The camp was quieter now, though not peaceful. After the last battle, a
heavy stillness hung in the air — like the pause between breaths.
Li Xian's wound healed slowly. She refused bed rest, insisting on walking
each day, visiting the wounded, checking supplies. But her strength waned.
Her steps grew slower. Her shoulders sagged when no one watched.
Sky never left her side.
He perched on her shoulder even while she mixed herbs, sometimes
balancing on one foot to nuzzle her cheek, as if to remind her she wasn't
alone.
> "Rest. Xian rest," he'd say. Over and over.
She would only smile faintly. "Later, Sky. There's always more to do."
Ren Xu watched her from a distance. He noticed her fingers trembling while
tying bandages. He saw her pause mid-step, gripping a table for support.
One night, as the campfire flickered low, he confronted her.
> "You're pushing too hard. The men won't follow you if you collapse."
She stared into the flames. "If I stop moving, I'll feel the cracks."
Ren Xu frowned. "Let someone else carry the burden. Just for a night."
> "If I was someone else, I might."
Neither spoke after that.
That night, as she lay on her cot, Sky stirred uneasily. He flapped to the
opening of the tent, let out a strange, low croak, and returned to her side.
He whispered, "Storm. Storm. Time end."
Li Xian opened her eyes. "What do you see, little one?"
But he didn't answer.
She looked at him quietly, then placed her hand on his back. "You're safe
with me."
Sky nestled into her chest, feathers ruffling gently.
And though the sun rose golden, the warmth did not reach her skin.