Reed had never driven a horse as hard as he did that night. The nausea returned from the jolting and weakness overcame his body. He barely found the strength to keep the child in the saddle, gripping the reins with his other hand. The cold night wind blew over his sweaty face, scattering his hair in all directions. Messy locks fell into his eyes and stuck to his wet cheeks, but he didn't give a damn. He wanted to get away as quickly and as far as possible.

  Pictures of past events flashed before his eyes. The dead woman, Gray's body covered in fresh, still-warm blood, and the girl he had really found in the house. She didn't even try to break free or resist when Reed dragged her outside. The decision to take the child was the fruit of reflection, albeit not too long. When he had entered that house, he expected to see the same scene as before: violence and stumps instead of hands. Yet Reed found Gray, sleeping, and a child. Hands intact. For just a moment, he wondered: is it worth keeping a promise given to a corpse? After all, no one would return to hold him accountable for a broken word.

  Memories surfaced in his mind. Those Reed had suppressed so carefully all his life. When he was a child, he had dreamed of a hero who would pull him out of Vanadir, which had swallowed him and, contrary to legends, had unfolded among the living. Reed had no hope of salvation, and only he and the Mother knew how he got out. For a brief moment, Reed wanted to become that hero, even if he’s never been one. The moment was enough to decide, but too short to change his mind. Reed didn't have enough nobility in him to save others. He owed no one, and time decided for him.

  He had almost regretted his decision while untying the rope on the child's hands, when he realized he didn't hear Gray's snoring. He had killed him quickly, slicing open his stomach before Gray could even understand why Reed had come into that house at all. And Reed just watched as his former comrade caught his own entrails. The sword in his hands seemed to become three times heavier; his fingers began to unclench, striving to let go of such a heavy burden. The room filled with the smell of blood and excrement. The time to change his mind had run out long ago.

  Reed gave the rope binding the girl one last nervous yank and grabbed her by the hand. He put a finger to his lips, urging silence. She didn't intend to scream anyway, just looked at him as if he were the embodiment of universal evil. No one had ever looked at him like that before.

  He stole the horse. Yet first, he had sent the sentry into a deep sleep. It hadn't gone without a fight; his weakened hands refused to obey, and he didn't have the strength to tighten the rope around the sentry's neck enough to kill him. So, Reed just left him lying unconscious, while Reed himself was spitting blood from split lips.

  When he sat the girl on the horse and climbed up himself, the shacks where the dead remained were already burning. The prisoners begged him to take them with him. Reed wouldn't have taken them even if he wanted to. Half had no hands; others were too beaten to run. And he wasn't enough of a hero to give his life for their ghostly freedom. He would have been killed, and the prisoners wouldn't have survived the journey, they would have been overtaken one way or another. The larger the group, the slower it moves, especially if there are wounded. Their wails woke the Wasps, endangering Reed himself. He wanted to ride away before his former "comrades" noticed treason. Maybe they wouldn’t burn in their sleep, but the fire would distract them. And that was quite enough.

  He kicked the horse's flanks, spurring it on while he had the strength, and then everything swam before his eyes. They were already far away, having spent about an hour on the road, but that wasn't enough. They could be overtaken at any minute, could be killed, and Reed was sure that his death would not be easy. The girl sitting in front was silent and stared blankly ahead, clutching the horse's mane with one hand and Reed's arm with the other.

  Weakness rolled in; he really shouldn't have fought. He should have allowed himself to rest and then abandoned the Wasps, but Reed had cut off all paths of retreat himself. Riding out to a small river, he stopped the horse, barely got off himself, leaving the child in the saddle. The girl was silent, not looking in his direction, and in the darkness of the night, Reed couldn't make out the expression on her face. His body ached, his hands shook, and his shoulder hurt for some reason, but he didn't remember why. He had no time to check. Reed walked to the water, letting the horse drink. He washed his face himself, and then sat wearily on the grass, listening as heavy, dark drops of water flowing from his hair rhythmically tapped on his legs, shattering.

  The girl was silent, and Reed found no strength to talk to her. Nor did he want to. He listened to the silence, searching the night landscape for sounds of pursuit, screams, or the clatter of hooves, but heard only the beating of his own heart. And yet, his gut told him this was not the time or place to rest. He wanted so much to fall onto the cold grass and give his tired body what it was asking for. But rest was a luxury, and the price for it might be too high. He could rest forever later.

  Reluctantly, Reed stood up, stroked the horse, and then took the palaka from his bag and put it on. It would be better if his face remained covered for now. Reed harbored no hopes of having slipped away unnoticed. But perhaps a chance encounter would not identify an elf if they hadn't seen his face. The fabric pressed to his skin unpleasantly, irritating him, but Reed left it on. With a quiet groan, he mounted the horse, and the race continued.

