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chapter one. along the coast
"Look at you, scribbling away."
Fallon shut the book abruptly and shoved it to the space on the rock she sat cross-legged atop.
Day's light had begun to filter through the canopy above, though the lack of sleep's tug in Fallon's countenance hinted at a night spent sleepless. This was not a peculiarity for the half-elf. She had honed the skill of sleep, regardless of attempts made in the warmth and glow of a roadside inn or beneath an impossible blanket of stars. After days spent skulking in the shadows, body and mind were left in the restlessness of inaction. There was never a moment to relax in her trade, but Fallon preferred it that way. Forever the waves of her mind's eye churned, better to keep darker thoughts at bay.
Today though she scorned the weight of ill-rest on her mental acuity. She should have heard Marth from a mile away, else sensed the subtle shift of air around her. Perhaps she should have even smelled him, for he still carried the scent of campfire ash in his mess of ebony strands, shared by the curls upon his head and the wiry beard snaking his jaw. Marth was the least adept in the art of whispered footwork, making her folly all the more embarrassing.
She shoved thoughts poisoned by self-criticism aside in place of the more immediate annoyance of interruption. Fallon let her scowl sit unbridled against her features but Marth returned only a grin, sitting beside her on the rock.
"The upper hand for once!" He exclaimed, leaning back beside her. "Just wait until the others hear of this."
"Har har. You'd be lucky if either of them believed you," she retorted. "Only yesterday you mistook a boar for a rock. And need I remind you of the misstep in Wyrm's Crossing?"
"Oh don't, would you? It's too early for me to nurse a migraine."
"One might say it'd be deserved."
"Yes. One might say. I tend to disagree with one."
"More's the folly. Last man who disagreed with me met the end of my blade. After I pilfered his pockets, of course."
A smile bent Fallon's lips, like a thin ray of light breaking the overcast. Clouds pushed aside for a peek at the white crescent row of her teeth, the sliver of scar slashed from brow to cheek wrinkling. Her expression was mirrored in Marth, who was always sought a chance to smile. Such opportunities were growing thinner by the day. They were on borrowed time.
