“Don’t you remember?”
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to remember, why don’t you enlighten me. Ouch.” Lyva turns fitfully in her sleep and smacks me in the head before I have a chance to break the communication. She hits the wound on my temple and I can feel it start to bleed again. I press a hand on it, willing it to stop.
“Are you hurt?” His voice is urgent, worried.
“Just a head wound and an arrow through the shoulder. Nothing serious or life-threatening.” Sarcasm seems to be my greatest defense right now. I don’t mention Lyva, not until I know I can trust him. The longer I talk to him, the less energy I have. I need to rest.
“So he finally caught up with you again. Thirteen years later, he is patient if nothing else. Sounds like you gave them a good fight. He will be careful with
