Because even the fiercest of fighters can be cowards when it comes to risking their hearts.
Photo credit: Chapendra
I rushed to Gar’s side. All the adventures we’d been on, all the scrapes, I’d never seen her this bad.
“Come on, Gar, stay with me. Open your eyes.”
She coughed, or maybe that was a laugh. “Yeah, I’d hate to sleep through my own death scene.” That familiar wry half-smile. Oh gods, she was breaking my heart.
“We’re out of potions, but Bal’s searching the bodies.”
“How does it look? I can’t feel… anything.”
I glanced down at her injuries, trying not to grimace, and searched for the words.
“Thought so.” She took a few shallow breaths, her eyes fluttering. When she spoke again, her voice shook. “Tell Bal… Tell Bal I love him.”
“Do you, really?” I was too surprised to hide it. After all this time, she admits it now?
“Close enough.” She winked with the eye that wasn’t smashed in, wincing with the effort.
Bal appeared with an open vial. He shoved me aside and poured it between Gar’s bloody lips, mumbling frantic prayers. I’d swear I saw tears.
* * *
Thank the gods Bal was right, that the potion from the magruk’s bag was magical healing. Gar said they must make it taste that bad so you’ll only use it if you’re really dying.
I never told Bal what she said. She hasn’t either. When I think about it, I want to punch her. Or hug her. No, punch her. Idiot.