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Among the wind and the rain, Wicander couldn't remember the last time he had been this cold.
Wait. He could. It had been the night before they had reached Sloak. Even with Tyranny half lying on top of him and his face pressed into Teor's fur, nestled together in that slow-moving cart, he had barely been able to feel his fingers.
Tonight was different. For one thing, Tyranny was currently curled up at his feet, her horns sticking uncomfortably into the meat of his calf, and Teor...
From where he sat, his back pressed against the thin trunk of an old yew tree, Wicander shot a wary glance over his shoulder. The Katari was leaning against the stone statue of his brother, his furry head protected from the rain by the overhang of Cyd Pridesire's outstretched hand. His whiskers blew softly with each snore.
Dame Morgaine had pointed them to a wise woman, someone she believed might be just the thing to cure Cyd of his petrification. She was located only a few miles east, in a hamlet so small that it bore no name. They had walked as far as they could before making camp off the forest path, moving further inwards until Kattigan had stopped them near a clearing, one with a river and leaves and branches that remained undisturbed. A safe haven for the night.
Wicander looked up at the shimmering night sky and immediately found his eyesight blurred as big, fat drops of rain hit him square in the face.
He let out a low whine and shook the droplets from his cheeks. Lovely. Just lovely.
Wicander had been able to tell from the steely glint of Teor’s eyes, that, even in the dark, all languid with exhaustion, Teor had wanted them to push forward. If the Katari had been the Photarch, he may have.
But Teor was Teor. A single sweep of his gaze over the lot of them, and he had told them to make camp. After carrying Cyd around for so long, his fur slick with sweat and his eyes drooping with fatigue, Teor had volunteered for first watch.
The Light's teachings had taught Wicander that only those who walked in shadow refused to carry burdens. False teachings they may have been to the rest of the Halovar kin, but to him, it meant something. It had to.
And now, here he was, on watch, hair stuck to his forehead, his drenched cape clinging to him in all the wrong places, and the whiff of wet grass and mud polluted his nostrils. The fire Kattigan and Thimble had built up for him before they had fallen asleep had gone out a while back, leaving him little choice but to conjure up small lights around himself. The blanket he had given up to Tyranny, what little good it did in preserving her from the elements.
It was at least getting lighter. That meant sunrise, and soon Kattigan would take over for him, and he could finally, finally, get some well-deserved rest.
With a tired smile, he reached down to run his fingers through Tyranny’s hair. Her cowl had shifted in her sleep, giving him access to the white strands. The way they tugged at his thumb and forefinger lifted delirious, light-filled memories to the front of his mind: His mother smiling widely as she combed his hair after a bath. Armas, teasingly pushing his hair back with a hairband far too small for his head.
If he closed his eyes, lost himself in the warmth of those memories and the pull of Tyranny’s sodden hair, it was as if he could feel the very weight of each touch.
He froze, heart feeling as though Thimble had crawled inside to kick it up into his throat, at a sudden weight that pressed to his shoulder. Tachonis’ men had stabbed him in that exact shoulder only a few hours before, and while it didn't hurt, the memory of his scream at feeling steel against bone made him wince.
Wicander turned, oh so slowly, to glance to the right of him.
As it turned out, it wasn’t that the night was getting lighter at all — the light was coming from something else entirely. Thimble, her face twisted into an unimpressed frown, scowled up at him.
“She's not a dog.”
“What?”
Thimble kicked out a leg in front of her. He glanced down, his fingers still tangled in Tyranny's hair.
Shame, hot and sticky, bubbled in the pit of his stomach. As if he had touched hellfire itself, Wicander snatched his hand away and brought it back to his lap.
“Quite right. I’m not sure…” He cleared his throat, blue eyes flicking back to the pixie. Her glare hadn’t budged, and, despite how his eyes were already slumping, it worked as well as a kick to the rump to make him sit that little bit straighter. “Ahem. You’re up early!”
“Nothing gets past you.” It sounded sarcastic, but Wicander never knew when it came to Thimble. For all his efforts to be charming, the only people who seemed remotely enamored with him were the people back in Dol-Makjar. And a singular sentient mushroom.
With a buzz of wings, Thimble thrust herself in the space between his eyes.
Up close, he could see the problem immediately. “Oh. You’re shivering.”
“Yeah, wonder why that is.” Another kick, this time towards the soaked logs.
