Morgawr by Terry Brooks

“Shades,” she whispered, trying to picture it.

He leaned back into the curve of the horn and looked at the night sky. “When she was done, she came back over to me and stroked my cheek and held me. I could move again, but I didn’t want to interrupt what she was doing because I thought it might be helping her. I spoke her name, but she didn’t answer. She just rocked me and began to cry.”

His eyes shifted to find hers. “She kept saying how sorry she was, over and over. She said it would never happen again. Leaving me, she said. She wouldn’t leave me like before, not ever. All this in her little girl’s voice, her child’s voice.”

His eyes closed. “I just wanted to help her, to let her know I understood. I tried to hold her. When I did, she went right back into herself. She quit talking or moving. She quit seeing me. She was just like before. I couldn’t do anything to bring her back. I tried, but she wouldn’t respond.” He shook his head. “So I left her and came to find you. I had to tell someone. I’m sorry I woke you.”

She reached out for him, pulled him close, and kissed him on the lips. “I’m glad you did.” She stood and drew him up with her. “Come lie down with me, Bek.”

She took him back to the canvas hammock and bundled him into it beside her. She pressed herself against him and wrapped him in her arms. She was still getting used to the idea that he meant so much to her. Her admission of this to him had surprised her, but she’d had no regrets about it afterwards. Bek Ohmsford made her feel complete, it was as if by finding him, she had found a missing part of herself. He made her feel good, and it had been a while since anyone had made her feel like that.

They lay without moving for a while, without talking, just holding each other and listening to the silence. But she wanted more, wanted to give him more, and she began kissing him. She kissed him for a long time, working her way over his mouth and eyes and nose, down his neck and chest. He tried to kiss her, as well, but she wouldn’t let him, wanting everything to come from her. When he seemed at peace, she lay back again, placing his head in the crook of her shoulder. He fell asleep for a time, and she held him while he dreamed.

I love you, Bek Ohmsford. She mouthed the words silently. She thought it incredibly odd she should fall in love with someone under such strange circumstances. It seemed inconvenient and vaguely ridiculous. Hawk would have been shocked. He never thought she would fall in love with anyone. Too independent, too tough-minded. She never needed anyone, never wanted anyone. She was complete by herself. She understood his thinking. It was what she had believed, as well, until now.

She put her hands inside of Bek’s clothing and touched his skin. She placed her fingers over his heart. Counting the beats in her head, she closed her eyes and dozed.

When she woke again, he was still sleeping. Overhead, the sky was lightening with the approach of dawn.

“It’s almost daylight,” she whispered in his ear, waking him.

He nodded into her shoulder. He was silent for a moment, shaking off the last of his sleep. She could feel his breath on her neck and the strength in his arms.

“When we get back to the Four Lands,” he began, and stopped. “When this is all over, and we have to decide where we—“

“Bek, no,” she said gently, but firmly. “Don’t talk about what’s going to happen later. Don’t worry about it. We’re too far away for it to matter yet. Leave it alone.”

He went silent again, pressed against her. She brushed back her hair where it had fallen into her face. His eyes followed the movement with interest, and he reached out to help. “I have to go down into the Crake,” he said. “I have to get Quentin’s sword back. I want it to be there for him when he wakes up.”