Obsidian Thornwing's Arc

Chapter 10 of 18

They rode two days north. The pines gave way to bare ridge and cold wind. Obsidian kept his pale blue wings tucked and his hand on the reins. Iron rode a length ahead, hood up, saying little. At dusk on the second day they crested the last rise and saw the camp lights spread along the Ridge like scattered coals. Iron reined in. "East flank tents are the far row. Report to the marshal. Then sleep." Obsidian nodded. He rode down into the camp with his braid on his shoulder and the captain's paper in his belt. The marshal took the paper, read it twice, and looked at his wings without comment. He was given command of the east flank and told the scouts had seen nothing new past the storm belt for a full day. No movement. No smoke. Whatever had been reported had gone quiet. He walked the line at first light. He set watches. He corrected two men on their guard form, throat, ribs, knee, the sequence Iron had drilled into him. The soldiers watched his blue wings and said nothing. By midday the flank held clean. By evening the marshal came through, looked once, and moved on. That was approval. The mission was to hold the flank until the threat showed or was called off. On the third morning a rider came from the north camp. The suspicious movement past the storm belt had been rival scavengers, not an army. They had turned back. Captains were to hold position one more week, then rotate south. He wrote to her that night by lamp. Bark paper. Charcoal. He kept it short. The flank was quiet. He had done the work. He thought of her at dawn and at dusk and the bond held, exactly as she said. He sent it with the falcon Iron kept for camp messages. Her answer came back two days later, tied to the bird's leg in a strip of green cloth. Alive. Waiting. Come home. He read it twice and put it inside his coat. The rotation orders came a week later, as promised. Iron met him at the picket line with two fresh horses. "South road. Two days if we push." They pushed. He smelled the moss before he saw the clearing. Then the red mushroom cap of the cabin rose through the ferns, the small wooden birdfeeder still hanging crooked from its eave. Sylvara stood in the doorway. She had heard the horses. Her braid was over one shoulder. Her white wings caught the low sun. He was off the horse before it stopped. She crossed the clearing at a run. He caught her under the arms and lifted her clean off the ground. "You came back," she said into his neck. "I said I would." She kissed him. He kissed her. He did not let her feet touch the ground for a long time. Behind them, Iron turned his horse and rode quietly back down the trail.