  ***

  He stopped the horse when dawn began to break beyond the horizon. His body ached from the long ride, and his hands trembled; he wanted to lie down and surrender to sleep. His head injury made itself known, and his shoulder hurt, but Reed had had no time to check the cause. Neither before his escape nor after. The girl, to his great surprise, hadn't complained once, hadn't asked to stop, hadn't even cried. She was utterly silent, and Reed couldn't see her face to understand the reason for her silence. However, it wasn't hard to guess, and he had neither the strength nor the desire to ask.

  A thick, dense forest stretched out before them. The trees were so tall that the branches almost didn't let sunlight through; darkness reigned. The horse's legs kept snagging on undergrowth; not a single path was visible, not even a faint one to orient by. Somewhere in the distance, the sound of a stream could be heard. Reed dismounted, walked a bit to stretch his tired legs, and then helped the girl down. Her legs were trembling too, but she said nothing, merely examining his face, which was hidden by the palaka. Reed looked away, trying not to look at her; he took the horse by the reins and headed in the direction of the rushing water. Just as silently, the girl trudged after him, lowering her head.

  Reed let the horse drink and released it. It wouldn't go far; it was immediately obvious it was trained, and it probably wanted to eat too. Then he took off the palaka, threw it aside, and allowed the wind to blow over his sweaty, flushed face. Reed washed his face and began unbuckling the straps of his armor to freshen up and finally discover the cause of the pain in his shoulder. Groaning as he pulled off the leather armor, Reed grabbed his shirt, which was soaked in blood. He didn't remember being wounded, but the blood on his clothes was more convincing than his own memory. He turned around to throw the clothes further away from the water and collided with the girl's gaze. She was not just scared; she was terrified.

  Exhaling, Reed raised his hands, showing he wasn't dangerous. Her eyes filled with tears, but not a single one rolled down her cheek. Reed didn't know how he should behave in such a situation, so he decided it would be better just to stay silent. Lowering his hands, he turned away, pulled off his boots, and stepped into the water right in his pants, washing off the blood, sweat, and road dust. There was indeed an arrow wound on his shoulder. Someone had pulled the arrow out, which was good. It wasn't deep, so Reed decided he could get by with doing very little. He decided on not touching it at all and waiting for it to heal itself. There was no inflammation, although swelling was evident; it wasn't bleeding, and there was no pus—thankfully.

  Reed dove into the cold water, feeling his body cool down. He caught himself thinking he would like to stay at the bottom of this stream. It was cool, dark, and calm there, with only water and soft algae caressing his bare feet. Be that as it may, Reed did not suffer from cowardice, and soon he was back on the shore. He waved to the girl, beckoning her to him. She approached reluctantly, not taking her eyes off Reed, as if waiting for something, but this "something" simply did not happen. Her body twitched every time Reed moved, and it wore on his nerves. He didn't know how to let her know that he did not prey on children. Saying it would be foolish. Half the words those capable to speak spoken in vain. And most of them weren’t true.

  When she approached, Reed, with a sigh, ruined his palaka, tearing off the fabric that was supposed to cover his shoulders. He dipped the cloth in the water. The girl stood and watched him silently, catching his every movement like a hawk. He could not raise his eyes to her again, so he simply grabbed her by the arm. Perhaps the gesture was too abrupt, because she flinched as if Reed had hit her. He sighed and began wiping her scratched legs. The rag became dirty quickly, and it was annoying. He didn't want to do this for too long, but he knew she would not have washed her legs herself, forcing Reed to deal with it. Another time he would not have done so, but riding through villages and towns with a bloodied child is a bad omen. Especially if you are a merc. Especially if you are also an elf.

  Reed released her, threw away the rag, and stood up. A wave of pins and needles seized his numb legs; he stumbled. Reed examined her. The scratches on her knees were fresh. The girl had probably fallen while running away during the fight. Well, not the worst injury. Clean legs were not enough as blood had already stained the dress, and Reed could only throw it away, but the girl needed something to wear while he figured out where he could leave her.

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  "What is your name?" Reed asked, gathering his clothes.

  The girl remained silent, drilling him with her gaze. There were so many emotions in her eyes that separating a single one seemed impossible. There was resentment, despair, pain, anger, and even grief, the nature of which Reed was aware of no better than she was herself.

  "What should I call you?" Her silence was starting to infuriate him, and Reed quickly approached her in a fit of anger, forcing the girl to recoil and stumble. He caught her by the elbow, helped her straighten up, and repeated, more calmly now: "What should I call you?"

