The wind rushed through Mithra’s hair, blowing the knotted mess every which way. She tried saying something, but words choked in her throat, air and fine snow forcing its way inside as soon as she opened her mouth. She clutched Leah tighter despite the biting cold of the woman’s armor. When she’d said they’d travel on a bike, Mithra expected a regular one, or one of those fancy new glyph-powered ones. Instead, they raced through the landscape on a massive machine with speed achievable only by the best of agility-focused Brutes. Not as fast as a Royal Courier, but still.

  The hatchling didn’t seem to share her distaste for their mode of transport. It was sleeping, nestled under her coat, a ball of warmth in the all-encompassing cold. Mithra could swear it was snoring, not that she could hear it over the bike’s roar.

  They’d left the city behind long ago. The sun was low, giving the snow an orange-red hue. Dead trees jutted out of the snow irregularly and Leah swerved around them with smooth movements. This far from the Veil, Mithra felt a growing unease. There was no noticeable change, only a creeping feeling of wrongness in the air that had nothing to do with the fact they could be attacked at any moment.

  They slid to a stop without warning. Immediately, Leah got off the bike and started searching through the massive packs attached to its sides. Mithra got off, thankful for the chance to stretch her strained muscles.

  “Set this up,” Leah said, tossing a bundle her way. Inside was a large canvas with a pattern of white, gray, and blue, as well as poles bundled with rope. The canvas was thick, with something sewn in between the layers.

  While Mithra figured out how to set up the tent, Leah systematically checked over the bike. She kicked each of the three chain-covered tires and even slid under the massive vehicle briefly. She was done in a few minutes and moved to help Mithra with the tent frame. Leah didn’t say a word, but Mithra could tell the woman was annoyed. After the third time she tried to pry a part of the frame from her hands, Mithra had enough.

  “Stop that. If you want to do it, say so, but stop trying to wrestle with me for Gods’ sake.”

  “You’re inefficient,” Leah said.

  “You’re damn right I am, I’ve never done this before,” Mithra snapped. “Teach me how to do it and next time I’ll do it faster, but you taking over won’t help anything. I’m sleeping in the tent, I need to know how to set it up.”

  “I can do it. It’ll take less time than teaching you.”

  “What if you’re not here? Or hurt?”

  “Won’t happen,” Leah said, but didn’t try to take over again. She observed Mithra with that creepy stare of hers instead. After a few minutes of watching her struggle, she pointed. “That pole goes with this one. It’s marked at the end. You have to fit it in and press the button, so it anchors properly.”

  “Why would a tent pole need a button?”

  Leah shrugged. With her instruction Mithra finished setting up the tent inside an hour. It was smaller than the canvas’ size suggested, with space for only one sleeping bag. Two people would be a tight fit.

  “Get in for the night,” Leah said. “Don’t come out, especially if you hear something.”

  “What are the chances something attacks us at night?” Mithra asked.

  “Low, never zero. The tent should do most of the job mitigating it though. It’s got thermal camouflaging and scrambles electronic sensors on top of that,” Leah said. “Worst case scenario, I’ll handle whatever’s coming.”

  She didn’t understand most of what Leah said about the tent, but of that Mithra had no doubt. The woman had an aura of an apex predator in its preferred environment: her every movement relaxed, yet clinical.

  “How are we handling watches?” Mithra asked. The Guardians stood on watch in four-hour intervals, in pairs. That obviously wouldn’t work here, but she was curious how Leah managed it on her own, without anyone to watch her back.

  “We don’t,” Leah said. “I watch, you sleep. I don’t need a Veiler on watch. You wouldn’t know what to look out for.”

  Mithra bit down on an angry remark that was ready to slip out all on its own. “Don’t you need sleep?”

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  “Not much. If not for you, I wouldn’t have stopped for the night.”

  That stung, but Mithra did need rest. She was cold and hungry after the hours of tense riding, still not regenerated fully after the fight with the raptors. She wasn’t going to complain, though. No point in showing weakness.

  “Well, good night then,” Mithra said and closed the tent flap behind her. She knew the proper thing to do was to try and talk with Leah, to learn as much as she could about her new ally, but she didn’t trust herself not to say something she’d regret. Not now, with how miserable she’d felt.

  The inside of the tent was cold, but warming up fast. She gently pried the hatchling out of her coat. It protested at the treatment, but settled quickly once she tucked it into the sleeping bag, peering at her curiously.

