by Cheryl Dyson
******
They camped by a pool that seemed fairly clean and leech-free. Verana had warned them of leeches, so they had yet to experience the revolting things. Brydon washed the mud from his body and glanced at Toryn, who did the same. An awkward silence surrounded them. Brydon was mortified at his earlier behavior. He had actually tried to hurt Toryn.
"Ah... Toryn," Brydon began finally.
"Forget it, Falaran," Toryn cut in. "I know you apologize."
Brydon tried to disguise his relief. "I was going to say I accept your apology," he said. Rather than return a scathing comeback, Toryn looked at him with a surprised expression for a moment and then laughed. The tension melted away and Brydon grinned.
Verana cooked a stew from local plants and some sort of animal that Davin had caught. Davin had also utilized the pool and his dagger to scrape off his matted beard and mustache. Brydon noted with surprise that he could not have seen more than thirty summers, although his silver hair glowed in the firelight.
"So, Davin," Toryn asked while they waited for the stew to boil, "What do you do when you’re not imprisoned in a Terrin cave?"
"Survive." Davin shrugged.
"And how do you do that? Where are you from?"
"Penkangum. I survive by staying as far from people as I can."
"What about us? Are we not people?" Toryn prodded.
"I suppose. But you are not like the others. Not yet, anyway."
"What do you mean, ‘not yet’?"
"Forget it," Davin snapped. "You ask more questions than a toddler!"
Brydon smiled, knowing Toryn would have pressed the issue, but Verana called him to help her season the food. He went, muttering about crazed wolf-men and browbeating women. Brydon carefully scraped the day’s mud from his boots. He watched Davin covertly and observed the look of despair on his face, quickly masked as the silver-haired man leaned back against a tree and shut his eyes. There was something strange about him that Brydon could not quite put his finger on. For a moment, Brydon extended his senses and then drew back, chagrined. It would not be ethical to intentionally eavesdrop on Davin’s feelings. Brydon sighed. The rain had stopped, for once, but the sky was still overcast and he figured the respite would not last long.
He half-closed his eyes and ceased his motion. His mind touched on the horses instead of Davin. They munched contentedly on marsh grass. Brydon's borrowed horse acknowledged his presence halfheartedly and then ignored him. Brydon sent his thoughts outward. It seemed that his awareness was sharper at night, perhaps because there were fewer distractions.
He felt no sense of danger, although he found a number of predators hunting; they stayed far from the humans’ encampment. He extended his mind as far as he could and opened it fully to his senses. He felt awesomely alive whenever he gave in to his ability, as the awarenesses of hundreds of creatures touched his mind. He felt the quiet hunger of a jungle cat, the annoyance of a wet tree-dweller, the contentment of a warm squirrel, and even the rapid thoughts of a striped parrot as it called to its mate. Brydon's abilities seemed to increase the more he called upon them.
He was just about to withdraw back into himself when he touched something familiar.
Brydon sprang to his feet with a cry. The boot and scraping twig dropped, forgotten, and the others looked at him in surprise. Before they could question him, he raced into the jungle, running as fast as he could while dodging underbrush and fallen logs. He heard someone running after him, probably Toryn.
They ran for long minutes and Brydon’s bare feet were a hindrance that he barely noticed. He charged on. His mind was far away and forced his body onward.
"Redwing!" Toryn yelled. "Damn it, Brydon!"
Brydon halted as suddenly as he had started. He stood stock-still, chest heaving.
Toryn halted beside him, panting. "What is it?" he asked quietly. "Is it Alyn?"
Brydon barely heard him. He strained his abilities to their limits. The silence drew on endlessly, until Brydon felt Toryn reach up to shake his shoulder. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead.
"Brydon," Toryn said again and gripped his shoulders gently. Brydon’s eyes slowly focused on Toryn’s face.
"Is it Alyn?" Toryn demanded. "Where is she?"
Brydon shook his head. "It’s the horses. Darkling and Fireling. We have to hurry! I’m losing them." With that, he turned and started back toward the encampment. They had not gone ten steps before Brydon’s bay mare galloped out of the darkness in response to his silent call. Toryn jumped in surprise but Brydon merely stepped toward the horse, twisted a hand in her mane, and vaulted aboard.
"You will have to get everyone mounted and follow me, Toryn," Brydon said, still half in a daze. "If I don’t go now, I’ll lose Darkling."
Toryn yelled as Brydon galloped by him. "Redwing—Brydon, wait! You can’t get through the swamp without Verana! You don’t know where you are going!"
But Brydon was gone.
