Chapter Text
Normally, Keith liked nature. He could enjoy the soft breezes that ruffled the tall grass surrounding his village, the orange sun in the sky, the feel of dirt between his toes.
Right now, though? The water spirits were forcing him to re-think all that.
Namely because of where they lived. Keith’s village was nestled at the edge of a lake, surrounded by rolling hills that gradually gave way to mountains in the distance. But was the lake good enough for the water spirits? No. They were nestled in the forest that lay beyond those mountains, way down deep in the heart of the woods where some stupid eternal spring bubbled or whatever. And today it was Keith’s job to make the trek to it.
“Stupid mountains,” he mumbled, kicking a rock out of his way. It bounced down the stone stairs, rolling deeper into the forest. “Stupid bugs. Stupid steps.” He was covered with little red insect bites, and the staired path through the forest was mossy and crumbling, having endured hundreds of years of rain and vine growth. The naiads were supposed to be the guardians of the region. Would it kill them to repair the stairs once in awhile?
His feet ached, but his back hurt more. It was well into the afternoon; the sun was beginning to dip faster and faster in the sky, and Keith had been travelling since before it had risen that morning. The mountains had taken hours to weave between, their path being even worse than the forests’. And the pack that the village had given him, filled with offerings of sweet meats and pastries and spices for the spirits, was weighing on him.
A twinge shot up his bad leg. Keith winced. That was another thing; nobody could take a pony to the spring either, because the spirits would assume that the creature was an offering as well and try to drag it under the water. Greedy little thugs.
“Come on. Just a little farther.” Keith picked up a stick and rubbed it up and down his thigh, trying to loosen the knotted muscle. As the day had wore on he could feel the muscles coiling tighter and tighter, screaming in protest. Why had he even come?
Because there had been no choice, that’s why. The journey had to be made every moon; it didn’t matter by whom, and anyone could volunteer. In fact, the gatherings usually lasted quite awhile because people would volunteer to take the spot of the previous volunteer, hoping to gain favor with the spirits.
Of course, the one other time Keith had made the journey, nobody had been cruel enough to volunteer over him and Shiro.
But once every great while, the spirits would send a sign or a signal to point out the villager they wanted to make the journey. Keith had only seen it happen on a handful of occasions; a few years ago before, Rolo had been bathing in the lake when the water had swirled around him, carrying into the middle of the village and plopping him down naked right in front of the Elder. The time before that, Hunk had woken up to find his own personal storm cloud hovering over his bakery. And so on and so forth.
Two days ago the village had gathered once more. Everyone had been laughing and dancing and whispering with excitement; the entire day was given to the gathering, which meant no unnecessary work or chores, just a lot of time wasted for the sake of the water spirits. Shiro and Keith, however, had no such time off. They were caretakers of the the giant lions that select villagers were chosen to bond with, and since the lions didn’t take time off for the spirits, neither did Shiro or Keith.
That was just one of the reasons Keith loved the lions . They didn’t give a fig about the schedule of the spirits, but they also gave him a freedom he normally didn’t have.
Keith wiped a hand across his brow, took a shaky breath. Thinking of the lions hurt; thinking of Red, wherever she was now, ached like a knife wound. Sometimes he could pretend his leg was still functioning, that Shiro still had both of his arms, that Red was still here. Sometimes he could pretend that their injuries weren’t his fault.
But doing that on his way to the water spirits was impossible.
The summons had come at dusk, when Keith was making the rounds in the stables to feed the lions. The stables were a squat collection of stone and wood structures perched at the top of a hill at the outskirts of the village. The buildings had no real walls, just large wooden posts and sloping, shingled roofs meant to keep out the worst the elements; the adult lions roamed where they pleased in the valley and came and went as they saw fit. The cubs and their parents were the only constant guests in the stables on any given night. And as Keith had been giving a haunch of venison to one of the cubs who was at level with Keith’s hips, water began to pool around his feet.