  "Meredith," she answered quietly. "Mom called me Dita."

  "Okay, Di..." He faltered, wondering if he should call her the way her mom did, the woman whom he had killed. It was out of mercy, but he killed her nonetheless. Reed coughed and corrected himself: "Meredith. Do you want to live, hm?"

  The girl's eyes widened, her lip trembled, and then she nodded.

  "Then wait for me here," Reed commanded, pulling on his shirt. "You will not ride further looking like that." He poked a finger at her bloodied dress. "In the village... they will not understand."

  "Okay," Meredith answered in a colorless voice, sitting down on the grass. She wrapped her arms around her knees and stared at the water, unblinking.

  "I'll go get clothes. And food." The straps on his armor refused to fasten, his fingers felt numb and tired. Reed yanked the straps, hissing angrily, but didn't give up.

  "Okay," she responded just as indifferently.

  "You can wait for me here, or you can run away. But if you run, I will not look for you, and you'll be in the forest alone."

  Reed really would not have looked for her, for running away would have been her choice. It would have meant she refused his help, and Reed was not one of those who would impose their help out of imaginary nobility.

  "Okay," her voice did not change, but this time Meredith at least looked at him as if he were alive.

  "Okay," he grunted, dealing with the last strap.

  Saddling the horse, Reed put on the palaka again and disappeared among the trees without looking back. Meredith remained sitting, looking at the water, and when Reed disappeared, she burst into tears, burying her face in her palms.

  ***

  Reed returned, and Meredith was sitting right where he had left her. He smirked, looking at how meekly she waited. When she saw him, something resembling relief appeared on her face. Maybe she thought Reed had abandoned her? And there was reason to think so; Reed had been gone too long.

  He dismounted and threw Meredith a black bundle tied with coarse thread. She picked up the bundle and raised her eyebrows questioningly.

  "Black doesn't show blood or dirt as clearly," he shrugged awkwardly, as if apologizing.

  Meredith did not answer, pulling at the thread and unwrapping the new clothes.

  "Change. I’m turning around," Reed said without looking at her. And indeed, he turned to the horse to take off the bags, which had cost him a considerable amount of money. Money he barely had. He understood that he would have to work on the road and accepted this humbly, like the everyday necessity of washing or drinking water.

  It was already getting dark. His stomach rumbled discontentedly; his legs ached from riding and fatigue. While Meredith decided what to do with the clothes, he turned his back to her and started building a fire. In such a dense forest, no one would see the light, so there was nothing to fear. While he squinted from the smoke, trying to fan the spark among the damp branches, Meredith disappeared into the bushes. Reed realized this from the characteristic cracking of branches. He smirked without turning around.

  When she emerged, Reed glanced over his shoulder, looked her over, and smiled.

  "Fits perfectly."

  "Yes," Meredith replied, coming closer. The dress was a bit big, but there wasn't much to choose from. She sat down next to him, watching the fire flare up, drew her knees up to herself, and looked at Reed. He didn't want to look her in the eyes, as if he feared seeing her accusing gaze. As if Meredith already knew what he was guilty of.

  "Thank you," she said quietly.

  Reed couldn't find an answer, but simply nodded, forcing a weak smile. He had never interacted with children, didn't know how to behave or what to say, how to calm them or what to do with them when they were in pain. Therefore, he decided to behave as usual, but just a little more reservedly.

  "How old are you?" Reed suddenly asked, examining her shoes.

  "Twelve."

  "And you?" she tried her hardest to show interest, but her face and voice remained just as colorless, empty.

  "A couple of times twelve," Reed quipped, coughing from the smoke that shrouded his face.

  Meredith produced something like a giggle; her face relaxed. She looked at Reed again, glanced over his clothes, his face, and then spoke again, "Will you take me to my mom?"

  "What do you mean?" Reed even flinched, hearing her question.

  "Will I see my mom?"

  "No," he answered curtly.

  "Why?"

  "Because..." Reed stumbled, not knowing how to tell a child that her mother was dead. Usually, he wasn't the one who announced such things; he was more often the direct cause of such news. "Do you know who those people were?"

  "No."

  He sighed again, running his fingers through his hair.

  "They took your mom. I don't think you'll see her again."

  Meredith froze for a moment, and then tears welled up in her eyes. She didn't sob or throw a fit, which is exactly what Reed expected from children. She simply sat silently, allowing the tears to stream down her cheeks. Reed didn't know how to console her or what to say. It seemed to him that any words would be out of place, only making things worse. Finally, gathering all his resolve, he delivered, "I took you because she asked. Appreciate her sacrifice for the sake of your freedom. Because not everyone has it."

