Chapter 5: The rain
770 Words
The sky was already a patchy gray when Mira tightened her grip on the handmade wooden bow, her eyes following the faint markings on the muddy trail. “This looks fresh. Maybe from last night,” she muttered, crouching beside a scuffed patch near the roots.
Daine scanned the area with calculated precision, arms folded. “Might be just a bison.”
“No, see the cuts on this bark? Blade marks. Someone was here,” she said, voice calm but certain.
They moved deeper into the forest, steps silent but quick. After about an hour, the wind picked up, whispering warnings through the canopy.
“We need to head back. Storm’s coming,” Mira said, glancing up at the shifting clouds.
Daine straightened. “I’m going ahead. There could be more signs,” he said flatly, already moving forward.
“You’re not listening. It’s dangerous,” Mira called after him, frowning.
“I’ve been through worse,” he said without turning, brushing a low branch aside. “This is nothing compared to what I’ve seen.”
She stiffened. “Suit yourself,” she snapped, turning away with a shake of her head.
They returned separately, Mira just before the rain began to pour. The wind howled against the watch station walls, her eagle letting out a sharp cry as it flew up to the ridge beam.
Daine returned well past twilight, drenched and shivering, but silent. She raised an eyebrow but said nothing. The next morning, she noticed him slower in movement, his face a little pale, and by late evening, he was sweating, lips dry.
His tent was already leaking.
“You can’t sleep there. The roof’s giving in,” she said curtly, arms crossed.
“I’ve slept through worse,” Daine replied, voice raspy.
Mira let out a sigh. “Don’t make me regret this. There are two rooms. Take the spare one tonight.”
He hesitated. “I don’t need”
“Not asking. Just go.”
The room was plain bare walls, a shelf, and a small cot. As he lay down, Mira tossed a blanket his way.
“Thanks,” he muttered.
“Don’t thank me. Just don’t die of fever. I don’t want to deal with that paperwork,” she said, turning away with a smirk.
And for the first time, Daine almost smiled.
That Night
The wind howled louder after nightfall, pressing rain in sheets against the tin roof. Inside the small watch station, the solar lantern cast soft light across the room. Mira sat at her desk, flipping through her logbook, but her eyes kept drifting to the closed door of the second room.
A dry cough echoed through the thin walls. Then again deeper, harsher
She closed her book.
A few minutes later, Mira stood in his doorway holding a half-filled metal mug.
Daine blinked at her, clearly burning up under the thin sheet. “What’s that?”
“Decoction. Forest leaves. You won’t like the taste.”
He managed a dry smirk. “Good. I’d hate to start enjoying this.”
She raised an eyebrow and handed it to him. “Drink.”
He obeyed, wincing at the bitterness.
After a pause, he asked, “Why’re you being nice?”
“I’m not. I just don’t want a dead man on my floor.”
A silence settled between them not tense, not friendly, just real.
She lingered at the doorway a beat too long before muttering, “Get some rest,” and disappearing back into the night’s shadows.
The Next Morning
When Mira stepped out of her room, the storm had passed, leaving behind a wet hush. She found Daine sitting up on the cot, his face still pale but less clammy.
“You’re alive,” she said plainly, arms crossed.
“Disappointed?”
She snorted. “Just relieved I won’t have to haul your body to the ridge.”
He chuckled, then winced. “Still hurts to laugh.”
Mira handed him a peeled wild fruit. “Here. Eat.”
He took it gratefully, then glanced toward the open window. “Storm’s cleared. I should check the trail again later.”
“You’ll do no such thing today.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Giving orders again?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Call it expert advice.”
“Fine,” he said, leaning back, the corner of his lips twitching. “I’ll try not to disobey this time.”
“Good. Because I’ve dealt with rebels before.”
Their eyes met for a second longer than necessary. No smiles. But something had shifted something small but undeniable.
- Writer
