Chapter 11: SoakedThe terrain grew rocky and uneven as the forest gave way to the foothills. The air grew colder, biting through their sweat-soaked clothes. The manic energy left Miz’ri, repced by the grim, mechanical trudge of a warrior. But Talisa wasn't a warrior in any sense of the word.

  They reached a bend in the river, where the water churned white and angry over jagged rocks. Miz’ri stopped to check her bearings, peering into the gloom. Behind her, there was a heavy thud. Miz’ri turned to see Talisa colpsed on a ft rock. The pilgrim wasn't moving. She was just sitting there, head between her knees, taking shallow, hitching breaths.

  “Get up, Marshmallow,” Miz’ri said, though her voice cked its usual bite. “We need to cross. The fire will drive everything our way by morning.”

  “I can’t,” Talisa wheezed. She looked up. Her face was a mask of misery—streaked with soot, sweat, and dried tears. “I physically can’t. My legs won’t work. I’m thirsty. I’m starving. And… good freaking gosh golly darn it I have to pee so bad I might die!”

  Miz’ri blinked. “You have to pee?”

  “I’m only human!” Talisa snapped, her voice cracking. “We have needs! I haven't eaten since the fish! I haven't stopped moving since the jail! I hit the wall, Miz. I hit it three miles back.”

  “Well if you piss on this side they’ll know you were here, and use it to follow our trail. You need to hold it.” Miz’ri looked at the river. It was wide here, and fast. The water looked freezing. “I see a cave,” Miz’ri said, pointing to the far bank. Her darkvision picked out a shadow in the limestone face of the foothills. “It’s dry. We can rest there. But we have to cross.”

  Talisa looked at the bck, swirling water and shook her head. “I can’t swim that. Not like this. I’ll drown.” She looked at Herkel. “Pappy?” The skeleton rattled mournfully. He stepped into the shallows, walking up to his eye socket, struggling against the current. “I don't think he's pnning on swimming.” Talisa realized with a groan. “And I don't think I can hold your breath that long.” She looked back at Miz’ri. The girl was shivering now, huddled in a ball

  A profound annoyance settled on Mizri’s shoulders. “Well?” she demanded, hands on her hips. “What’s the pn, Pilgrim? Do we sit here and wait for the remaining angry Rheans to find us?”

  “Could you carry me?” Talisa asked with a genuine tone to her voice.

  “Absolutely not” Miz'ri crossed her arms and scowled even more, “That's an absurd request.” She looked at the curvy girl before her and saw nothing but warm, sweat-logged weight.

  The pitiful Human looked up at the annoyed Elf. She didn't argue. She didn't preach. She just widened her big, blue eyes, let her bottom lip tremble slightly, and projected a beam of pure, pathetic helplessness that could have melted a gcier.

  Miz’ri stiffened. “Don’t do that.”

  Talisa blinked, a tear tracking through the soot. She sniffled. This was clearly a skill she had practiced.

  “Stop it,” Miz’ri warned, pointing a finger accusationally at Talisa. “I am immune to your human… moisture.” Talisa just looked at her, shivering, looking soft and sad and utterly dependent.

  Miz’ri held out for five seconds. Each was a long moment of locked blue and red eyes. Then she threw her head back and let out a guttural growl of frustration. “Fuck!” she shouted at the river. “Fine! Void take you and your bdder!”

  She stomped over to the rock and turned around, crouching down. “Get on. Before I change my mind and drown you myself.”

  Talisa let out a squeak of relief. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

  “Shut up,” Miz’ri grunted as Talisa climbed onto her back. The girl was heavy—solid, warm weight pressing against Miz’ri’s spine. Talisa wrapped her arms around the elf’s neck, burying her face in the red scarf. “Hold on tight,” Miz’ri commanded, wading into the freezing water. “And mean hold it. if you pee on my back in this river, I will feed you to the first bear I see.”

  The moment Miz’ri stepped off the bank, the river seized her legs with icy, numbing force. She gasped, her breath misting in the night air, and tightened her grip on Talisa’s thighs. “Don’t move,” Miz’ri hissed through chattering teeth. “You shift your weight, we both go under.”

  “Yes ma'am.” Talisa answered. She was clinging to Miz’ri like a barnacle, her face buried in the wet wool of the elf’s scarf, shivering so violently that Miz’ri could feel the vibrations rattling through her own spine.