At first Keith thought that it was raining and the roof was leaking. But there was no pounding sound of water, and besides, he could see directly outside. Even as he watched, however, water seeped up through the floorboards and tugged at his boots.
Keith groaned. There was no mistaking this. He let the bucket of meat thunk to the ground, much to the delight of the cub.
“Go wild,” he grumbled, grabbing a torch from the sconce. “One of us deserves to have a good night.”
Keith set off into the dusk, and soon he was trudging down a path that was quickly turning to mud in the magical water. There was no mistaking that the water was pulling him towards the village square. Already the town was coming alive with golden lights, people milling in the street, eager to begin the gathering and see who would be chosen for this moon’s pilgrimage. As he passed through the low stone wall that surrounded the village, people began to notice Keith. More specifically, his own personal creek that was ruining his boots.
“He’s been chosen!” The whispers were already thick and fast. Some people looked at Keith with jealousy, others with awe. When Keith met with the Elder, he was given the task to ask the spirits about the groundshakes that had been plaguing the village of the valley for many moons now.
Everyone in this town was infatuated with the spirits. Everyone loved them and their magic and their protection from whatever horrors the world beyond the valley offered. But, Keith vowed as he had strode into the village square, unable to meet Shiro’s eyes and questions, if he was going to be forced to walk over the mountains and into their spring? It wouldn’t be with love in his heart.
It would be with revenge.
Because the spirits didn’t always protect them from the shadows of the world. They hadn’t protected Shiro from the creatures who had come in the night.
And they hadn’t protected him from Keith.
**
Keith was just finishing his dinner when the world began to change. While he chewed the cheese and bread Shiro had packed for him, he began to notice the lights glinting in the forest. There had been brief showers of rain that afternoon, and the forest floor Keith was hiking was still damp and glittering with dew droplets. Emphasis on the glittering: the beads of water running down the bushes and dripping off leaves sparkled with a light that wasn’t reflected but coming from within. It shone with a faint rainbow tinge; when Keith picked up a droplet with his index finger and looked closer, he found tiny visions dancing in the water.
“Right,” he said, rubbing the water on the back of his pants. He remembered this; it meant he was getting close. Keith shouldered his pack and pressed onwards.
The thing about this forest was that it grew on the downward slope of the mountain facing away from the village, and that the mountain kept travelling down far below the floor of the valley and the surface of the lake. Which made it a kind of plateau, Keith supposed. But descending into the forest felt like diving into that lake and sinking. Like looking up and seeing that the surface of the water was suddenly far above his head. Submerged. And the trees here were old. Mighty oaks as big around as a house towered overhead, moss growing on their bark, their canopies blending together into one thick layer of green. The weak emerald light that managed to filter through wasn’t enough to grow much beside some reedy bushes, so the forest floor was mostly just the giant tree roots and the tiny stone stair that ran between them like a brook.
As the sun began its descent, Keith stumbled upon the first of the stones. They were large lumps of white rock that were half-buried in the dirt and tree roots. Shiro said that they had once been part of a mighty temple that had been built around the naiad’s spring, but the oaks and a calamity nobody remembered had torn the place down, leaving only ruins.
His leg throbbed painfully, and Keith entertained briefly the idea of sitting down to rest. But no. It was getting late, and he was already going to have to spend the night in the forest; best to get this meeting with the spirits over and put as much distance between him and them as possible before he had to make camp.
With each stone he passed, Keith felt the air changing. It felt lighter down here. It smelled different too. Saltier. Only one of the villagers had ever traveled to the ocean before, and she had said that the spring of the water spirits smelled and felt just like it. A faint, rhythmic crashing noise filled Keith’s ears while all the other noises of the forest died away. Down here there were no birds singing, no deer wandering or sticks falling. The forest held its breath in respect.
Keith rounded a corner, and the spring revealed itself.
The mouth of the spring bubbled up from the top of a small hill, but the water trickled down to form pools in the hollows of the giant tree roots, gradually increasing in size. The largest pool was set in the same white stone as the rest of the ruins and was clear as glass, despite the constant shower of leaves falling from overhead like snowflakes.
