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She clenched her jaw.
Not yet, she promised it. Not until it could
be done safely. Away from them.
Her magic pushed against her bones, but
she ignored it. Leashed it.
The bubble of flame shrunk, protesting,
and grew transparent once more. Through it
she could make out a water-carved basin, the
slumbering forms of her other companions.
The warrior-prince slept only a few feet
from the edge of her fire, tucked into an
alcove in the cave wall. Exhaustion lay heavy
upon him, though he had not disarmed
himself.
A sword hung from his belt, its ruby
smoldering in the light of her fire.
She knew that sword. An ancient sword,
forged in these lands for a deadly war.
It had been her sword, too. Those erased
calluses had fit its hilt so perfectly. And the