Yeah, he was still tall. Not as built as he once was nor a fraction as sure on his feet. But he was upright. That was new. “Done this route twice this week,” Omen said, a little out of breath, “but only in the other direction. Weird how much difference a little change can make.” We’d walked at his pace, gradually promenading along the hallway, stopping with neat coincidence at each sturdy tent post. He caught his breath on every last one. And I’d noticed both walking sticks tucked away under his bedside table as I came in, but Omen made no mention of them. “I skipped the organised walking group yesterday so I could do this with you. Cos the nurses are great, but you can’t beat a good friend when you gotta have support, right?”

  “Right,” I said. He powered a few more steps down the hallway and I watched him from behind. Hoped he was rebuilding his mind as much as his body. “Do you still need that much rest to save up for a short, slow walk?”

  “Oh hey, has it been snowing? How long’s it been snowing for?” he asked brightly. Taking one step after the next, lumbering with great effort to the next tent post.

  Typical Omen. “Few weeks. They don’t get much down here. Ankle-deep at most.”

  “Poor saps. When we do Snow Squad again, we’ll shovel it onto a cart and trek it down here for the valley folk to enjoy. Would you like that, Mori? Could be this same season, if we wrap the war up nice and quick.”

  I chewed my lip. “Sure, I can go for that.”

  “Great! But not before the new year.” He wheezed a little and lunged out, catching himself on the post at a junction. It swayed a little, the entire canopy overhead rustling, but held strong. “Way more important things to do first.”

  A nurse pushed a trolley around us, spilling over with bloodied rags from the surgical area. Dulled groans emanated from down that way too, and it was only once she’d gone I realised there could have been something anatomical in those rags. As much as I wanted to get this walk done and get out of this damn place, Omen had taken to perching heavily on a large crate labelled boswellia, parked by the doorway to what looked a medicine stock room. So even when Robin was elsewhere – I’d left him on his lunch break on the other side of the square – he was still helping. Wasn’t gonna ask Omen how he was doing. Knew he’d insist he was fine and force himself to start moving too soon. And I was so sure that if I told him I’d seen where the collection carriage would take him, he’d offer no resistance, maybe even be glad to have a direct route back. Finally, with a slap of the thighs and in an overly ebullient rasp, he said, “Been nice getting this far. Wanna start on the way back?”

  *

  My fingers drifted over the crater in his shoulder. After we’d found his bed, Omen delicately slipped his top off and laid it on the chair, damp with the sweat of exertion. Laid himself tenderly onto the bed, but my eyes had caught his shoulder and the morbid fascination dragged me in. Sequestered at his side, I encircled the wound as softly as I could. He winced anyway. “Still hurts.”

  “But it’s been getting better, yeah?” That he had no bandages on had to be good news.

  “Yeah… But it’s been so long. Sick like a mangy dog of being here. I need to be better now. Enough to be myself again. Doing all the stuff I used to do.”

  My finger paused. “Are you sure you’re gonna be able? I mean –” Omen’s sights fixed on me. Bore into me. “Eventually, sure, of course.” His gaze pierced my face. “You’re making progress. That’s important. What if you jeopardise it by rushing ahead too quick?”

  “I won’t,” he said firmly. “I’m nothing here. Soon as I get to be me once more, I’ll have everything I need. I won’t lose that again. And when you can stop poking at things, they tend to stop bothering you so much.”

  His eyes went from my face to my hand on his shoulder. “Message received,” I said. Drew my hand away, down over his chest and left it on some skin that somehow still looked unsinged, unscarred, and unmarred. “But this is still good, right? Here? Even if it’s not everything you want – not yet anyway.” Omen grumbled something, lost in his throat. “It can still be good.”

  “Bet all the gals on the front are gonna love seeing my scars. I can brag about ‘em, show ‘em off. Tell the story. Get all the attention.” He seemed to ease as his mind went elsewhere. “Mostly we were too busy with resources and systems, strategising, reconnaissance. All the boring stuff before you get to the good guts and gore of it.” As he spoke, his voice went smooth, dropped the tension and tightness. Almost like it used to be. Almost like the Omen I’d found a whole new world of feelings over. “Didn’t have much downtime, yeah, and we were chased on if we got caught… chatting.” A gnarled grin grew: they totally hadn’t been chatting. “Shame, really. Some of the gals were real cute. But hey, I don’t see why I won’t get posted back to the same station, so… There’s still hope.” My hand sank on his chest as he exhaled. “If I get comfy with one, I might see if I can tag along with Oldfield on his regulars back to the Valley. Find us a tavern and a room for the night, if you know what I mean…”

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  I looked confusedly up at him. “What?” he said. “Oh! A room for me and the gal! Honestly, Mori – I have a world of respect for the captain and I always will but spirits alive… I’m sure he has his women. And I’ll have mine. Some good attention will set me right again, I know it.”

