𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐏𝐄 ➻ 𝐓𝐬𝐮'𝐭𝐞𝐲 ✔

[- chapter eighty five -]

The mountains felt quieter than the battlefield, but the quiet was deceptive. It carried the distant tremor of war — echoes of explosions rolling across stone, the rattle of gunfire.

They landed in a clearing near the temporary gathering point where the Omatikaya had regrouped. Warriors moved with focused efficiency, tending to the wounded, restringing bows, redistributing weapons taken from fallen enemies. The air was thick with smoke and resolve.

Nate dismounted first, helping Charlie down carefully. The boy's hands were still gripping him tightly, knuckles pale.

"It's okay," Nate murmured, crouching to his level. "You're safe here."

Charlie didn't argue. He just nodded, jaw clenched in a way that made him look older than he was.

Mo'at was already approaching.

The Tsahìk's presence cut through the chaos like a steady current. Her eyes moved over Charlie quickly, assessing, measuring, seeing far more than he could hide.

She rested her hands gently on his shoulders. "Come," she said softly. "You will sit. You will drink."

Charlie hesitated, glancing back at Nate. "You're going back?"

Nate didn't lie. "Yeah."

Charlie swallowed. "Find mom, please." The words were a feeble attempt at being steady, because his eyes betrayed the fear underneath.

Nate reached forward and pressed his forehead lightly to Charlie's, a brief contact that felt grounding in a world spinning too fast. "We will."

Mo'at guided Charlie away, her voice low as she began issuing instructions for water, for salves, for food. He allowed himself to be led this time, exhaustion finally settling into his limbs now that the immediate danger had passed.

Tsu'tey had not moved.

He stood a short distance away, staring toward the forest line where the canopy swallowed everything whole. His bow hung loosely at his side. His shoulder was stiff from the earlier conflict, but he seemed not to notice.

Nate approached him slowly.

"We need arrows," Nate said, keeping his tone practical, steady. "Temek took some damage to his left wing edge — I'll check the bindings. We'll need more blades too."

Tsu'tey nodded once.

They moved together toward the supply cache, working in silence. Nate gathered arrows methodically, checking shafts for cracks, replacing broken fletching with quick, practiced hands. He wiped dirt from his blade, testing its balance before sliding it back into place.

Across from him, Tsu'tey restrung his bow.

His hands did not tremble.

But his movements were slower than usual, more deliberate, as though he were forcing himself to remain anchored to each task.

Mo'at approached them after settling Charlie with the healers.

She did not interrupt at first. She simply stood near enough to be acknowledged, her presence steady and patient.

"Tsu'tey," she said gently.

He looked up, the single word held a question, but, for a moment, Tsu'tey said nothing.

His jaw tightened, then his gaze shifted away — not evasive, not dismissive — but bracing. "She fell, from Txur," he said finally, voice low and controlled.

Mo'at waited as the silence stretched

"She is gone," Tsu'tey added.

Mo'at's eyes searched his face, as if she might find more there than he was willing to give aloud. "Gone where?" she asked carefully.

Tsu'tey's throat worked, for a heartbeat, something cracked in his expression — not weakness, not quite — but rawness. His composure wavered just enough to reveal the storm beneath it.

"I lost her," he said, and this time the control slipped. "I could not hold her. I chose to attempt to stabilise instead of brace us both and manage to keep ahold of her... I chose wrong."

The admission cost him.

His eyes glistened, though no tears fell. His breathing grew shallow, and he looked suddenly as though he were standing back in that moment in the sky — feeling her weight leave his grasp all over again.

Mo'at stepped closer but did not touch him yet. "You did not choose wrong," she said quietly.

He shook his head once. "I have failed her too many times," he replied, voice roughening. "I will not speak of it further."

The finality in his tone was not anger — it was self-preservation. If he said more, if he described the fall, the way she vanished into the trees, the way the gunships forced them away — he would break.

And there was still a war to fight.

Nate stepped in then, not to contradict him, but to stand beside him. "We're going back," Nate said. "We'll track her from the last position we saw. The forest would've broken her fall some. She's strong. We'll find her before we get back to the main battle."

He wasn't sure if he was trying to convince Mo'at or himself.

Mo'at looked between them both, reading what they would not articulate. "Then you will not waste time," she said. "You will move with clear minds. Grief can wait until she is found."

Tsu'tey inhaled slowly, forcing the air deep into his lungs as though steadying himself for impact.

He nodded.

Nate finished securing the last of the arrows to his harness and checked the straps along Temek's saddle one final time. Around them, warriors prepared for the next wave of engagement, unaware of the specific fracture that had just opened in the hearts of these two warriors.

Charlie sat beneath a shaded overhang, wrapped in a light cloak, watching them with wide, unblinking eyes.

Tsu'tey met the boy's gaze briefly and he straightened.

Whatever anguish threatened to surface was forced back behind the mask of a warrior once more.

"We go," he said.