The spring appeared to be deserted, but Keith wasn’t an idiot. The water extended far into the heart of the earth in a multitude of pools and rivers; that was the true home of the naiads, the spirit world where no mortal dared to venture. All this up here was just for show.
Suddenly, anger flared in Keith’s chest. He dropped his pack off his shoulders with an unceremonious thunk.
“I’m here,” he called, his voice breaking the holy silence of the place. Whatever. He didn’t care about these stupid spirits and their stupid offering. They could take their pies and let him go home. He just wanted to be back at the stables with a warm fire, cuddling with Red.
Red. Keith swallowed the lump forming in his throat. Even if he was home, he wouldn’t be with his lion. He hadn’t seen her in many moons, not since what had happened.
His leg pulsed painfully, twisting, churning in its brokenness. It had healed all wrong, and now it was knotted like one of these tree roots. But that was a small grievance compared to Shiro. And it was Keith’s fault. All Keith’s fault.
Keith ran towards the sound of his brother’s yells. Night had fallen like a blanket over the valley, and the light of the stable torches didn’t reach this far out in the grasses. Shiro had said he was just going to check on some of the cubs. He shouldn’t be out this late, not alone, not alone--
“Shiro!”
“I’m here!” He called again. This was just like the spirits. Make him hike all the way out here and then not show up, trying to be mysterious and fashionably late. But Keith knew what they really were; selfish, conceited fairies who took their village’s food and who couldn’t be bothered to lift a finger to help someone unless it benefitted themselves.
The water rippled. The ripple traveled to the edge of the pool and bounced inward again, gaining speed. Soon it was reverberating back and forth faster than Keith could follow, and then it was a small wave that even then was shifting shape into a spout of water that grew and grew.
As he watched, the water took shape, forming shoulders, a back, a slender waist, long legs. With a sound like chimes in the wind, the water became opaque, then living; skin, light brown and flawless.
Keith swallowed again, feeling the heat rushing to his face. This naiad boy was completely naked, and though his back was turned to Keith, he could still see...a lot. Blue tattoos curled around his shoulder and dripped down his back, caressing the long and corded muscles that rested there. Keith hated the goosebumps that raced up his arms. Traitor , he glowered at his own body. He refused to be attracted to this thing. Water spirits were flirtatious by nature; being hot was kinda their thing.
And healing them is not. The thought helped ground Keith’s mind again, and he clenched his jaw. Let the naiad parade himself around. Keith would not be swayed.
Before he could get too flustered, more water curled around the spirit’s body and became a robe of sorts, draping like silk across his slender features.
The water spirit stepped lightly onto the surface of the pool, now completely still where a moment before it had been a storm. He turned to face Keith, and Keith felt something hitch in his chest.
The spirit turned his head ever so slightly.
“Hello there,” he said, voice crooning, low, smooth as the skin of his back. Ice-white hair ruffled in a non-existent breeze.
As the naiad spoke, he turned ever so slowly around to face Keith. “Welcome to my spring. Would you like to come over and-”
The spirit stopped mid sentence, seeming to choke on his words. He had turned to face Keith straight on, and now was staring wide-eyed, mouth hanging open.
Oh. All of Keith’s determination turned to mush and dribbled out his boots. Oh. He couldn’t stop looking at the boy’s face. Why couldn’t he stop looking at the boy’s face? His stupid nose, his stupidly sharp cheekbones, his stupidly cute face.
Because he was cute, Keith realized with shock. Ths spirit looked no older than Keith himself. He had known that the spirits were ridiculously hot, he had seen them before. So why wasn’t he prepared for this?
“You.” The boy blinked. “It’s you.”
“Well yeah,” Keith spat back, face heating up. “You called me.” What the hell was going on?
