Until We Meet

19|🎗️ Selection

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Stuffed between his arms, I gasped for air, my throat burning from the sudden lack of oxygen. A'Ying merely folded her lips in a disapproving line, her gaze fixed on Zhao Yun as he retrieved the dagger from the tree.

My trembling hands instinctively massaged my throat, the memory of its constriction fueling a surge of defiance. A'Ying, ever practical, approached me with a firm nod, urging me to relinquish the fight.

"I'll find more firewood," she declared, disappearing into the thick undergrowth of the forest.

The moment she was gone, I saw my opportunity.  With a burst of adrenaline, I lunged forward, my foot snagging on a stray piece of grass as I snatched the dagger before him.

He stared at me, his expression unreadable, as I held the sharp point poised against his throat.  My hands shook violently, the weight of the weapon far heavier than I ever imagined.  He remained motionless, his gaze filled with a strange mix of disappointment and… was that resignation?

"Not only unobservant and detached," he finally spoke, his voice devoid of emotion, "but weak.  To win, you must study your opponent, retreat when victory is unsure.  Only the strong can protect."

Shame burned in my cheeks.  His words were harsh, but they were the truth.  I wiped a stray tear from my face, unable to meet his gaze.

He bent down and retrieved his sword, his eyes flickering back to me with a flicker of annoyance when a startled yelp escaped my lips.  Another dagger, thrown with deadly accuracy, whistled through the air.  Instinctively, I threw my arms up to shield myself, bracing for the impact that never came.

Confused, I lowered my arms.  A dead rabbit lay at my feet, pierced through by the dagger.  The weight of his actions settled on me, a harsh lesson delivered with a brutal efficiency.

He turned away, his focus shifting to the pile of firewood.  The rhythmic clinking of stones filled the air as he built a fire, his movements practiced and sure.  He gathered more tinder from the bark of a nearby tree, a skilled woodsman despite his youth.

A part of me resented him, his harsh criticism stinging.  But another part, a more rational part, acknowledged his point.  I needed to be stronger, not just for myself, but for my people.

As the fire crackled and roared, casting a warm glow across the forest floor, he turned his attention to the dead rabbit.  He expertly skinned it with his dagger, then skewered it on a long stick, holding it over the flames.

Watching him work in quiet efficiency, a grudging respect began to bloom within me.  He moved with a practiced ease, as though surviving in the wilderness was second nature to him.  Was this truly his first time being thrust into such a situation?

The night deepened, the cool air warmed by the crackling fire.  The vast expanse of the night sky twinkled with a million stars, a breathtaking display against the inky darkness.  A small smile touched my lips despite the turmoil within me.

He kept a constant vigil over the roasting meat, the only sound the crackling fire and the occasional pop of a burning twig.  Unable to resist any longer, I inched closer to the fire, the comforting warmth seeping into my chilled bones.

"Roasting it over the fire enhances the flavor," he finally spoke, his voice low.  A thousand questions swirled in my head, but doubt kept them trapped on my tongue.

As if sensing my hesitation, he turned his head, his gaze landing on the pouch of spices I held tightly in my hand.  A hint of curiosity flickered in his eyes. 

"They're not just for cooking," I blurted out, feeling my cheeks flush.  "I use them for protection too. Those drunken men at the taverns can be quite a bother, so I always carry them."