Page 30 of Dark Elves of Ardani

She curled on her side, vomiting water. Her entire body shook with the effort of expelling the river from her lungs. Horrible sensation chased away the pleasant numbness, and suddenly her airways burned and her limbs were frozen. His hand was on her back, a single spot of warmth as she shook with adrenaline and fear and cold.

“You were—kissing me,” she sputtered.

His face was back to its perpetual frown again, the concern gone from his expression. “I was saving your life.”

“By kissing me?”

“I breathed life into you. That’s what’s done to save victims of drowning.”

She stared up at him, mortified and a little intrigued. Her eyes darted to his lips as she recalled the warmth of them against hers. She’d never heard of “breathing life” into someone. But she was fairly certain she’d been dead, and now she wasn’t.

It was quiet except for the rushing of the waterfall. She couldn’t see the hunter who’d held her underwater. Then she looked downstream and saw his limp body lying on the shore. All the hunters were dead. The half-elf’s horse was standing nearby, nibbling at a tuft of grass.

“Are you all right?” the half-elf asked grudgingly as her coughing abated.

“Yes,” she said, her voice a thin croak. She searched him for wounds, but found none. “Are you?”

“Yes.” Appearing satisfied that she was not about to die, he got up and went to retrieve the dagger she’d thrown. It was still stuck in the back of the hunter.

She watched him go to his horse then, and she was surprised when he rubbed its nose and hugged it around its neck, murmuring something into its pointed ears. The display of affection seemed at odds with his usual demeanor.

“Is your horse hurt?” Zara asked. The poor animal had been alone in the woods for a day, but it seemed unfazed.

The half-elf turned to her, looking faintly amused. “She is not a horse.” He took the animal by its reins and brought it closer to her.

“No?” Maybe she should have guessed that. She was pretty sure horses didn’t have antlers.

“No. She’s a behelgi. A mountain elk. They’re bred in Uulantaava for their surefootedness in mountainous terrain and their ability to withstand the cold. This one’s name is Changa.”

The behelgi was bigger than any elk she’d ever seen, taller than it was long, with sharp, many-pointed antlers and a coat of white fur spotted with gray, thicker over its back and neck than on the rest of its body. And now that Zara wasn’t clinging to its back while it galloped at dangerous speed, she found it quite pretty.

It lowered its head to look down at Zara with a dark eye, and she cautiously reached out to touch the thick mane around its neck. It was softer than she expected, so she brushed her fingers deeper into the fur. The creature seemed to enjoy it, tilting its head to give her better access. Zara smiled—until she saw the half-elf watching her closely. She quickly pulled her hand away.

“We should go,” the half-elf said, motioning toward the behelgi’s saddle. Zara winced. She was shivering violently from the cold air on her sodden clothes and hair. She leaned against the behelgi, breathing deep. There was no way she would be able to climb up. It was too tall.

“You need to take off your clothes,” the half-elf said.

Zara looked sideways at him. He watched her impassively, his expression neither threatening nor comforting.

She knew he was right. The wet clothes clung to her like a frost. It would be unwise to keep them on.

She unclasped her cloak and let it fall to the ground with a damp thump, then fumbled with the straps on her armor. When she was down to her shirt and underclothes, the half-elf handed her his cloak. To her relief, he moved to the other side of the behelgi while she finished removing the last of her clothes and wrapped the cloak around herself. Her feet were bare on the freezing ground, because her boots were soaked. The cloth of the cloak smelled faintly smoky, and the weave felt rough against her bare skin.

The half-elf gathered up all her things and threw them into one of the behelgi’s bags. Zara was still shuddering violently.

“Can you get on Changa?” the half-elf asked, his voice softer than it had been before.

She hugged the cloak around her as best she could with one hand—her other was clinging to the behelgi. It didn’t help that the wind had picked up and was blowing around her legs.

“No,” she said, her face burning with shame. She did not like to admit to being so useless, but she could hardly stand, let alone climb.

“Will you let me help you?”

She paused, glancing over at him. He was frowning hard, despite his soft tone.

The other Varai from her raiding party would have complained about her weakness. She realized she’d been expecting the same reaction from the half-elf.

She nodded her assent, and he stepped close against her back. Inexplicably, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Prickles went up her spine.

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