“What? No I didn’t! I asked Allura to summon a pretty…” The words died in the boy’s mouth. His brow lowered. “Oh, that little--I’m gonna kill her, I swear! She thinks she can just mess around with my love life? I--”
“Um,” Keith bit his lip, suddenly feeling like he was intruding on a private conversation. “I was definitely called here, so...magic water around my feet? Seemed pretty obvious.”
The boy-- no, spirit--seemed to remember Keith was still there. He snapped his head back around. Was Keith imagining it, or was there a faint blush on his cheeks?
And there was something else, too. The spirit looked almost...familiar.
Regardless of what he was, gone was the grandiose naiad who had appeared above the pool. The kid in front of Keith was just that; a kid.
“Look, I’m really sorry to tell you this, but my sister screwed this whole thing up royally.” He glanced at Keith and then just as quickly glanced away again. Scrubbed at the back of his neck. “So, I just, ah...I gotta go. Bye.”
The spirit’s body shimmered, then dissolved into a thousand diamonds of water that fell back into the pool like rain, leaving Keith standing alone in the glen.
He stared at the spot where the boy had just been.
Emotions waged a war inside Keith’s chest. The usual anger and frustration he felt about the naiads clashed against...against the undeniable attraction to this boy.
And boy, was he ever attracted. Keith didn’t make much in the village of his disinterest in girls, but Shiro knew, and the girls had long ago grown tired of waiting around for Keith to ask them on dates. He didn’t want to marry a girl. Keith had known that for a while now, and Shiro was supportive.
But there weren’t exactly many boys in the town who Keith could ask out on a date. Well, there were, but he didn’t think they would be interested.
And besides, none of them had released a basket of birds in his stomach like this one had. He’s a spirit , Keith told himself. A spirit, for the gods’ sake. But the pulsating nebula of gold in his chest didn’t seem to mind. What was wrong with him? Was Keith really so weak as to be completely disarmed by one modestly cute water spirit?
Keith waited several moments, then turned to leave. Whatever was going on with the naiads and regardless of this boy, he was going to leave them to do their thing. Keith wanted no part of this. Did he? No. I don’t , he told himself. He didn’t want to see a water spirit ever again. He was carrying revenge in his heart, remember?
So why was he lingering here?
“Ok. I’m going now,” Keith told the empty air, more to spur on his own feet than anything. He began to climb the stone stairs, leaving the pack where it lay.
No sooner had he taken the first step with his right leg cramped and sore than a strange bubbling sound met Keith’s ears. He stopped. Listened. And heard voices.
“I don’t care! You tricked me, Allura--”
“--I did no such thing. You asked me to summon a villager for you and I did--”
“Yeah, but not that one!”
Keith frowned, turned back to the pool. The water was indeed bubbling, boiling as if it had become a volcanic spring. The voices seemed to be having some sort of argument, the sound lilting like a sword fight.
“I am not admitting guilt here, but regardless of who I summoned you still have to go out there and accept the offering--”
“Are you crazy? I can’t do that with him--”
“Oh yes you can.”
“Ow! Don’t pinch me!”
“Then don’t be an idiot! Go accept the offering this instant, Lance. And don’t be rude.”
The bubbling in the water reached a crescendo, and then it was forming the shape of the boy again. This time the process was much quicker and decidedly less...flirtatious. The spirit was soon hovering over the water, arms folded, cheeks pink, neck hunched like he had just been given a scolding. Which, Keith guessed, he had.
“I have to accept your offering,” the spirit, Lance, Keith guessed, muttered. He was staring at the point between Keith’s toes. It was only then that Keith noticed that the boy had long, pointed ears and faintly glowing blue tattoos beneath both of his eyes as well.
“Accept it?”
“The ritual, remember?” Lance sighed and glanced at Keith again. “You have to formally give me the offerings and then I have to bless you and send you on your way and blah blah blah.”
That spark of resentment flared. “I don’t want your blessing.”
“What? Why not? You came all this way.”
“Because I had to. Just...take the food and let me leave, okay?” Keith walked over to the pack, and scooched it closer to the pool. “Here’s your offering. I...release it to you, or whatever. Can I go now?”