  The crossing was a nightmare of physics and endurance. The current was strong, pushing against them with the weight of the entire mountain range. Every step on the slick, unseen river stones was a gamble. Miz’ri leaned into the flow, using her superior bance and strength to stay upright, essentially acting as a living anchor for the useless human on her back.

  To her left, Herkel was having an even worse time. The skeleton was submerged to his neck, his heavy coat billowing out like a dark jellyfish. He wasn't walking so much as bouncing along the bottom, his bony feet struggling for purchase as the current tried to drag him downstream. He looked ridiculous—a drowning scarecrow rattling against the dark water—but he kept pace, his empty sockets fixed on the far bank.

  “Almost… there…” Miz’ri grunted, her boots finally finding the gravel of the upward slope.

  They stumbled out of the water and onto the rocky shore, colpsing in a heap of wet wool and exhausted limbs. Miz’ri dumped Talisa onto the stones, gasping for air, her legs burning from the exertion.

  “We made it,” Talisa whispered, her teeth cttering. “Oh, thank the Saints.”

  “Thank Me, I did all the work.,” Miz’ri snapped, forcing herself up. The adrenaline was gone, leaving only the biting cold.

  Miz’ri felt Talisa tug and her hand, csping it tight in full appreciation. “Thank you Miz’ri,” Despite looking like a soaked rabbit that had fallen in the river, her face was as warm as ever. “You’re really dependable, you know that?”

  Miz’ri wasn’t quite sure how to respond. It was the first compliment she’d received in quite a while, possibly centuries. She let that connective moment linger for a beat longer than the rest before breaking eye contact, a touch of crimson on her obsidian cheeks. “W-we, need to move into the cave. Now.”

  She hauled Talisa up, and they stumbled into the shallow indentation Miz’ri had spotted. It wasn't much—barely six feet deep, a scoop out of the limestone face—but it was out of the wind, and the floor was dry dust rather than mud.

  Talisa practically ran to relieve herself in the bushes. Miz’ri went into automatic survival mode as scavenged driftwood from the high-water line, her hands moving with frantic efficiency. Within minutes, she had a small fire crackling in the center of the cave, radiating a gentle heat and casting long, dancing shadows against the rock walls. Talisa found a space in the back of the little cave for Pappy, leaning him against the walls. She grabbed her little water-logged prayer book, tried to flip to the right page but found them stuck together. Shrugging her shoulders, went off memory instead, “ “Father Yuith, Shepherd of the Great Cycle, Witnessed this vessel, worn by love and duty. By the blood we share, I invoke the Binding of the White Stone…” finishing her little prayer of mending to allow her great grandfather’s chipped and cracked bony body to heal.

  “All done! Rest well Pappy.” With a contented sigh, Talisa crawled toward the heat, holding her hands out, her face pale and drawn. The warmth hit them like a drug, loosening the tight knots of tension in their chests. She let out a long, shaky sigh, a weak smile ghosting across her face. “Well,” she murmured, looking at the flickering fmes. “I certainly hope this fire doesn't end up like the first one.”

  Miz’ri let out a short, sharp ugh, shaking the river water from her white hair. “If this fire spawns a giant spider, Pilgrim, I am leaving you to eat it.” She looked over at Talisa letting out the occasional unconscious shudder from her body. The girl was soaked to the bone. Her heavy tunic and breeches were dark with water, clinging to her skin, sucking the heat right out of her.

  “Strip,” Miz’ri commanded.

  Talisa blinked, looking up. “What?”

  “Your clothes,” Miz’ri said, her voice ft and practical. “Take them off. You’ll catch a fever in wet wool, and I don’t have the patience to nurse you.”

  Talisa hesitated. Her hands went to her colr, clutching the wet fabric tight. The old instincts—the modesty of the temple, the shame of the body—came rushing back. She looked around the small cave. There were no corners. No shadows deep enough to hide in. “I… I’ll just sit close to the fire,” Talisa stammered, shifting so her back was to the elf. “They’ll dry on me. It’s fine.”

  Miz’ri watched her, a smirk curling the corner of her mouth. The survivalist was fading, and the predator was waking up. “Still trying to hide, ste’kol?” Miz’ri purred. She stepped closer, the firelight gleaming in her red eyes. “Have you forgotten the deal so quickly? Or do you need a reminder of who owns what underneath those damp rags?” Her eyes saw the soaked folds clinging to her curves, the warm flesh beneath that she was eager to feel again.

