The moon was high in the sky, casting its cold rays down over the fields and limning each leaf and blade of grass in pale silver. It gleamed like a half-lidded eye among the stars, watching the world drowsily. Like it, Sarnai was awake.
She lay on her back, staring up at what few clouds drifted overhead. It was hard to sleep while wearing the long gambeson, cured leather and layered metal plates of her armor, no matter how well they fit her small form. Her riding boots were still on, and her helmet was at her side. Duramarth bade her be careful and sleep in her armor, and she had obeyed. Despite that, it was never as easy to sleep in armor as she hoped it would be. No matter how accustomed she became, a part of her yearned for the pillows and soft bed that were a practically annual occasion.
Of course, the dreams didn’t help. Even in the waking world, she could close her eyes and feel the pressure of iron fingers around her throat, bright spots in her vision, the jerking motions of a blade growing closer to her face. The thought of it brought back unwelcome memories, and it took an effort of will to keep the bile from rising. Her mouth still tasted metallic, and Sarnai turned her head aside, spitting into the grass.
Sarnai whipped around, hearing soft padding behind her, turning to face the soft muzzle of her horse. When the short, stocky bay mare nudged her cheek, she couldn’t help smiling. She nudged again, and Sarnai got up to throw her arms around her horse’s neck, laughing softly.
“You have more sense than I,” she whispered, her native speech feeling like a precious secret, somehow dark and enticingly forbidden even among the people she respected. They would not understand. In the end, they forgave that Sarnai was of Rhûn. Some might pity her. None of her friends knew the harshness of her native land, the way that those who opposed the Shadow blazed brightly for a moment before being snuffed out like solitary embers in the dark. Any who might have known were long in the ground, or worse.
Speaking her language was a little like going home. There was no actual return written in her stars, Sarnai knew, but the familiar sounds were comfort that put the strange longing in her heart at bay. It was odd, perhaps, to yearn for a place where life could be so short and bloody for someone like her, but it was what she knew.
Her horse just snorted, nudging Sarnai again and prompting the Easterling to grin throw her hands up in mock surrender.
“Ah, you caught me!” Her smile began to fade. “Us against the world again, my peace... my gold and silver.” Peace might be distant, but it was a hope she had to hold on to. Sarnai only knew how to be a warrior, but those talents could be used to protect the safe, quiet lives of those who would never need to know the ills of war. “No, I should not compare you to precious metals. Such a loyal friend cannot be bought.” She gave the mare a gentle pat on the nose.
Sarnai packed up her bedroll, putting what few loose supplies she had out into her saddlebags, and mounted quickly. “Well,” she whispered, “we should keep moving. I suspect you have had much better rest than I. Perhaps there is no use in speaking to a horse, but I am sure it does a little good.”
She was clearly weary and disheveled, the shadows under her eyes quite prominent, but Sarnai sat so easily in the saddle that she and the horse looked almost like extensions of each other: small but hardy, only half-tame, ready to run at a moment’s notice through a cold world, but trained to fight for whatever warmth might exist in it. She straightened her spine and squeezed her mount’s sides with her knees. With a quick command, her horse took off at a canter, hooves falling rhythmically on untrammeled ground.
There was one strange thing about the night. As usual, Sarnai struggled to get enough sleep, but something seemed to be different about the dream. The faceless shadow of a man she fought was tall and strong as it had been for years, but this time, it bled. In the dream, she had drawn a knife and slashed it, smelled the tang of blood and felt it fall warm and viscous on her cheek, heard the shadow shriek in pain before she woke.
None of that stopped her from being hurt, of course, but all that mattered was the ability to strike back. It bled. She could hurt it.
“Who’s a little rabbit now?” Sarnai asked the night air. It didn’t respond, but she still smiled.