But Lance still seemed to be stuck on the blessing bit. He leaned closer, cocking his head at Keith.
“Hang on, you don’t want my blessing? My blessing’s great!”
“It’s not about your blessing!” Keith threw up his hands. Was he really going to get into this with the spirit? “It’s...all of you!”
“That makes even less sense!” Lance’s voice climbed in indignation.
Gods, was this really happening? Keith squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the memories. He didn’t want this. Being here, talking to spirits, it reminded him too much of what happened. He just needed to block it out. Take a few breaths. Patience yields focus , Shiro had told him.
But it was too late.
Keith ran towards the sound of his brother’s yells. Night had fallen like a blanket over the valley, and the light of the stable torches didn’t reach this far out in the grasses. Shiro had said he was just going to check on some of the cubs. He shouldn’t be out this late, not alone, not alone--
“Shiro!”
Out of breath, Keith crested a hill and saw the terrible scene: Shiro, surrounded by three reptilian creatures. They were all claws and teeth and sharp edges and glinting scales, their yellow eyes like flames as they zeroed in on his brother. Shiro’s only weapon was a torch, and though the creatures seemed to fear the flames for now, it wouldn’t hold them for long.
Panic welled in Keith’s throat. His first instinct was to run down there, but what good would that do? The creatures would just tear him to pieces along with Shiro.
Think. Think, Keith urged himself. He needed a weapon. A lion.
But Red had been off hunting for several days. Keith forced himself to calm down, to turn inward and search his connection with her. She was close and coming closer. Returning home. But not near enough to help yet.
Keith looked over his shoulders, back at the stables. None of the unclaimed lions would ever allow him to ride them. And the only claimed lion in the stable right now was…
“No,” Keith breathed, shrinking back from even the idea of riding Black.
Far below, Shiro let out a cry as one of the creatures lunged forward, testing the power of Shiro’s fire. Keith had to act now, or his brother would die.
Keith drew a shuddering breath, and then sprinted for the stables.
“What about your leg?” Lance sat cross-legged on the surface of the water, drumming his fingers on his cheek. “I could try and--”
The indignation flared like an almost physical pain. Keith took a few steps back.
“ Don’t , he snarled, “touch my leg.”
He saw the hurt plain as day on Lance’s face. Good. Let him be wounded. If this particular water spirit didn’t know what had happened, it wasn’t Keith’s problem. They were the ones who had refused him help. And now? He didn’t want it. They were the ones who--
He took a shuddering breath, pushed the thoughts out of his head.
“If you have to bless me, let me...breath underwater until next moon, or something,” Keith said, staring at the ground. His skin crawled with the thought of the magic of those spirits flowing through him for an entire moon. The magic that refused to fix his mistakes.
Out of the corner of his eye, Keith saw Lance crawl on his hands and knees over the water to the edge of the spring, elbows resting on the ancient white stone rim.
“I can do that,” Lance said. He reached out and grabbed the pack, scootching it unceremoniously closer to the edge of the pool until it was near enough for him to pick it up. The spirit set the pack in his lap and began digging through it like a hound searching for treats. Within moments his entire head was buried in the sack. “You brought some good stuff, man! Are these pies?”
Keith sat on a stone, well away from the pool. This might take a while. Also his leg hurt. A lot. He hadn’t let himself think about it on the journey here, but now that he had time to stop and rest, the aches and pains were beginning to catch up with him.
“Yeah,” Keith said. “Cherry.”
Lance groaned in pleasure. He surfaced with one of the little pies in hand. Well, half of it. The other was smeared across his face. “I love mortal food,” he said, somehow cramming more of the pie into his mouth. “It’s so... mortal. ”
“Right.” Keith raised an eyebrow. He hardly was enjoying watching the spirit stuff himself, but the break was nice. And if he was being honest? It was easier to look at Lance without having to worry about making eye contact. From this distance Keith could study the sharp lines of his face and ears, the tiny tattoos that spread out under his eyes. Those eyes. Oh man. They were dark blue, but not at all the same blue as the water he sat on. And they were large, and kind-looking and--
Stop it. Keith mentally slapped himself. This kind of thinking was not okay.
