stolen, wild    moments with    Manon.  And save
for  the     moments     when    he  trained     with    the
Thirteen,   and a   blunt   sort    of  rage    drove   him to
keep    swinging    his sword,  keep    getting back    up
when    they    knocked him down.
Swordplay,  archery,    knife-work, tracking—
they    taught  him everything  he  asked.  Along
with     the     solid   weight  of  Damaris,    a   witch-
knife   now hung    from    his sword   belt.   It  had
been    gifted  to  him by  Sorrel  when    he’d    first
managed  to  pin     the     stone-faced     Third.  Two
weeks   ago.
But when    the lessons were    done,   when    they
sat around  the small    fire    they    dared   to  risk
each    night,  he  wondered    if  the witches could
sniff    out     the     restlessness    that    nipped  at  his
heels.
If  they    could   now sniff   out that    he  had no
intention   of  taking  a   piss    in  the frigid  night   as
he   wended  his     way     between     their   bedrolls,
                    
                      lily
                      (lily)
                      
                    
                #1
            
            