The forest was serene, bathed in the amber glow of a setting sun, but my mood was anything but tranquil. I stomped through the underbrush, yanking leaves and herbs from the earth with a fervor that bordered on rage.
The crisp air bit at my skin, but I barely noticed as I crouched by a patch of moss, inspecting the small green leaves I'd just gathered.
"Why am I so angry?" I thought, shoving the herbs into the makeshift pouch I'd fashioned from my scarf. The truth was, I didn't know.
Maybe it was the situation—being stranded, Zaya's stubbornness, or my own inability to keep my emotions in check. Or maybe it was her.
The way she had brushed off her injuries. The way she'd let me tend to her back, her quiet strength, and the pull I felt toward her that was as frustrating as it was undeniable.