He stood, brushing off his pants. “Look, as fun as this is, I have to get going. I need to make camp before dark.”
Lance looked up, an apple in one hand, another pie in the other. “What? You have to go already?”
Was that...disappointment in his voice? Couldn’t be. Keith was just tired and starting to imagine things.
“Yeah. So, ah…” Keith gestured to the sack. “That’s for you. Obviously. And I’m gonna just...get going.” You said that already! The words felt like wooden blocks in Keith’s mouth. Why was talking in front of this boy--spirit--whatever---so difficult?
Once again, Keith turned to go, and once again he was stopped.
“Wait!” Lance called. “You forgot about the blessing.”
Shoot. Keith was kind of hoping he would forget about that.
“Right,” he said. Because he remembered how this went. When he and Shiro had come...before, there had been a different spirit to greet them. A tall, gracious young woman who had called herself Allura, her white hair cascading down her shoulders in literal fountains of seafoam. If Keith hadn’t known better, he would have said Shiro had been a little infatuated, even despite their situation.
And when they had given Allura her offering to take back to the rest of the spirits--she definitely had not started cramming it into her face in front of them--she had reminded them of their blessing.
A lot had happened next. Keith squeezed his eyes shut. Not now not now not now. He didn’t want to remember. He couldn’t, or he would lose control.
Breath. Patience yields focus.
Keith opened his eyes.
“Do I have to…” he trailed off, scratching at his neck.
The bone in Lance’s throat bobbed. “Yeah,” he said. “It’s kind of standard procedure.”
“So, I guess I just, uh…” Keith made himself step forward to the edge of the pool where Lance was getting to his feet. “I mean, I…” his voice trailed off. It had lost all its power.
And that was because Lance was leaning down, cupping Keith’s face in his hands. Lance’s skin felt like a stream, a riverbed, like sunlight spring days and memories of the currents tugging at his toes. And he was warm, too, warm like the first couple inches of lakewater in the summer. This close, Keith could smell him, and he was a thunderstorm.
“Keith of the village of the valley,” Lance said, face drawing closer. The breath in Keith’s lungs hitched. Lance’s voice was so quiet, but also scratchy with the remnants of youth. “Keith of the village of the valley, I grant you a blessing to be had until the next turn of the moon. Carry it in you with honor.”
And then Lance flowed into the space between them and kissed him.
If Keith could have had any wish in the world, he would have wished for that moment to last a lifetime. Because it was the first time he had kissed a boy, and the feeling of Lance’s hands cupping his jaw and his lips touching Keith was enough to drive him wild.
But he was also kissing a spirit, and within Lance’s lips was visions of the ocean Keith had never seen. Water lapped at a sandy beach, churning over and over in joyous eddies and waves. And when the sun was hot that water dissolved to float high over the world where it collected with its kin, stuck together and then fell, fell, fell with dizzying height and speed. Keith tasted salt and snowmelt and little growing things at the beginning of the world and he wanted more.
He felt the tiniest fraction of that magic flow through Lance’s mouth and into his own, then down his throat, burning like ice all the while. The kiss lasted for less then a second; it was really only a brushing of their lips. But when Lance pulled away, Keith almost reached out to stop him.
They looked at each other.
Lance’s face was an interesting shade of reddish-brown, his pupils blown wide, hair slightly messed up. A literal ripple of water passed over his skin, and suddenly he seemed fragile, as if he were like to break into droplets again. The tattoos beneath his eyes were glowing a fierce blue now, lighting up his whole face, his nose and cheekbones and ears all tinted with light. His throat bobbed again.
“Okay,” Lance blinked. “I think that should do it.”
It took Keith a moment to find his words. “You think?”
