Warsworn

horses?" I looked over where our mounts were standing, waiting patiently. They were grazing, except of course for my Greatheart. He was fast asleep, his one hip cocked to the side, his head hanging down. As usual.
    "The horses." Marcus sheathed his daggers within the darkness of his cloak as the others stood, brushing themselves off. "Get to a horse, leap to its back, and it will take you out of danger."
    "If she could ride." Prest said calmly.
    I glared at him, but they were all smiling. It was an old joke now, but in their eyes, it was true. I wasn't born in a saddle, like the people of the Plains, and to them my riding skills were horrible. But I could ride. Leaping into a saddle, however…
    "But that lesson can wait," Marcus announced. "His-self will be making camp soon, and the meal will not make itself." He headed toward the horses.
    Thankful for the reprieve, I followed with my guards.
    Since we'd resumed our march to the Plains, Keir had made some changes to my sleeping arrangements. My tent was a bit bigger now, enough that I could stand upright in it. He'd arranged extra padding for my bedding. It was saddle blankets folded and piled high, which made a very comfortable mattress. They were made from some kind of wool that I didn't recognize, but knew from its use in camp. But the biggest change, and the best change, was that I slept within his arms every night.
    When we'd left Water's Fall, Keir had continued his practice of moving up and down the length of his army, in sight of his warriors and dealing with their morale. He'd left me in the center, where he'd thought I'd be better protected. But that had meant many nights of separation. But now, with the events of Wellspring behind us, I traveled with him. Neither one of us wanted to be apart for any length of time. He continued to work with his warriors, of course, disappearing during the day to deal with any problems that arose. But every night he returned to our bed. To my arms. To me.
    This night would be no different.
    Marcus bustled about, keeping an eye on the warriors that set up our tent, and cooking over an open fire at the same time. I sat close to his fire, watching as he worked. Rafe and Prest had gone off to see to their own camps but Anders and Yveni remained, keeping watch over me. Once Keir arrived,' they'd leave as well. While Keir circled our tent with guards, they stayed well back now, giving me an illusion of a bit of privacy.
    Firelanders had a very different attitude toward privacy then the customs I was raised with. For them bathing together and strolling nude was the custom, with no regard for modesty, even between men and women. As Joden had pointed out to me, there was little privacy to be found in the tents of the Firelanders.
    I sighed. Joden was something else I didn't want to think about.
    In the overnight camps, no one wasted time cutting down trees for seats. Instead, we used the saddle blankets as pads. Dirt and moisture seemed to fall right off the odd wool. Seated by the fire, with a cloak over my shoulders, I was comfortably warm. Winter had moved into the mountains, and while we were moving down onto the Plains, frost still nipped at our heels. The sky was clear, it would be cold tonight.
    Marcus was cutting meat and brewing kavage and would tolerate no help from me. I was too tired to do much more than sit. So I pulled my satchel close and opened the flap. I'd been using it since—
    Since Gils died.
    My hands stilled on the scarred leather. Gils was the young Firelander who'd asked to be my apprentice, breaking the traditions of his people. The image of his freckled face and red curls flashed before me. He'd been so young, so eager, with dancing green eyes and that cheeky grin.
    I closed my eyes, and fought my tears. Goddess, hold him close .
    And hold the souls of Epor and Isdra . The warriors who'd entered the village with me, and were the first to face the plague. Well, Epor had. Isdra had chosen to join her bonded, on the night of the mourning ceremony. Their faces, too, flashed before me. Along with the hundreds that had died of a sickness that I couldn't prevent or cure.
    If only…
    "Here," Marcus's gruff voice interrupted my thoughts. A cup of kavage was held under my nose. "Drink. Stop thinking on the dead."
    I took the cup, the dark and bitter brew steaming in the cool air. "Marcus—"
    "Lara." Marcus's voice softened and I look up at him through my tears. "We have mourned the dead, and will bid them