  “I look like a mess, don’t I?” she said. The animal made a noise in response to her voice, tilting its head to the side. Her hair was knotted with blood and dried bits of flesh. Her coat was in tatters, and her tunic was drenched in blood. What she wouldn’t give for a proper bath and a set of fresh clothes.

  Mithra tried picking out the gore from her hair, but it was stubborn. With every bit plucked out she found three more. Irritated, she grabbed her knife. It wasn’t the sharpest—Leah had wrenched it out of a raptor’s skull for her—but she had nothing to sharpen it with and her sword would be too unwieldy. She put the knife as close to her head as she dared and cut, or rather sawed through, her hair. After a few minutes of sawing it fell to the tent’s floor in one clumped mess.

  The effect was less than stellar. An uneven, messy buzz cut with random clumps of hair sticking out wasn’t her dream idea of a haircut, but at least she didn’t have pieces of flesh on her head anymore. The hatchling darted for the fallen hair and started picking at the bits furiously.

  “Hey, easy! You’ll choke!” Mithra sighed and sat down next to it, helping it extract its meal. At least it was easier, now that she could see what she was doing.

  The animal kept chewing on the hair even after all the meat was gone. Gently, Mithra tried prying it from its beak. The hatchling squeaked in protest and held on, the hair catching on its tiny teeth.

  “Hey, I’m trying to help you here,” Mithra said. She wrestled with the animal, annoyed at its insistence to try and choke to death.

  It snapped at her hand, drawing blood. A confusing barrage of smells hit Mithra, too chaotic to isolate any one smell. She recoiled and the hatchling shrilled in panic, retreating as far away from her as it could in the small tent. It huddled in a corner, terrified.

  Divine energy was flowing freely through her emotion mark. She could almost see it trickling out of her neck towards the animal. The irritation, confusion, and the subconscious fear she’d grown used to in the last few days, all flowing out of her and pushing onto it.

  Mithra tried forcing the divine energy inside her to stop, but it didn’t want to listen. It wanted to be used to enact change on the world. It needed to flow. So she forced it away from the channels leading to her neck. If it had to flow, it could flow anywhere else. Just not there.

  She stopped leaking emotions. The smells disappeared, but the hatchling kept making panicked noises. She reached out her hand to it, and it snapped at her again. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. I—”

  Ives’ broken body flashed through her mind. Was it always going to be like this? Her losing control and hurting those around her?

  In that moment Mithra felt utterly alone.

  She dragged the sleeping bag to the side, giving the trembling hatchling as much space as she could. She lay in it with eyes open, staring at the canvas above her for Gods knew how long. There were too many things to think about, and so she thought about none of them. Her mind wandered freely and anytime it came close to a coherent thought, she steered it away. She stewed in the vague feelings, not letting herself process anything consciously. A tear formed in her eye and slid down her cheek.

  “I miss Dad.”

  She brought a hand up to wipe the tear. Soft feathers nuzzled her cheek instead. The hatchling rubbed its beak on the faint red outline of teeth on her hand, chirping an apology.

  Her heartbeat surged, and Mithra checked the flow of her divine energy, making sure it wasn’t spilling her sadness all around her. It wasn’t. She relaxed.

  “Hey, you.” She petted it on the head. “You need a name, don’t you? We’ll think of something soon. Come on.” She raised the edge of the sleeping bag and it took the invitation. It snuggled against her chest. Its weight and warmth gave comfort to Mithra, and soon, they were both asleep.

  Mithra woke up to the smell of smoke and the hatchling’s screams. She shot up and looked around wildly. It wasn’t inside. She rushed out of the tent.

  Leah was standing over a fire, a charred drumstick in her hand. She kept it directly in the fire, her hand and all, as if that was going to help it cook evenly. The hatchling was next to her, happily nibbling on a piece of raw meat.

  “Where did you get that from?” Mithra asked.

  “I killed a few dinosaurs that tracked us,” Leah answered.

  “Won’t the fire lure more?”

  “Shouldn’t be a problem, as long as we leave in an hour or two,” Leah said. She glanced at Mithra. “New haircut?”

  Mithra couldn’t tell if the woman was entirely serious or just adept at deadpan comedy. If it was anybody else, she’d say it was the latter, but she had a sneaking suspicion it wasn’t. She sighed, staring dejectedly at Leah’s attempt at cooking. “Let me help you with that.”