  His words were crude, perhaps too difficult for Meredith, but Reed didn't care. Someday she would understand and be grateful. Someday she would learn not to shed tears for the dead. The tears of the living do not warm the dead, do not hurt them, and certainly do not call them back from the dust. The dead are better off with the Mother; otherwise, the world would be full of the dead.

  They sat in silence. Meredith didn't want to talk, and Reed simply had nothing more to discuss with her. At least she hadn't refused to eat. Lifting his head to the sky, studded with small pinpricks of stars, he felt fatigue roll over him again, but he couldn't tear his gaze away.

  "I was told as a child that the stars are the Mother's tears. She wept for her children. She cries every time someone dies and when the tears become too much, they turn into stones that fly above us at night. That's how the Mother remembers that beauty is born of pain."

  "Who is the Mother?" Meredith asked, examining the stars, as if truly hoping to make out the shapes of shining stones.

  "The one who gave us life," Reed smiled, pointing to his ear, a direct reflection of who he was. "She created us, guided us, taught us, and then disappeared. Either we angered her, or she fell victim to betrayal. My people believe that one day the Mother will return, and then no one will be scared or lonely anymore. The Mother will warm us all, grant peace and tranquility."

  "Will she come for us too?"

  "I don't know." Reed shifted his gaze to Meredith and shrugged. "It's a little different for your people."

  "My mom said the Three will punish me if I won’t behave."

  Reed laughed, poking the dying embers. "Your Three are interesting guys in general."

  "Why?"

  "I don't know, just because," he shrugged again, smiling.

  Meredith fell silent, still examining the stars. When the fire finally died down, and everything around plunged into darkness, she spoke again. "And is your Mother beautiful?"

  "Oh, she is the most beautiful," Reed answered, although he himself barely believed in the Mother and the peace she was supposed to grant them. The only peace without fear and pain he knew was eternal. And he certainly was not one who had earned the Mother's mercy, so why should he rely on it?

  "It's time to rest," Reed said quietly, standing up. He took off his cloak and offered it to Meredith. She stared at him uncomprehendingly, not moving from her spot. "It's cold sleeping on the ground," he explained, offering her his cloak again.

  Meredith timidly reached out her hand and took the cloak. A few moments later, she was wrapped up in it, only her eyes and a mass of dark, tousled hair peeking out. Reed grunted, lying down directly on the ground. He had gotten used to sleeping right on the dirt. In the mornings, body aches no longer tormented him; he was not afraid of catching a cold, nor did he fear the cold. If it was cold, it meant he was still alive, and he didn't want anything more. As soon as his head touched the ground, he fell into a heavy, viscous sleep.

  Reed woke up in the middle of the night to strange sounds. Sitting up, he immediately reached for the sword that rested right by his side. His eyes darted back and forth, searching for danger. And then he noticed Meredith, who was breaking branches and laying them down like a carpet, apparently to make her bed more comfortable. He looked at her, and though he couldn't see her face, he understood he had scared her. Reed returned the sword to the sheath and rubbed his eyes.

  "Sorry," she whispered. "It's cold."

  A heavy sigh escaped his lips; he leaned back, covering his sleepy face with his hands. Sleep brought no relief; his bones ached as if he were spending the night in the forest for the first time. With another sigh, Reed propped himself up on his elbows again, looking at Meredith's silhouette. She froze, as if expecting Reed to explode, scold her, perhaps even hit her. He made his decision quickly as he had no choice. He hadn't risked his life for her to freeze in the forest.

  Cursing mentally, he said, "Come here."

  "Where?" Meredith's voice trembled, as if she were about to cry.

  "To me," Reed waved his hand. "Don't be afraid; it will just be warmer. Branches won't help."

  She sat motionless for some time, crumpling the edge of his cloak with her fingers, and then approached.

  "Will you hurt me?" She was crying after all.

  "No," Reed exhaled. "I will sleep, and you will sleep nearby, because it's cold in the forest at night."

  She stood silent nearby. Reed couldn't see her face in the darkness, but he could have bet she was doubting and afraid. He couldn't stand it and hurried her along in the only way he knew how, "Hurry up before I change my mind."

  Some more time was spent in deliberation; Meredith shuffled in place, and Reed wanted to fall asleep again as soon as possible. Finally, she knelt down, put her hands on the ground, and carefully lay down, as if Reed were not an elf, but a Haderat himself, a monster mothers used to scare naughty children. When she lay down, Reed grumbled discontentedly, turning over. He draped one arm over her body and placed the other under her head. He felt how tense Meredith was; her body was like a string ready to snap. But he didn't give a damn; he lacked both the courage and the cruelty to justify her fears, so he just closed his eyes, listening to the quiet sobs.