I didn't speak a word as we walked—the only sounds were that of the nature around us, and our feet trudging through the snow. I made sure to constantly survey my surroundings, but with Oak watching over me, I'd be alerted of an ambush before it even began.

"We're almost there," Heath said, breaking the silence between us.

His brown eyes lingered a second more before returning in front of him.  My gaze then dropped to his still uncovered hands.

"You're not wearing gloves. Why?"

My voice sounded raspier than usual, an affect left from all the shouting I'd done earlier. I could feel the soreness growing, so I decided to limit the amount of talking I'd do from now on.

"I'm a spearman," he shrugged. "For me, gloves only get in the way."

We'd been walking for almost half an hour when I began to see smoke in the distance. The faint smell of charred wood grew stronger the closer we got to it. From where we stood, many trees blocked my view, but I had a shadoe that could see what I couldn't.

Willing myself into her, I saw it all. Hundreds of tents, each varying from brown to beige in color, were lined up in a way that made the place likened to a community. Men busied themselves, putting their hands to work, but that was all I saw before I was yanked back into my body by a set of hands. It felt as if my skin was ripping anytime someone broke the tether, outside of Oak or I. It was one of the reasons I preferred isolation—no one could bother us.

With wide eyes, I looked at Heath, immediately taking a step back.

"We're here," he said, completely unaware of the discomfort he'd just put Oak and I through. "Welcome to Camp Exodus."

Following Heath past the icy gates marking the entrance of the camp, I realized just how big everything was. From up top, the tents seemed smaller, but from here they were all bigger than the small shack I'd grown up in. I did notice smaller tents around the perimeter, most likely used as single bunkers, but the further into the camp I went, the thicker the atmosphere hit me.

The sound of metal against metal rang out, along with muffled chortles and laughs as a few men walked by merrily. That was something rarely seen in Icadia. Happiness. It was clear, however, that those men weren't an accurate representation of how the majority of the camp felt.

As I passed by other tents, I could see men sparring, their fists connecting with skin while other's drew swords, testing their partners limits with the blade. Some spoke in hushed tones while others paid no mind to their volumes.

One thing was clear, though, as I received their curious glances. They all knew I didn't belong there.

Oak.

Already sensing my unease, she landed beside me, walking next to me as opposed to on my arm or shoulder. She could feel how drained I was from the scarring morning and loss of blood.

"Our healer stays in here," Heath said, pulling back the tent flap before motioning for me to enter.

Trying my best not to limp, I ducked inside and allowed my eyes to adjust to the dim room. There was a wooden bed to the side, its sheets a clean ivory color, and in the middle of the room was a long pine table. Scattered across it were different length cloths along with several iron cases I could only assume were filled with all  kinds of medicinal substances.

"Lydia," Heath called, causing my eyes to land on the slender woman in the corner.

Her back was to us as she rummaged through a large leather chest.

"Lydiaaaa," Heath said again, dragging her name out until she turned around with an irritated look on her face.

"What now, Hea—oh! Um...hello," she stammered, clearing her throat as she tried to tuck a piece of auburn hair behind her ear, but it was too short.

When I didn't say anything, Heath spoke up.

"As much as I enjoy our chats in the morning, Lyd, today I've brought you a patient. She's suffered some nasty wounds from a wolf attack and who better to patch her up than you?"

Judging by his playful manner, I could tell Heath was harmless to anyone he considered a friendly, but I remembered the way he threw that spear right through the center of the wolf's head. He was dangerous. Was he a danger to me? I was beginning to think not.

Returning my focus on the woman before me, I stated, "He said you're a healer."

Her eyes flickered from my face, to my blood-soiled clothes, down to Oak who was glued to my side, and then back to me.

"It's true, I have the grace of healing, but you should know that with wounds as deep as yours seem, they will take days to completely heal," Lydia said, walking closer so her face was now in the light leaking through the open tent-flap.

"That's better than dying out in the snow, so I'll take whatever you can give me," I replied, although the idea of staying any longer than just one day was making my stomach turn.

"Okay." 

She patted the surface of the table, telling me to take a seat there before turning her attention to the quiet brunette still lingering.

Clearing her throat, he looked at her with innocent eyes. 

"What?"

"I have to check her wounds," she explained, gesturing to my leg first before my shoulders.

"So?"

"So get out!" she shouted, pushing him out of the tent before sharply tying it closed.

Letting out a tired sigh, she turned back towards me, shaking her head. "Sorry about him. He means well, but sometimes he can be a little dense."

Barely nodding my head, I noticed Oak shuffling awkwardly by the entrance.

Get up here, you goof.