  “Isn’t this good?” I asked, my hand sliding a mote across his chest.

  “It’s nice but it’s not the same, right?” Omen flashed his smile. Still cracked. Still bruised.

  “But you do also like this?”

  “Of course. You’re Mori. Of course I like this, and all the stuff you do.” He hummed and settled a little easier into the bed. “I just…”

  My heart jolted. “Just what?”

  “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it. You’re great – no issue on your part.” He took a deep breath, and my hand raised and fell with it. “Even that walk did me in, Mori. I shouldn’t be like this.”

  “But look at where you’ve been. Look at where you’ve come. The progress!”

  “Still not where I wanna be.”

  “Still better than you were!” I stood from the chair and leaned over him a little. Glanced across his body – the bandages still on his scalp around the stumps of his shattered horns, above a face that still looked kinda melted, and more bandages where a couple of fingers used to be. Yet he smelled of liquorice root like he always had, and his voice was still the same if you ignored the creaks of an unoiled carriage axle, and he still oozed that irrepressible determination. “Sure it might be tough. Sure some stuff won’t be the same. But it can still be good.” Omen hummed in what sounded like a begrudging agreement, and my fingertips skimmed over his body, not really going anywhere, just needing the connection. Still needing to convince myself he was real and alive, I think. “You’ll still achieve things. Big things. Meet new people. Find love time and again. And have it find you...”

  His eyes drifted closed and I leaned over a little more. I’d seen him like this from this angle a few times before but none like the first. First few weeks of training in the clearing behind the town hall, and our intake was led by a figure who introduced himself as Captain Oldfield in a voice that could shake the leaves from the trees. At the time I only knew a couple of kids my age who lived on my street, and they were nothing like this one: tall and loud and in a bright blue sleeveless vest and from the bumps on his head, his horns would grow in real soon. When Oldfield tossed a misadventure of shortswords – I think that’s the group noun – in front of us all and announced our first combat practice, the tall loud sleeveless guy stepped forth like he’d never known a reason to doubt himself. Not that any of us should be scared cos they’re only blunt wood, so we were told. And the tall loud sleeveless guy lasted all of three seconds opposite Oldfield till he got bopped on the head like the captain was driving a dowel into timber.

  I was with him in an instant. He’d crumpled like a sapling in a gale and no one else seemed to care and I thought they’d killed him – hearing the way Oldfield had talked, I wouldn’t be surprised – so how was I to know he’d be awake a moment later as I lay over his motionless body, distraught, panicked, tears quickly welling. His eyes opened and he laughed it off! Wondered what I was doing on top of him. He laughed, everyone laughed, I got to my feet and trudged to the furthest back corner of the clearing. Overheard his name when he was commended for his bravery at the end of the session. Thought about him the whole of the sleepless night later on. Learnt the word ‘crush’ a few years too late to apply it in my head.

  By now, Omen was asleep: the new Omen. I was glad for it. At rest, he seemed at peace. The temper drained from his worn face. He needed to find peace with where he was before he could work on where he was heading, and I knew telling him about where the carriage was going might spur him on even more to get on board when it came round. I couldn’t let that happen to him – he deserved better. Deserved to see his family again like he wanted, and to live a life safe away from where he’d only inevitably end up hurt again. Maybe next time they wouldn’t even need a bed for what was left of him. I kneaded my fingertips into his chest, trying to impel a wish to come with me, to that perfect little cottage away in the forest. We could both be safe there. I’d nab a little horse and cart to take him if he couldn’t walk that far uphill. We’d find a way to make things work. To both be safe.

  I’d have to wait till he was healthy enough to go, but ensure it was before the carriage driver picked him up.

  Till then I’d have to leave him at the hospital. And when I left him there, my thoughts lingered too. Why couldn’t I just talk to him? I’d known him my whole life and he said he liked all the stuff I did but still… What was it? Fear of rejection? Oh no – was Robin right with his theory about fears? Because I couldn’t stop thinking maybe Omen would hear my feelings and be pushed to pick a side, and decide to close off instead of opening up in return. If he decided he didn’t want anything to do with me anymore… Maybe that’s why they called it a crush. Cos for the whole time I’d known him, one spurning line from him could have crushed me. I’d already lost him once. I couldn’t handle losing him again.