The caravan moved steadily southward. The wounded had long since been placed on makeshift stretchers lashed to the horses. Mia’s father—the old chieftain with his mane of gray hair and still-fierce fangs—had regained consciousness, but he was weak. The deep wound in his side made itself known with every step.
Amanda kept to the rear.
She rode about a hundred ters behind the last wagon, a black silhouette atop a black horse, her red lenses staring unblinking ahead. It was a strategic position: from here she could watch the entire caravan, control the rear, and—more importantly—maintain distance.
Mia rode at the head of the column, beside her father, issuing orders and keeping order. She was a natural leader—her voice firm, her movents confident. Even the wounded, when they looked at her, found the strength to smile.
But after about an hour, Amanda noticed that the silver-haired head kept turning back more and more often.
At first she thought Mia was simply checking that their mysterious ally hadn’t fallen behind. But the glances lingered too long. And a faint, barely noticeable smile would touch the girl’s lips.
“She’s staring at you,” ca Torglin’s quiet whisper. The gno, invisible, rode sowhere to her right. “That’s the fifth ti in the last hour.”
“I noticed,” Amanda replied just as quietly.
“I told you, girl. She’s decided you’re her destiny.”
“Torglin, shut up.”
The gno snorted and fell silent. But Amanda could feel him grinning into his beard even while invisible.
By evening, they made camp beside the dry riverbed. The beastfolk set up their tents, lit fires, and began preparing a simple al. They were incredibly hardworking. Mia personally went around to every wounded warrior, checked their bandages, and spoke with each one. She was everywhere at once — like a silver shadow flickering between the wagons and tents.
Amanda settled apart from the others. About thirty ters from the main camp, on a small rise that offered a clear view of the surrounding steppe. She didn’t remove her helt, didn’t light a fire. She simply sat on a rock with her hands resting on her knees, staring out into the darkening plains.
The red lenses hid the direction of her gaze, but she saw everything. She saw the beastfolk whispering among themselves and glancing in her direction. She saw the young warriors trying to look braver whenever they passed the black figure. And she saw Mia, once she had finished her duties, pick up a bowl of stew and head straight toward her.
“She’s coming,” Leo whispered. He was sowhere to her left, also invisible, his voice barely audible. “My lady, should I tell her you’re not hungry?”
“I’d like to see you try,” Torglin snorted. “She’s not the type you can stop with words.”
Amanda straightened up. Mia was climbing the rise with a light, springy gait — there was a feral grace in her movents even after the exhaustion of battle. Her silver tail swayed in ti with her steps, and her wolf ears were tilted slightly forward. She was alert, but not hostile. More… curious.
“You’re not eating,” Mia said, stopping three paces away. She held out the bowl. “Here.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You’re lying,” she replied, crouching down opposite her and setting the bowl between them. “You fought like a madman, then rode all day. You should be eating like a horse. My guys have seen warriors like you collapse from hunger after a battle.”
“I’m not one of your guys.”
“I’ve noticed that already,” Mia smirked, and a spark lit up in her eyes. “My guys at least take their helts off when they eat.”
“I made a vow.”
“What kind? Not to show your face until you’ve killed a hundred enemies?” She tilted her head, her ears twitching slightly. “You’re almost there, by the way. Does today count?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“Everything that concerns my savior is my business,” she said with a smile, but there was steel in her voice. “You saved my father. You saved what remains of my people. I owe you now. And I don’t like being in debt.”
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“You don’t owe anything.”
“That’s what I thought too,” she said, sliding the bowl closer. “So let’s start with dinner. Take off the helt and eat. I won’t tell anyone whether you’re handso or hideous under there.”
“I’m not taking off the helt.”
Mia sighed, but she didn’t look offended. She straightened up, sat on the neighboring rock, and stretched out her legs. Her tail swayed lazily.
“Stubborn,” she stated. “Fine. I’ll wait.”
“Wait for what?”
“Until you decide to show yourself,” she shrugged. “Or until circumstances force you. Either way, I’m in no hurry.”
She picked up the bowl and began eating herself — with appetite, but not greedily. Amanda watched her through the red lenses and didn’t know what to do. This girl was nothing like the others who had asked questions before. She didn’t push, didn’t demand, didn’t threaten. She simply… stayed close. And that was far more dangerous.
“You said you were looking for war,” Mia said between bites. “Why?”
“That’s my business.”
“War isn’t a business. It’s death, filth, lost friends, blood you can never wash away. Nobody seeks war for no reason. Either you have nothing left, or you have nothing to lose… or you’re running from sothing.”
Amanda remained silent.