As she fluttered next to me, I subconsciously nudged her with my knuckle as Lydia pulled out a roll of gauze, along with a suture kit that would cause a lot of pain when she used it to stitch me up. 

"What's her name?" 

Drawn out of my daze, I looked at her quizzically, showing I hadn't really heard her question.

"Your shadoe. What's her name?" 

Looking down at the owl nuzzling her head into my side, I answered, "Oak."

"Oak," she echoed, letting the word roll off her tongue. "That's nice."

"Yeah...how did you know she was my shadoe?" I questioned, my voice edgier than intended.

"Besides the fact that she showed up the same time you did, so early in the morning?" she chuckled as she finished setting up her things. "Well, I'd have to be blind not to see the bond."

Seeing I wasn't going to say anything else, she handed me a damp cloth, before pointing to my face. "I figured you'd want to wipe that off."

"Thanks."

I could feel the layer of crusted blood falling off my skin as I cleaned my face. I wasn't even aware of how much was there until I saw the damage done to the fabric.

"I'm going to need you to undress," Lydia commented, pulling my focus. "I don't suppose you have any clothes to change into?"

"I did...but I lost my bag when the wolves..."

Able to catch on to the end of my story, she smiled lightly. "Don't worry. I'll bring you something of mine."

Once I was out of my ruined layers, I tried my best not to shiver, but it was extremely difficult. My black cotton undershorts did nothing to keep my body heat in, and the still in tact grey tank top that I used as my last defense against the cold was practically nonexistent. Oak tried her best to transfer what warmth she could to me, but nothing would work; not until I was fully dressed again.

"I'm almost done," Lydia assured me, her hazel brown eyes trying her best to show sympathy for my pain, especially when she doused the gashes with the bottle of gin she had. 

"Aghhh!" I hissed in pain, clenching my hands into fists as my face winced. "I thought healer's were supposed to make this less sufferable," I said through gritted teeth.

"We are, and I am," she responded, already beginning the sutures for the final laceration on my upper thigh. "This pain would be enough to render you unconscious if I wasn't the one mending them."

"Ughhh," I groaned in agony. "Well, forgive me if I have my doubts."

"Fair enough," she chuckled, amused by my abrasiveness.

Just as I was beginning to become numb to the cold, my senses too distracted by the needle looping through my flesh, I heard a stirring from outside.

"She's in here?" a man questioned, his tone drenched in authority. "Lydia!"

"One second!" she shouted, biting her lip as she secured the closing stitch. 

As if taking her request literally, a second later the tent flap was yanked open. I had no time to react when two men barged in, followed by a sheepish looking Heath. The man up front had an iron breastplate secured around his chest, with a long sword resting in its sheath that hung at his side. His thinning brown hair was pulled back into a short ponytail while his black eyes studied me.

"This is the shadoe-bonded woman you spoke of, Heath?" the older man asked, his voice leaving no room to go unanswered.

"Yes, General."

General? 

Feeling my anxiety, Oak scooted closer, her wings spreading out in a protective fashion.

Clearing his throat, the younger man beside him spoke up, "Perhaps we should wait for Lydia to finish with her, General. That way she would be more...decent."

I watched as his eyes flickered to the now sealed up wound on my leg, the stitching so close to the rim of my shorts. When his eyes connected to mine, he averted his gaze, ruffling his dirty blonde hair.

"Very well, then," the General huffed. "But I don't want her out of anyone's sight until I've had my word with her."

"Of course," they all said, slightly bowing their heads as the man left.

"My apologies," the blonde man said, his gaze now on Oak as he avoided mine. "Heath. A word."

Exiting, the two men's shadows were visible through the burlap fabric of the tent. Heath's figure was much leaner in comparison to the other male's—whose shoulders were broader, height greater, and build larger.

"I'll be right back with some clothes for you," Lydia said, offering me a weak smile before leaving.

The only thing left for me to do was wait, and as I did so, the muffled voices of the two men outside gained my attention. With my natural abilities, I wouldn't have been able to understand them, but with the aid of Oak's enhanced hearing, I could make out every word they exchanged.

"I asked you not to tell him just yet," Heath complained in a hushed tone.

"I had to," the man shrugged nonchalantly.

"Avery-"

"I had to," he reiterated, his resolve unwavering.

"Why?"

"Because," he began. "She could be the key to our victory. With that shadoe of hers, we could win it all."

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Author's Note:
Soooooo...what do you think so far?

More importantly what do you think Avery meant by his last statement? 🤔

Even more more importantly...who the fudge is Avery?!

Thanks for reading! Please remember to vote!
-Mac