Sora's POV
When it's done, the man decides fast.
He's awake enough by evening to give an order, and the order is short. Two words to the scarred one, too low for me to catch. Then the scarred one comes to where I'm sitting and pulls me up by the arm, not rough, and says, "You're going back."
I don't ask questions. Questions are how you turn a piece of luck into a problem.
They walk me out. Four of them, quiet, moving me back the way we came, toward the line. I count again out of habit, but I already know the direction now. I keep my mouth shut the whole way. So do they.
Near the border, where the trees start to thin and I can feel the alliance side pulling at me like the far end of a held breath, I stop and look back.
He's there.
On his feet now. One hand braced against a tree, weak
