Page 99 of Warrior of the Wild
“Don’t scare me like that again,” I say.
Soren leans in and presses a kiss to my lips. “I’ll try not to. Thank you for your help.”
My legs leave the ground as Soren sweeps me off my feet, holding me in his arms before I can protest.
“What are you doing?” I exclaim.
“You’re injured. I’m carrying you.”
“My legs are fine,” I say as I swat his arm.
“I want to hold you. Now stop wiggling, and let’s get you over to the medical supplies in the packs.”
“I’m bleeding all over you.”
“I don’t care.”
He silences my next protest with another kiss.
CHAPTER
20
Soren carries me the long way around to reach our packs, because he doesn’t want to risk another run-in with the enormous bird. I protest the entire way, but secretly, I’m pleased. Maybe once I would have had an issue with it. I did ask Soren to treat me as he would any other warrior. But I’ve given myself permission to behave as I wish in the wild. I love how strong Soren is, and I love the feeling of being in his arms.
He sets me down once we reach the packs and retrieves strips of cloth from one of them to wrap my arm. Later we’ll find clean water to rinse the injury. It might even need sewing. But neither of us can do that. That is more Iric’s territory. He has experience from all the leather work that goes along with weapon-making.
Not that I care.
What’s one more scar?
The god has scarred me. The hyggja has scarred me. A mountain cat. Now the otti. Each scar marks me as a survivor.
A warrior of the wild.
WE FIND OUR SHELTERfrom the previous night and decide to reuse it rather than make more progress down the mountain. We’re both exhausted from the day’s events anyway.
It’s not even close to sunset, so Soren builds a fire, just so he has something to do. We don’t have anything to cook over it. It’s not even that cold yet. There’s no practical reason for it.
I’m glad for it, though. The crackling of a fire is familiar and comforting. It reminds me of the hearth in my room. I remember nights when Irrenia would sneak out of bed and join me in mine. We’d talk for hours—about how our days went, about our struggles in our chosen professions, about the future and what we hoped for most.
I don’t know what my future holds. Or even if my life will be long or short. But the present is full of more hope than ever before.
Soren holds the sky-blue feather in his left hand, while his right fingers brush the smooth strands. His eyes are on the fire.
I sit opposite him on a flat rock, the fire between us. Soren has grown quiet. I’m desperate to know his thoughts, but I won’t ask unless he wants to offer them up.
“Iric was right,” he says at last. “It doesn’t feel any different. I’ve got the feather, but what does it prove? And the goddess—if her Paradise is now open to me again, shouldn’t Ifeelit?”
I watch the flames twist around each other. “I’ve suspected for awhile now that the mattugrs are no punishment devised by the goddess. I think they are something born of the traditions of men.”
“I know I should be glad that I can finally return home, but I can’t help but think of all the people who lost their lives to their mattugrs.How many died because they were left out here alone by their own kind?”
I rise from my seat and walk around the fire to kneel in front of Soren. “We can’t change what happened, but I will make changes for the future. When I rule Seravin, I will try my best to make things right for my village. We can only hope to inspire change in the others as well.”
Soren returns the feather to his pack before tugging on my hands. My head comes to rest against his shoulder.
“Is there a place for me by your side?” he asks quietly, tentatively. “While you inspire change and rule a village, will there be any room for me in your life?”