“Am I right?” Mia turned her head toward her. “Are you running?”
“I’m not running.”
“Then what?”
“I’m searching.”
“For what?”
Amanda fell quiet. She stared into the darkness where the steppe rged with the sky and thought. She thought about Kaelan, whom she kept rembering. About Randel, who had stayed behind with her stupid note. About herself — the person she had beco and the person she was pretending to be.
“Answers,” she said at last. “I’m looking for answers.”
“To what questions?”
“To all of them.”
Mia smirked.
“Deep,” she said. “And here I thought you mysterious warriors in black only lived by the sword and battle. Turns out you actually have a soul.”
“What makes you think that?”
“The fact that you ca to help when you could have just ridden past,” she set the empty bowl aside. “Soone without a soul doesn’t risk their own skin for strangers.”
“I already told you — I was killing enemies.”
“You’re lying,” she said calmly, without challenge. “I saw how you fought. You were protecting us. You deliberately placed yourself between us and the nomads. You took risks. Not for money. Not for glory. Because you couldn’t just walk away.”
Amanda stayed silent. Beneath the helt, her cheeks burned.
“And you,” she said, changing the direction of the conversation. “You talk about souls, yet you’re wasting ti talking to a stranger instead of sleeping and regaining your strength. You just lost half your people, your father is wounded, and everyone is looking to you. Yet here you are. With . Why?”
Mia froze. Her ears twitched — the question had hit its mark.
“That’s…” she faltered, and sothing new flashed in her eyes — not confusion, but… respect? “A low blow.”
“You asked. I answered.”
Mia looked at her for a long mont. Then she smirked — a wolfish grin with a hint of fang.
“Good hit,” she said. “I’ll rember that. But I’ll answer your question. I’m here because you’re the most interesting thing that’s happened to in the last year. And also because my father is sleeping, my people are busy, and I… I want to understand who you are.”
“And what have you figured out?”
“Nothing yet,” she replied, rising to her feet and brushing off her clothes. “Except one thing.”
“Which is?”
“You’re not just good at killing. You can think, too. That’s rare among those who wear armor.”
She took a step closer. Just one step. Now there was no more than an arm’s length between them.
“I don’t know who you are,” she said quietly. “I don’t know what you’re hiding under that armor. But I know you’re not who you’re pretending to be. And I’m curious to find out who you really are.”
Her hand rose. Slowly. Carefully. Her fingers brushed against Amanda’s pauldron — where the black tal t the shoulder plate.
Amanda suppressed the urge to grab her wrist and twist it. Stay calm. She’s testing boundaries. If you flinch, you show weakness. If you allow it, you show there are no boundaries.
Her own hand twitched toward her sword — and stopped halfway. No. She wasn’t an enemy.
“Don’t,” Amanda said. Her tallic voice sounded lower than usual, her throat suddenly dry.
“Why?” Mia didn’t pull her hand away. Her fingers slid across the pauldron, along the edge of the cloak, and stopped at the rim of the helt. “Are you afraid?”
“I’m not afraid of anything.”
“You’re lying,” Mia smiled, and there was sothing warm in that smile. And dangerous at the sa ti. “You are afraid. Just not of death. You’re afraid of being seen.”
She withdrew her hand and took a step back. Her silver tail swayed.
“Good night, Reaper,” she said. “Tomorrow will be a long day. You need your strength. And I’ll bring you food again. Will you eat properly this ti?”
She turned and walked down toward the fires — light and graceful, her steps leaving almost no trace on the dry grass.
Amanda remained seated on the rock. She watched her go, and everything inside her was boiling.
“Her eyes… they’re too attentive,” she thought. “Too…”
She cut the thought short. Not the ti. Not the place. And definitely not what she should be thinking about.
“Girl…” Torglin’s whisper was barely audible.
“Torglin,” Amanda’s voice was icy.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You’re breathing too loud.”
“I’m not staring at her. And I’m definitely not thinking that she’s undressing you with her eyes right now.”
Amanda slowly turned her head toward where she calculated the gno was standing.
“You. Shut up. Or. Die.”
“Got it,” the gno’s voice sounded like he was grinning from ear to ear. “Silent as a fish. Proud. Mum as a grave.”
He fell silent, and Amanda was left alone with her red lenses staring into the darkness and thoughts tangling chaotically in her head.
Down by the fire, Mia tossed a few more branches into the flas and glanced back at the rise once more. The black figure still sat motionless on the rock, like a statue.
“Interesting,” she repeated the word she had used yesterday. “Very interesting.”
Her tail swayed, and she smiled at sothing only she knew.
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