I’m owed at least five kisses for every day I’ve carried your overpacked bag.”

  Elena gave her a look. “You liked carrying my stuff.”

  “I liked you. That doesn’t mean I liked your seventeen jars of strawberry preserves.”

  Elena snorted. “They were a gift! From a raccoon who wore a vest! I couldn’t not accept.”

  “I hope you wrote your will in case we ever find them fermented.”

  There was a brief pause. Then they both started laughing, too loud, too tired to care.

  After a while, Ember groaned softly and shifted onto her side, wincing at the tug of her wound. Elena immediately moved to help her, hands gentle but efficient, pulling a corner of the blanket over her and nestling in close behind, careful not to brush the injury.

  “You okay?” she murmured.

  Ember hummed. “Mm. Not dying yet.”

  “Good. I need you to keep making snarky comments and getting in my way.”

  “I’m great at that,” Ember said sleepily. “Top-tier talent.”

  “...Ember?”

  “Mm?”

  “I meant it, you know. About time.”

  Ember opened her eyes slowly.

  “I know.”

  “And even if you’re cursed, or if people don’t accept you, or if we never find another Iorphian out there—”

  “Elena.”

  “Yeah?”

  Ember turned her head just enough to glance back at her.

  “I’m not scared of any of that. I’m only scared of losing this.”

  Elena swallowed.

  And then leaned forward—carefully, carefully—and kissed her temple.

  The contact was soft, almost too soft to register, but Ember felt it everywhere. She let her eyes close again, the heat in her chest settling into something warmer than fire. Something steady.

  “…Still thinking about us in a bed?” Elena teased under her breath, a whisper against her ear.

  Ember didn’t answer.

  But her hand found Elena’s beneath the blanket, threading their fingers together without a word.

  And with that, they both let their breathing slow. The fireflies outside flickered in soft patterns. The world was still uncertain, and the road ahead still long—but for tonight, in this little corner of the forest, they had each other. And the silence between them wasn’t empty.

  It was full.

  Full of things they hadn’t said yet, things they were still learning to say.

  Full of everything they didn’t have to say.

Recommended Popular Novels