A Touch Of Darkness

29 || Familiar

All she finds in him is nerves. Coiled tension ready to release, a tremor in his twitching fingers that must easily shudder into his bones. Hard to place.

She sighs to herself, shaking her head. Familiar. So strangely familiar, but wrong.

The regiment halts as they reach the first tent. Dalton steps away and spins, the others automatically fanning out around him in a wobbly semi-circle. Sarielle guides Nathan to its end. He visibly swallows. She gives his shoulder a reassuring pat, resisting the urge to run a finger over the frayed seam.

"We move at first light," Dalton says, his tone slipping easily into command. Or so it appears. Sarielle knows by now that there is bundled courage dragged to the surface every time he speaks like this. To most, his straightened stance is a sign of confidence, but it is a little too straight, stiff and forced, and he is fully aware of it. An imposter, a boy pretending to be a man.

Posture. She casts another glance at Nathan. They're similar, in a way: false boldness, forever tense, thoughts simmering just beneath a tight cloak. But not the same. Dalton may be secretly unsure, but he isn't scared.

"Get as much rest as you can," Dalton continues. "Skyla and Beckett, fetch the rabbits you killed this morning. Averil, get a fire started."

"I can start a fire," Nathan says quickly. Sarielle jolts towards him, and feels the others do the same. He shrinks under their stares.

"You'll go with Harper," Dalton says, clearly casting aside the notion. "He can find you some fresh clothes. Something less black." Bitterness brushes over the words, and Sarielle feels her fist curl. Black isn't silver, but it is still a colour of Neyaibet, and to wear it at an Oscensi army camp is asking for misfortune.

Nathan dips his head. "Thank you, Dalton. But surely that won't take long? I'm happy to help--"

"Take as long as you need." Kind but firm, Dalton's default tone recently. Admittedly, Sarielle does miss the time when he could speak with a lighter note. "Harper will show you to your own tent as well."

Nathan's eyes light. His hands clasp in front of him. "Will I be allowed some time alone?"

For a moment, Dalton appears stunned. "Of course." He stares at Nathan a second more before shaking his head and turning to the others. "The rest of you, ensure all preparations are made for setting off quickly in the morning, in case the trace we left behind in Katamen is picked up on. Dismissed."

The regiment collectively nods and breaks apart, all heading to their respective tasks. Sarielle lingers, caught between watching Dalton as he frowns up at the sky and Nathan, scuffing his boots in the dirt.

Thankfully, Harper appears before she has to consider any sort of decision. He bobs his head towards Nathan. Harper is all jerks and bows, hasty ducks when he stands beside someone taller, the hunched form of one used to being a follower and excelling at it. "If you'll come with me, Nathaniel," he says, gesturing a path through the tents.

Nodding, Nathan looks back at Sarielle. He really does stand like Dalton then, eyes steeled with more surety than truly lurks below. "See you later?"

She smiles. "See you later, Nathan."

Harper takes the time to shoot her an amused glance before leading onward, Nathan trailing behind him. She watches them both go. A nagging feeling taps at her temples, making them ache with the test of memory.

It's Nathan's voice, too. The pitch of it, the barest scrape it carries. But instead of slotting into a scene, its echo reverberates in a void, empty, all else slipping from her grasp.