Although the ride was easy, Lina's thighs burned with every movement. For two days, she'd hoped the pain would fade, but it throbbed on, raw and relentless. Each time she prepared to mount, dread pooled in her chest—she considered just lying down and telling the others to leave her. Fin eyed her as if he might hoist her onto the saddle and tie her down if she so much as mentioned it. His haunted look was new—Sofia's eyes held the same dark shine, shadows beneath them. Lina didn't know all that being a Sentinel meant, but after one cut her down without remorse, icy fear coiled in her gut at the thought of the necromancer controlling one.
Lina sighed. Chewy, true to her name, took every opportunity to wander off path and chomp down on the nearest plant.
"Chewy," Fin growled.
The mare flicked her ears forward and munched on her latest green conquest.
Lina patted her neck and clicked as Galdreth had taught her. Chewy flicked one ear back lazily.
"Girl, you're going to get both of us in trouble with Fin if you keep falling behind."
Chewy stomped a foot, grabbed another leaf, and continued with the group.
"Can she eat that?" Lina asked no one in particular.
"I'd trust Chewy foraging more than any of us," Galdreth laughed.
Lina leaned down to whisper to Chewy, "If you keep up with Fin, I'll make sure you get extra oats wherever we go."
Raithe chuckled.
Chewy walked faster with a little hop. Lina pretended oats motivated her, though Chewy cared more about beating the others to fresh plants.
Lina sighed again as the group continued on in silence. The road stretched ahead, and the quiet was only broken when the sun stood high in the sky. Then, with a raised hand, Sofia halted the group.
"Narrow mountain paths up ahead. Only one horse and rider at a time. If you aren't comfortable riding, dismount and lead your horse on foot."
Sofia's gaze leveled with Lina's.
Lina swung her leg over to dismount and pulled the stirrups out of the way as Fin showed her. Her legs ached with exhaustion.
The riders went up the path one at a time. Sofia led, with Fin at the rear. Lina guided Chewy over the rough ground as loose stones shifted beneath them. She avoided looking into the deep ravine. She hadn't known she feared heights, but now, seeing how far down it was, she wanted to drop to the ground.
Chewy's back hoof slipped over the edge. Lina pulled on the reins too sharply to stop her from following it. Frightened, the mare jerked her head, knocking Lina off balance.
"Lina," Fin shouted.
Lina watched in horror as she fell over the edge. She covered her head while the ground rushed toward her.
Everything went dark.
Sofia's frantic muttering broke through Lina's confusion, every word sharp with panic. Fin knelt beside her, pale and drawn, jaw clenched as he pressed two shaking fingers to her neck. He watched Lina's face, desperate for a sign. Lina gasped for air, making both of them jump. Relief flashed on Fin's face, his shoulders dropping, while Sofia's muttering faded to a shaky breath.
"She's alive," Galdreth choked.
"You hit your head, don't try to get up," Fin said.
"Can you tell us where you hurt?" Sofia asked from the path above. Lina had fallen nearly twenty feet.
"Move your arms and legs. Tell me what we need to splint. It won't be an easy climb back up."
Lina's arm bent unnaturally. She wiggled her fingers, toes, legs, and neck. Carefully, she shifted her twisted arm. She hesitated, jaw clenched.
Nothing hurt. Lina blinked, a hollow, creeping chill climbing her spine and settling deep in her bones. Shouldn't a fall like that have left her writhing in pain? Instead, she felt untouched, as if her body belonged to someone else. For a heartbeat, fear prickled her skin, nerves tight under a numb calm, and she wondered—terrified—if someone or something was dulling her senses, separating her from the world and herself all at once.
She sat up and frowned.
"It's all right, Lina. There's no rush," Sofia soothed and eased some thick branches and rope down to where they were. "Splint her arm for now, we'll get it checked at the… village."
Fin gingerly took her arm and tied it with the rope and wood. "This'll hurt."
Lina frowned. It didn't hurt, although both she and Fin could see the angle was wrong.
"Do you hurt anywhere else?" Sofia called.
Lina shook her head.
"Easy, girl. You hit your head," Fin growled.
Lina's lips fluttered like a butterfly's wing as she thought about what to say. Should she admit that she felt fine?
"Will she be able to ride like this?" Galdreth asked.
"Let's get her up there first."
Lina stood on wobbly legs.
'Are you alright?' Raithe asked, his voice cutting cleanly through the noise around her.
Lina nodded. 'Yes.'
The tension eased—just slightly. She didn't know why.
Fin watched her, something unsettled in his expression.
"She can stand," Galdreth whispered.
Lina grabbed the rope with both hands to start the ascent back to their horses.
Sofia gasped.
Lina dropped the rope with her injured hand and cursed.
"It wasn't that bad of a fall," Lina protested, tasting the lie on her tongue.
Fin tied the end of the rope around Lina's waist and hauled himself up.
"Hold on with your good arm, and we'll pull you up," Fin called out and ran a hand through his gray, speckled hair.
As they hoisted her, Lina closed her eyes. She should have felt shaken, yet the fear of death slipped away.
The emptiness—the growing distance between her emotions and everyone else's—cut deeper than the fall. It settled in her chest, cold and unfamiliar, and with it, the ache of not belonging spread through her, leaving her feeling raw and unsteady. The realization settled sharply in her chest, as if she were slipping away from everything that once made her whole.
"I can ride," she said when she reached the top, scrambling to her feet and avoiding their gazes.
Galdreth helped her mount. She settled in the saddle. Fin tied some fabric around her shoulder to create a makeshift sling.
Sofia watched her.
"I'm fine."
The words stabbed her with a quiet dread, sharper than any wound. It lingered inside her chest, whispering that something was terribly, fundamentally wrong, echoing with each breath until she felt like she might break apart from the weight of it.
If she stayed like this—untouched by pain, numb to fear—could she ever really connect with them again? The thought carved a deeper ache, loneliness pressing in so relentlessly that even surrounded by friends, she felt impossibly far away.
'I'm glad you're all right.'
It was the only voice that didn't sound afraid.