  Miz’ri didn't wait for an answer. “Come now, we have little time for shame.” She reached down and unbuckled her own sword belt, letting it drop to the dust with a heavy thud. Her hands went to the hem of her tunic. She pulled it over her head in one smooth motion, tossing the wet garment onto a rock. Then the trousers. Then the boots.

  She stood naked in the firelight, unashamed and utterly comfortable in her skin. Her body was a map of scars and lean muscle, sleek and dangerous, glowing like obsidian against the fmes. Water droplets still clung to her dark skin, sizzling faintly as they evaporated in the heat, tracing the sharp definition of her abs and the long, elegant lines of her legs. She was not soft; she was forged. Every movement was fluid, the py of light and shadow accentuating the raw, predatory grace she usually kept hidden beneath yers of leather. She stretched, arching her back, and for a moment, she looked less like a person and more like a statue carved from night itself—beautiful, cold, and breathtakingly regal.

  Talisa stared, her mouth slightly open, a flush rising on her cheeks that had nothing to do with the fire. It felt like walking into a dream she’d had a thousand times but never dared to remember upon waking. She had seen nakedness before in the communal baths of the temple, but that was soft, modest, and functional. The woman before her was a weapon unsheathed. She watched the firelight dance across Miz’s dark skin, highlighting subtle curves and hollows that made her breath hitch in her throat. She felt dumbfounded, her mind going completely bnk save for the overwhelming visual feast before her.

  "I must still be dreaming..." she whispered, the prayer sounding more like a confession of sin than a plea for salvation. She couldn't look away; she didn't want to. She was drinking in the sheer, raw womanhood standing before her, terrified and enamored all at once.

  Miz’ri stepped into Talisa’s personal space. She didn't crouch; she loomed. She reached down, her hands settling on Talisa’s shoulders. It wasn't an attack. It was an assist—firm, dominant, and leaving no room for argument. “I’m no dream,” Miz’ri ordered softly. “Arms up,”

  Talisa swallowed hard, but she obeyed. “Yes Ma’am” She lifted her arms, trembling slightly. Miz’ri gripped the hem of the sodden tunic and peeled it off, the heavy wet fabric making a sucking sound as it left Talisa’s skin. Miz’ri tossed it aside. Then she went for the breeches, her fingers brushing against Talisa’s cold skin, leaving trails of heat. When it was done, Talisa sat in her thin, damp undergarments, hugging her knees to her chest. Miz’ri id the wet clothes out on the rocks near the fire, treating them with a domestic care that was at odds with her nakedness.

  Then, silence.

  The fire popped. The river rushed outside.

  Miz’ri sat down across from Talisa. The danger was over. The escape was successful. They were safe. And that was the problem. Without the adrenaline, without the fear, the Silence came rushing back into Miz’ri’s head. It hit her like a physical blow—the crushing, empty void of her own existence. The quiet was too loud, uncomfortable thoughts filling the empty void in the air. It demanded to be filled. It demanded noise, to drown out the persistent feelings of loathing that pgued her soul. It demanded sensation to drown it all out. This nagging part of herself that never allowed her to truly settle in silent comfort. Miz’ri’s expression shifted. The confident smirk vanished, repced by a momentary look of haunted, desperate hunger.

  Talisa, watching her over her knees, saw the distress. “Miz?” she whispered, concern furrowing her brow. “Are you alright?” She said holding her own rumbling tummy, trying to extend some empathy.

  “I am fine.” Miz’ri’ said with a flimsy lie. Her hands were twitching just like before she stabbed the Rhean elf leader, a clear wave of anxiety washing over her. She looked up as her heart began to race in her chest. The Silence demanded to be filled, one way or another. Her eyes were dark, the pupils blown wide. She looked at the girl across the fire—soft, curvy, glowing in the amber light. She looked at the pulse fluttering in Talisa’s neck. She looked at the fear and the fascination warring in the pilgrim's blue eyes.

  “Oh my sweet Ste’kol, mind always on her next meal, so it seems..” Miz’ri said, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous husk. She shifted, spreading her toned, obsidian legs slowly, deliberately, in the firelight. It was an explicit invitation. A command. She fixed Talisa with a stare that stripped away the st of the pilgrim's pretense.

  “You said you were hungry, right?” Miz’ri murmured, leaning back on her hands, her body open and waiting. “Time to eat.”