Page 45 of Resisting the Alien Rider

Garrek had been hurt, over and over again, by the person who was meant to protect him.

I wanted to weep. I wanted to run and hug him. I wanted to trace the line of each scar with my fingertips and tell him everything would be OK. And then, I wanted to trace them all again with my lips.

That last, treacherously specific desire jarred me out of my own thoughts so fast that by the time Garrek turned around to look back at me, I knew my face was a neutral mask.

He set the stool down beside Shanti, who was already saddled and ready.

We watched each other, and after a long moment, he raised his hand towards me.

“Get up,” he said.

I took his hand and stepped onto the stool.

My instinctabout Garrek not being a particularly patient teacher was, unfortunately for me, bang-on. Morning after morning during our lessons, he barked orders at me, and every time I made a mistake, he’d looked so disappointed. Like I’d personally offended him by being such a terrible cowgirl. Killian tried to soothe my bruised ego by giving me encouraging tips in the evenings when we were getting ready for the night or washing up in whatever creek or small lake or pond we came across.

Garrek’s take-no-shit sternness, however, meant that I learned really fast. Within two weeks, he decided that I was competent enough to ride Shanti on my own, at least at the pace of our current travels. He made it very clear that I was not ready for any sort of speed or jumping, and that was just fine with me.

I should have felt proud and excited about my new skills, however fledgling they were. I’d wanted to get better, get stronger, learn how to ride before I met Oaken. But I couldn’t seem to muster up any excitement about what I learned. All I felt was a pathetic sort of gloominess because a part of me was convinced that Garrek had taught me so ruthlessly, and so quickly, so that he didn’t have to sit with me and share a mount anymore.

As we made our way around the forest towards the mountains, we exhausted our supplies, and Garrek and Killian began trapping animals and fishing for food. I helped out by foraging, only collecting exactly what Garrek told me was safe. The closer we got to the mountains, the colder and wetter it got. Three weeks into travelling, Garrek decided there was no longer a risk of forest fires, and campfires became a part of our nighttime routine. Garrek and I had both watched Killian closely during the first few fires, but he’d exhibited nothing but a respectful sort of caution towards the flames.

While Garrek seemed to be getting quieter, snappier, and pulling away from me more and more each day, Killian was doing the opposite. He was blooming. Absolutely thriving. I could see how much travellingand experiencing new things was invigorating him. And I could also see, despite his bouts of anger and defiance, how much he worshipped Garrek. Whatever had been slowly, carefully forming between them had strengthened after that night with the idra.

Trust was building, and it was building for both of them. And it was fucking beautiful to see.

I just wished I knew why the hell things were so weird between Garrek and me. One night, about a month into our journey, as I sat on Garrek’s bedroll inside Garrek’s tent, I mulled over the strained awkwardness that had grown between us. I didn’t think I’d said anything or done anything. But whatever tiny tendrils of friendship that might have been taking root for us seemed to have been yanked out for no real reason.

I lay down on top of the bedroll, still fully dressed. The bedroll smelled more like me than Garrek, now. And that made me sad.

That’s it.

I sat up abruptly. I was going to go talk to Garrek. Right now. Moping around like a highschooler whose crush had ghosted her was too pathetic for words.

Wait. No. Not crush. Totally the wrong analogy.

If I had a crush on anyone, it had to be Oaken. Right?

Oaken, whom I’d never even met.

Oaken, who’d begun to feel as distant as a dream while Garrek felt so real.

Oaken, who didn’t have that hard blue jaw andthose smoke-purple eyes and a back that made me want to hold him. To heal him.

Oaken, who didn’t love Killian in the gruffest, silently tender way imaginable.

Because Garrek did love Killian.

Even if he no longer seemed to even like me.

All fired up, I stomped out of the tent. Only to freeze when I saw Garrek seated by the fire, his face screwed up with pain.

“What is it?”

His eyes flew open. They burned briefly white when he saw me.

“Nothing to concern yourself with.”

I ignored him, worry gnawing in my belly.

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