~ TARKYN ~
The next morning, Tarkyn was down in the valley alone, gathering wood. He'd gone an hour earlier, telling Harth he only intended to run a quick patrol, but the bond was too clear between them. She'd known he was struggling, but let him go.
He'd been too long in thought. He could feel her approaching, worry simmering in her chest. He'd worried her. Guilt washed over him.
He stooped to pick up another dry branch as he felt her draw close. When he stood and turned she was in front of him, watching him warily.
"Are you okay?" she asked quietly, already knowing the answer.
Tarkyn set down the bundle of sticks and dry brush, then ran a hand through his hair. He wasn't quite sure what to say.
Was he good? No. But could he explain why? Not really.
