“Willow,” Brokk called. I walked to him and hovered my hand over the healing cut on his chest then turned to Leif. The warrior still lay on his back, propped on a stone, but his color had returned. His skin bore the scars of Brokk’s deadly blow. I crumpled next to him. Brokk caught me, while Leif stroked my hair. They remained silent until I sat up.
“The witch is gone?”
“Yseult left, yes.” I told them what she had said.
“We must flee this place soon.” Leif sat up. He looked himself, other than his torn breeches and red-stained skin.
“Not so quickly, brother,” Brokk said. “You must rest.”
“I can travel,” Leif protested, but Brokk shook his head.
“I am drained as well. Let us retreat to a safe place where we can stay the night. Besides, I wish to spend some time strengthening the bond.