“I tried to keep it going, but oh, I don’t know, the rain was too powerful.” He whispered, hating how it had come out as a whine once again. At this rate, there was a greater chance that his siblings would treat him with more kindness and respect than Thimble would. He knew Tyranny had told him to keep on being himself, but that advice didn’t seem to be getting him anywhere with his pixie companion.
A faint noise, one that sounded a lot like Thimble muttering something under her breath that would have made a Lux blush, drew his attention back towards the logs. As a pixie, Thimble had a natural light about her, and it was this that allowed Wicander to catch a glimpse of her petite frame.
Thimble usually flitted about with an ease, fast and sporadic and very much in-your-face. Now, however, there was a tenderness in her gait, as if the pixie was afraid to put her full weight behind anything at all. He hadn’t known Thimble for very long, and the little time they had spent together had earned him several rocks to the face already, but being the face of the Candescent Creed had taught him to pick up a few things.
Namely, to tell when someone was hurting.
Wicander rubbed at his own shoulder. With the way the rain was battering down on them all, it wouldn’t surprise him if he woke up with it still sore.
Still, he could live with that. Thimble, on the other hand… She might not like him, but to ignore a person in need would not do.
“Thimble, if I may…” Another grumble. Well, that was to be expected. He hurried on, careful not to trip on his tongue in his haste. “I think it might be wise for you to go back to sleep. You’re still quite tender from—”
“I’m fine.” She snapped. The whites of her eyes flashed at him in the glowing lights surrounding them both, but before he could prepare to call on the Light to cast a shield around him, he watched as that frustration spluttered out as if water had been thrown over a flame. “Fuck. You’re right. Just…” A sigh and a shiver ran through her.
Wicander immediately conjured a flame in the palm of his hand and, desperation licking at his mind, thrust it towards her. When she looked at him this time, brow furrowed in a way he had learned meant she wasn’t quite sure whether to berate or thank him, he put on the smile that always made his mother comment that it was as bright as the sun.
Thimble arched a singular brow at him. “What, you’re going to keep that going all night?”
“I don’t see why not.” When the rain started to hit his hand, Wicander reached out with the other to shield it from the elements. “Besides,” he muttered, ducking his head to both avoid the onslaught of water and Thimble’s piercing green eyes, “I think it might help in, perhaps, helping you warm up to me.”
Wicander let that hang in the air for a moment before, with a grin, he peered up at Thimble from under his eyelashes. He had seen Tyranny do it before with a merchant, and despite her at first being frightened by a demon, the merchant had left the encounter with a flush to her cheeks and a spring in her step. Granted, it had also led him to remind Tyranny several times that an Aspirant’s body was supposed to be virtuous, and no, she could not take up the merchant’s offering for a good tongue-lashing. But that was neither here nor there.
The merchant had been pleased by this move from Tyranny. Thimble, arms folded across her chest, looked anything but. “Healthy supply of rocks around here, y’know.”
Wicander pulled his arms, and the flame cupped between his hands, back to his chest. “Point taken. Just a suggestion. Forget I mentioned it.”
He brought the flame to his lap. There was no need to get rid of it just yet, as even if Thimble didn’t take advantage of it, it still provided him with more heat than he had initially had.
The flicker of warmth lulled him into a sense of peace, even among the battering rain from above. Despite knowing that no one or nothing was going to answer, Wicander sent out a small prayer for Cyd Pridesire. May the Light shine on them all, and grant them the fortune to restore Cyd to his rightful place by Teor’s side.
The tiniest of pressure on his leg made him pause in his musings. Wicander cracked an eyelid to see Thimble, her back turned to him, curled up on top of his thigh.
He drew in a breath, held it deep within his chest, and only let it out when he was sure that it wasn’t going to be a loud cheer.
“You landed on–” Her little fist smacking against his thigh could barely be felt, but it was still enough to cut him off at the quick. It did not prevent the broad smile from spreading on his face.
She glared at him over her shoulder. “Don’t make this weird. I’m freaking freezing, alright?”
Should he say goodnight? Would that be weird? Most likely. There needed to be another alternative somehow. Maybe something like…
“Well, may the Light’s purifying rays scour away any nightmares that seek to shadow your dreams, Thimble.” Better. Thoughtful.
Thimble didn’t answer. Wicander couldn’t see her face, but the fact that she hadn’t used her toy sword to stab him in retaliation? He felt as gooey as honey.
Tomorrow was a new day, and while it was likely he would spend the majority of it sneezing, the thought of earning a sliver of approval from the tenacious pixie made it well worth the effort.