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Sahar

Acyn stared at me as though he had no idea what an inconsiderate fool he was being.

Yila was staring at Leytara as though she would be delighted to murder her.

I watched her, concerned. Her arm was healing fast, but there was still something off about her. Something that might have nothing to do with her arm.

Niarok stood in front of her, speaking to her quietly.

She hit him, hard. I winced in sympathy and scooped up my skirts, starting toward them, perhaps to say something to help.

He didn’t move, didn’t wince. She hit him again. He still didn’t respond.

Something else was going on here, that had nothing to do with me. I stepped back and watched.

Acyn stood right next to me, watching them with mounting concern, then took a step closer, as though determined to go help. Again.

I grabbed his arm and yanked him back.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I said, quietly.

“Why not? She’s upset, I want to help.”

He looked puzzled, his eyebrows scrunched together like when he was trying to understand something new. My heart melted just a little.

“They don’t want or need your help. Sometimes people need sympathy more than help.”

Acyn still looked mildly confused and glanced over at them again. Niarok glared at all of us in general and I hurriedly turned away, as though we hadn’t noticed what had happened.

“Oh– Do you mean I was doing that earlier?” Acyn asked.

“Kind of. You were making it worse,” I admitted, honestly, then hurriedly added “With the best of intentions.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know. Was that why you were upset with me?” He asked.

“Not upset,” I said, pulling out one of my knives and absently toying with it. “Maybe a little annoyed.”

“I noticed.”

“You were supposed to.”

Acyn rolled his eyes and I smiled.

Yila seemed better now. She pulled out a bow and set up a target. I watched with interest.

“I hate bows,” Acyn said, quietly but with extreme disdain.

I almost doubled-up laughing.

“That was one time! How haven’t you forgotten that?”

“I will never forget,” he said, with extreme dignity.

The event in question was when Ferran had grown sick of Acyn’s endless questions about his war-bow and told him to try to shoot it. Acyn hadn’t been able to pull the string back more than a handsbreadth. Perhaps Ferran and Liorah had laughed a little too much.

I shook my head, then trailed over to Yila, who was shooting arrows into the target, each landing almost on top of the other. She had excellent aim. She paused and pulled out the arrows, then returned them to her quiver.

“Do you mind if I join?” I asked, showing the three blades in my hand. I didn’t have more on me.

She looked doubtful, then shrugged.

As soon as I was sure she was out of the way, I reared back my arm, the blade pressed along my palm, then released. The blade spun and hit the target squarely, just off center. I tilted my head, satisfied. It was slightly off, but close enough.

The second was further toward the edge, but the third struck dead center. I laughed in delight and retrieved my knives, then gestured for Yila to empty her quiver again.

“You’re a great shot,” I said, admiringly.