The Amulet Of Nicmir (The Scripts Of Neptune, Book 1)

Chapter 18

Crynia finally gave up on sleep. No matter how many times she tried to force the images away, every time she closed her eyes, Drake's death replayed on the inside of her eyelids, followed by the demise of the remainder of her gang. And every time it replayed, her heart constricted a little more, and the pain got worse.

Her wound didn't help, either. It was healing; that much she knew by how much it itched. Lillian had bandaged it securely, which made the irritation even more unbearable.

After staring at the dying coals of the fire for a while, steadfastly resisting the urge to claw away her bandages and stop the torture, she decided what she really needed was a walk.

Silently rising from her pallet, she scrubbed her face with her palms and glanced out at the mouth of the cave. The bare tree trunks were lit by the moon, glowing lilac in its light.

Pulling on her boots and retrieving a long, warm cloak from the supplies, Crynia yanked the hood over her wavy black locks and stepped silently over the slumbering, blanketed forms of the others, escaping the darkness of the cavern.

The air was cool and clean, brushing her cheeks with a gentle caress. The wind caught her cloak and billowed it behind her as she left the trees, her boots crunching the dry mud of the riverbank.

The river was pale and fast in the moonlight. The shallows on the opposite bank were mottled in shadow from overhanging trees, hiding the nocturnal predators that preyed on smaller creatures that inhabited the submerged world.

Crynia loved the river. It was constant, dependable. And though its course sometimes changed, it always flowed with surety, steadfast and unmoving in its purpose. Here, she found peace.

She sighed into the wind and spread her arms, letting the night take her troubles.

"Hey."

The voice startled her. She whirled, her hair blown into her face, to face Nyle.

With the wind in her ears and her eyes shut, she hadn't heard or seen him approach. He now stood a yard away, watching her, his hair tousled and his eyes tired. The moon lit half of his face, glinting off his dark eyes.

"Didn't mean to startle you," he said, his voice drowsy. "You woke me up leaving."

"Sorry." She pulled her cloak tight around her. "Just needed some air."

He nodded and stuck his hands in his pockets, staring out at the river. "You miss them?"

"My gang?" Crynia looked at the ground and hugged her torso. "Yeah. A lot."

Nyle shook his head a little and glanced sideways at her. "I wasn't talking about them," he said. "I've seen that look you wear a thousand times on the faces of fathers, brothers, and sons in the camp. You left somebody behind."

Her father's face popped into her mind. His soft, strong features, his sad grey eyes, his shaggy head of hair, his tall, strong frame. Crynia really could've used another of his warm, comforting hugs.

"I'd rather not talk about it," she said, glaring out at the river. In her short life, she'd found that acting angry usually made people stop asking questions. With any luck, it'd work again.

"Okay," Nyle relented, sounding unfazed.

Crynia risked a look at him. He had his arms crossed over his chest, standing straight. With his mop of blond hair and strong, lithe build, he looked almost like a younger, less burly copy of her father. But he was an inch or so shorter, and his eyes were far darker.

She remembered what he'd said: all of them had lost something. But when he said he'd lost his home, she sensed it went deeper than the camp. He was a Serpentine. He'd ended up at the camp somehow, hadn't he? Judging by what he'd said earlier about Agnir attacking his own people first, Nyle had lost his first home to the war, and it was likely that he knew something in regard to missing parents.