Chapter Forty-Two
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The night passed in an unendin’ nightmare of agony. How Morgan stayed in the road I never resolved in my head. The moon was at a quarter, but if it seemed dark before, its settin’ made me feel as though I rode into an ebony blanket. Horses must have a special sense for the road at night. But ogres? Morgan admitted to a worthy snout, not trollen eyesight.
I actually slept somehow, in the saddle, when we rested the horses in a walk every hour. Otherwise nothin’ interrupted the pain.
The sky brightened, but it just made me blink against it, as though lye wicked on the mornin’ breeze. A brook crossed the road and we stopped to allow the horses to drink their fill. That would slow our progress for a while, thankfully. I slumped in the saddle, but jolted when hands drew me off the horse.
I looked into Morgan’s face.
“We’ll rest a while here, lad.” Morgan sounded tired too.
“Can you just kill me instead?”
He and Selene laughed. Wasn’t very nice of them. Think they lack—I think the word is empathy. Heard it a couple times lately, when there were silent conversations with dragons, mostly.
“I didn’t intend that as humor,” I somehow got out.
Morgan carried me toward the trees, laid me down in thick clover. A moment later Selene lifted my head and placed a folded blanket under me.
“Sleep.”
“Morgan?”
“Aye.”
“Spose—”
“I’m ahead of ya lad.”
Bacchus’ aura glowed through my closed lids. The ogre’s broad hand warmed my shoulder where it lay. My chest seemed to fill with air on its own.
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