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Dumb and Honorable--77

  I wheezed out a laugh, trying to sound reassuring. “I’ll be fine. Besides, she’d kill you if she saw me like this.”

  Timbur shrugged, scowling as he kicked at the dirt. “Better that than you dying from the cold.”

  I patted his shoulder with a weak smile. “I appreciate that, but it’s not that big of a deal—”

  A twig snapped nearby.

  Before I could react, Wolren slipped from the shadows, his sword strapped at his hip, hand resting lazily on the hilt. He studied us for a long moment, then snorted and shook his head.

  “Clover was sure you’d found trouble. Looks like she was right—though not the kind I expected to have to rescue you from.”

  Heat crept up my face. Drenched to the skin and shivering like a half-drowned cat—yeah, I wasn’t exactly looking like a warrior right now. Before I could come up with a defense, Timbur jumped in.

  “It wasn’t his fault! He said he needed to wash his armor before heading in for the night, so I threw him into the river.”

  Wolren pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Timbur, your strength is truly remarkable for a fairy, but you must remember that most people aren’t built like you. You could swim in armor without a problem. Others can’t.” His gaze swept over me critically. “It’s a testament to your will that you survived at all.”

  “More like blind desperation to not die,” I muttered.

  I tried to stand—only for the world to tilt sideways.

  My body lurched forward, but before I could hit the ground, two sets of arms caught me, one on either side. Wolren grunted.

  “It’s the same thing,” he said flatly. “Now shut up, kid. Let’s get you back to Clover before she froths at the mouth from worrying.” He flicked a glance toward Timbur. “You might survive if you throw him under the blade and plead innocence.”

  Timbur didn’t react, but I shook my head. “He didn’t mean any harm. I’ll calm Clover down without making him take the fall.”

  Timbur and Wolren exchanged a look—the kind that suggested a conversation I wasn’t part of—but before I could puzzle it out, Wolren chuckled.

  “Dumb and honorable of you, but have it your way. Ah, there she is now.”

  I looked up just in time to see Clover darting toward us, a spell already charged in her palm, worry twisting her expression.

  “What part of don’t overexert yourself did you ignore?” she snapped, pressing a warm hand to my chest. “And why are you soaking wet? You’re going to catch your death like this!”

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  The healing spell seeped into my skin, washing away the bruises from earlier. Relief dulled the aches still clinging to my body, leaving only the relentless cold.

  “It was—”

  Timbur cut me off, shame-faced. “It was me. We were on our way back, and he mentioned washing his armor.”

  Clover’s expression turned diamond-hard. “Timbur, tell me you didn’t do what I think you did.” A lethal edge sharpened her words. Timbur grimaced.

  “I threw him in the river.”

  Clover cursed under her breath. Then, without hesitation, she whacked him over the head with her staff. “You could have fucking killed him. Damn it, Timbur, I know you don’t think things through, but you know better than to throw people into cold water!”

  Timbur ducked his head, rubbing the sore spot. Even his antennae drooped.

  “It’s not usually this cold this time of year,” he muttered. “When I realized he wasn’t coming up, I jumped in after him. I’m sorry.”

  Clover looked ready to explode, her glare sharp enough to peel skin. A shiver wracked my body—this one not from fear—and I leaned into her hand, forcing a smile. “It was an honest mistake. And I doubt he’ll do it again. Right, Timbur?”

  Timbur nodded immediately, determination replacing guilt. “Yeah. I won’t throw Freddy into no more rivers.”

  I tried to smile, though the chatter of my teeth made it difficult. “See? All fine.”

  Her glare swung to me and I fought the urge to flinch.

  “No. It is not fine, you idiot.” Her voice carried the exasperation of someone barely restraining the urge to shake me. “It’s far from fine. But I’ll wait to tear into you until you’re warm.” Her eyes narrowed. “We’ll be sharing a bedroll, so it’s not like you can escape me anyway.”

  I bowed my head in agreement. “I wouldn’t try to run. Not from you.”

  Some of her ire melted, replaced by something softer. She let out a long-suffering sigh, dragging a hand down her face. “That’s not fair. You don’t get to pull puppy eyes and smooth words on me when I’m mad.”

  Her complaint was half-hearted at best as she steered us toward a building—likely the healer’s quarters.

  Thistle lingered nearby, concern written across her face, but at a quick wave from Clover, she held back.

  Clover led us through a corridor and into a small room, where her bedroll was already laid out. She huffed. “Set him down. I’ll handle the rest.”

  They eased me onto the bedroll, and I sighed in relief, my muscles finally getting the rest they screamed for. With great difficulty, I pulled Clover’s pack from my shoulders and pressed it toward her.

  “Sorry,” I said, wincing. “It got a little wet. But I kept my word—meat’s in my pack. Yours has pelts, other materials… oh, and herbs I thought you’d want.”

  Getting Timbur to stop long enough for me to pick them had been a feat in itself, but it was worth it.

  Clover pulled the herbs free, her expression softening, warm fondness flickering in her eyes.

  She traced a finger over one of the colorful buds, exhaling a long sigh.

  “You really are something else, aren’t you?”

  Her tone gave nothing away and I braced, waiting to see if I was about to get chewed out.

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