Page 70 of The Last Dragon
Nida yanks Gia forward, pulling her off center, and then slams Gia to the floor with a loud thud, pushing Gia’s shoulder down. She gasps but quickly pulls her leg out of Nida’s grip and jabs it toward Nida’s jaw. But before it can hit, Nida arches her back. Gia’s heel barely misses her chin.
I raise a brow, impressed. Nida’s quick thinking and reaction are on point today.
Ilian registers my surprise and lightly nudges me in my ribs with his elbow. “You’ve taught her well,” he says with a smile.
“I don’t think I taught her anything,” I respond.
“Really?” He leans back in surprise, as Nida counters Gia’s punch and slams her down. “Where’d she learn to do that?”
“Apparently, punching and kicking trees back home in Pirlem.” I give a wry grin, a strange feeling swirling in my gut. It’s hard to imagine little Nida punching trees at daybreak for hours. In my mind, there are times I know she can be too soft. Too kind. But watching her more and more changes my mind. Behind those gentle amber eyes, there’s a burning fire waiting to be unleashed. The type of fire I carry within me every day. Perhaps I doubted her too much. She has shown she’s capable of being a Tracker during the dragon attack on the Stronghold. She was right. She knows what she’s doing.
Gia launches herself again, but Nida side steps and throws an arm around Gia’s head to get her into a chokehold. A gasp echoes across the sparring ground. A red curl brushes against Gia’s cheek—her blue eyes snap to it. A grunt escapes her as she throws her hands up, grabbing onto Nida’s hair and pulling it, forcing a yelp from her opponent’s lips. My heart jolts in my chest when I hear that sound. My fingers curl, grabbing the edge of the bench as I sink my nails into it. That’s not a sound I want to hear from her again.
Nida falls to the ground on her back, and in the next second, Gia is on top, her blond ponytail swaying, nearly coming loose from all the movement as she pins Nida down. Nida grits her teeth, plants her foot, and with a sharp twist of her hips, manages to throw Gia halfway off—just enough to scramble free. It’s not clean, but it’s enough to get herself up.
They both stand, panting, staring at each other as they wipe away hair from their faces. A laugh escapes Gia.
“You’re a good kicker,” Gia comments through her heavy breath, rubbing her shoulder. “And a puncher.”
“Thanks,” Nida responds with a soft laugh. “You’re not too bad yourself.”
They both jump off the mat, Nida approaching us as she waves Gia goodbye.
“Nice sparring,” Ilian comments, a grin across his face. Nida smiles, still huffing to catch her breath as she blows a curl away.
“I have Commander Broody here to thank,” she says, jerking her chin toward me.
“CommanderBroody?” I raise a brow. I feel a little bit insulted. Icurve a smile that I just can’t stop. That’sher. That’s the Nida I remember—sharp-tongued, quick to smirk, always a step ahead in the war of words, yet a kind smile is never far from her face. It almost feels nostalgic.
“It was either that or General Gloom, but that wouldn’t fit the rank now, would it?” She laughs, rubbing a towel across her face.
“I like it.” Raumen laughs, slapping my back with his large hand. I turn to face him, attempting to glare or brood, as they call it.
That only makes him laugh more. “Commander Broody at your service,” he says, pointing at my face.
“I’m notbroody.”
“You’re pretty broody,” Ilian comments.
“A smidge,” Nida says, pinching her fingers together.
Raumen pats my back. “At times, yes.”
I sigh. There’s no point in arguing, and I lift my head to Nida, who’s fumbling with her curls.
“You’ve got to do something about that hair,” I say, launching myself from the bench.
She rolls her eyes, grabbing a chunk of her hair from her shoulders and flipping it back. “I know,” she chuckles, attempting to tame the live fiery mane on her head, pulling a few hand strands away from her round face and mouth.
“Here,” I say, pressing a hand to her shoulder. “Let me.” I turn her around. She stands still, the soft halo of her curls catching light like fire. Red—no,copper. Brighter near the crown, deeper near the nape. It’s wild. Beautiful. The smell of coal and salt and soil after rain makes its way to my senses, calming my rapidlybeating heart. Soil. Coal. She smells like Pirlem. She smells like home.
I hesitate at first, fingers hovering just below her nape. It’s thick and springy, soft between my fingertips. I comb through it with my fingers, teasing apart tangles that twisted during the sparring.Careful.
I separate it into three sections, trying not to pull too hard. The curls resist a little, coiling back like they’ve got a mind of their own. At first, the sections aren’t of equal size, so I try again. My second attempt is more successful.
I breathe in, and when the smell of the river hits, it's as if I'm there again, the fields of blue flowers around me. A vision. As if I’m there again.
How does one do this again…
