Page 113 of Sanctuary of the Shadow
With an exhalation through that haunting pain in his chest, he relented. He let life beat him. He gave up. Finally. He relaxed his will, released his instinctive urge to survive, and waited for darkness to claim him—
A voice cried out from a vast distance, pulling him back from the edge.
No, he thought,let me go. Let me slip away.Would death forever be denied him?
“Raith!” This time, the cry seemed louder.
Something about that voice struck him right in the center of that ocean of inexplicable grief. The pain was so intense, he gasped, lifting a heavy arm to clutch at his chest. Suddenly, he couldn’t seem to get enough air.
“Raith!”
It was beautiful, he realized. Though he hadn’t a clue what it was saying, the sound of that voice was so inexplicably glorious, it brought tears to his eyes. To hear such a voice again…
Perhaps there was something worth living for after all.
…
As Harrow ran, finally, she saw it—a dark shape upon the earth a distance away.
Immediately, she cried, “Raith!”
The shape didn’t move. She ran faster.
“Raith!”
Nothing. Still, she ran.
And then she could see him. He lay on his back, head turned to one side, the inky shade of his naked skin seeming to swallow the midday sun. She ran faster, calling his name repeatedly to no effect.
Finally, she reached him, dropping to her knees at his side. He didn’t move. Tears of gratitude filled her eyes, blurring her sight, but she blinked them away, determined not to miss a single detail of his beautiful face.
After six months of searching, here he was.
But he was weakened, unconscious. She had to get him back to the shelter of her caravan. He needed to be out of the direct sun, and he needed water.
Wrapping her arms around him, she dragged his massive form into her lap. His massive,solidform. Even unconscious as he was, his strength astounded her. His body was so huge, so lethal.
Tearing off her headscarf, she draped the fabric over him to cover him from the sun and then unhooked the water flask from her waist belt.
She stroked his cheek gently, fighting back the sobs in her throat. “Raith, my love, wake up so I can give you some water.”
He groaned softly, eyes shifting beneath closed lids, and she was so happy she could cry. She did cry.
“My love, you need to drink.” Gently, she tipped the water to his lips.
They parted, and she poured a little of the life-giving liquid. He swallowed. “That’s it. Take more.” She poured a little more, and he swallowed again, this time with more vigor.
After draining her entire flask sip by sip, he began to regain awareness. She stroked his silken hair, murmuring words of encouragement, telling him how much he meant to her, how desperately she’d missed him, and how long she’d searched for him.
Finally, he blinked his lids open. Through her tears, she beheld those all-black eyes with their fire-wreathed centers. “You’re safe now. I promise I’ll take care of you.”
When he spoke, his voice was hoarse. “Who…are you?”
…
Eventually, Harrow got Raith back to her caravan. First, she tried getting him to stand up and walk. He made it three steps before his legs crumpled beneath him, and he passed out again.
Rather than repeating that agonizing endeavor, Harrow had been forced to leave his side and run back to the caravan. She then made poor Fiona trot back beneath the merciless sun to where he lay.
