Sixty Eight
Her body still trembled, even in slumber. Callen felt it faintly where she rested against his chest, every small shiver a reminder of what she had dragged herself through. Grief sat heavy on her, pressing her deeper into sleep, but beneath it he could feel the steady pulse of her heart. She was here. She was still here. He adjusted his grip, cradling her more securely as they followed the narrow track away from the shore. Sand gave way to scrub and wild grass, the scent of salt gradually thinning, replaced by damp earth and smoke from the distant town. “What did you say your name was again?” Callen asked without looking at the man walking beside him. The elf kept pace easily, boots silent on the packed dirt. “Koen, Your Majesty.” Callen’s jaw tightened. They crested a low rise. Beyon
- Writer
