Sleep would not come.
The tent was too warm. Too quiet. His own skin felt tight, like he was wrapped in something too small. Every time he closed his eyes, she was there—those eyes, that laugh, the way her voice rang like truth and fire. Her scent still lingered in his lungs. Burned down his throat.
To think she was to be his greatest challenge. After all the battlefields he had gloriously won, she would be the hardest won.
He rose without a sound, barefoot on the cool earth, and slipped into the night. No warriors followed. He had made it clear—he would be alone.
The moon above was swollen and watching, casting silver over the desert hills. He walked until the stillness buzzed in his bones, until the silence became unbearable. Then he shifted.
First into a fox. Quick-footed, light, a