“We could try again if you--”
“--No, I think it worked. Not! That I don’t want to, I mean, no, of course I--” Stop stop stop. Keith slapped a hand over his mouth, mortification spreading through his body like a cold bucket of water, completely shredding whatever that moment before had been. Had he just admitted that he wanted to kiss Lance again? Had Lance suggested they kiss again? No no no nope no way he was out of here. This was too much. Keith hated these people; why was he running around kissing them?
His face was well and truly on fire now. It was razed, wrecked, all of this was a burning inferno.
“I have to go. See you.” Keith blinked again, jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “I have, uh, a thing...that I have to...do.”
Lance sank into the water until it came up to his chest, then rested his forearms on the lip of the pool, gazing fixedly at the stones, picking at them with his fingernail. “You were talking about setting up camper earlier?”
“Right!” There it was. Keith grabbed at the idea like a drowning child. “My camp! I have to make that. So I gotta go. I can go, right?”
“Right. Yep, you’re all good.” Lance ran a hand through his wet hair. The motion sent spasms of a very powerful something through Keith. Get ahold of yourself!
From under his lashes, Lance glanced back up at Keith one last time. Keith swore he felt his heart palpitate. “You should maybe think about coming back again. Next moon. If you’re feeling like it.”
This was freaking insane! All of this! Crazy! Keith smiled like his brain was not oozing out his ears in a melted, dysfunctioning slime.
And then he did the worst thing of all: he finger gunned at Lance.
“Sounds like a plan,” he said, walking backward, unsure of what to do with himself. Keith tripped on the first of the stone steps. Stumbled, righted himself.
Lance grinned at him, shot the finger guns back. Was he making fun of Keith? Who could even tell? They had just kissed! As in, lips touching lips! Keith could barely remember which way was up, much less recall any sort of freaking social conventions.
“Sounds like a plan,” Lance repeated.
At that point Keith had to turn around, because he was sort of climbing the stairs backwards as he talked to Lance and it was really hard with his dumb leg. He tore himself away from that boy’s eyes and focused on the steps.
He felt Lance’s eyes watching him until he was out of sight.
**
A few hours later, night had well and truly fallen, and Keith had made camp at the edge of the forest. Here the trees were young, no more than saplings, really, and there were plenty of sticks for a fire.
Keith sat with his head between his knees, staring at nothing, not feeling the heat of the flames. He had kissed a naiad. Well, that wasn’t it; everyone who came to the spring had to kiss the spirits to receive their blessing.
No, he had kissed Lance and wanted to do it again. Just this morning Keith had been fantasizing about the choice words he was going to have with the water spirits, telling himself that he would sooner try to kill one of them and be cursed forever rather than let himself beg. Never again would he and Shiro come here and beg. Never.
His anger and resentment towards the spirits had been a burning torch in his life for almost a year now. It was what had kept him going through the pain of his leg, the pain of seeing Shiro every day without his arm, the pain of having lost Red.
Keith could still feel her, sometimes. Their connection could never truly be severed. But ever since that night, after what had happened, Red had just disappeared, and she hadn’t come back.
Right now, Keith wasn’t ready to go through those memories again. His mind was too addled to beat himself up tonight. He was shaken. Shocked.
Ever so gently, Keith brushed his fingers over his lips, imagining again what it had felt like to kiss Lance. He fell back on his bedroll with a huff , gazing up at the stars peeking through the canopy.
“What,” he said, “is wrong with me?”
The night sky didn’t see fit to answer him. All Keith could hear was the rustling of the grass in the slight breeze, the crackling of his fire, the call of a few birds. The air was cooling now, and soon he would be glad for the flames. It was then that he realized he had forgotten to ask the spirits about the Elder’s concern, about the groundshakes that had been growing in strength. Wonderful, he thought.
Keith slowly, so slowly stretched out his right leg. It hurt, of course, but tonight it had a special variety of knots and pains for him, a punishment for the whole day’s worth of travel. He was glad for the darkness. Keith hated looking at the limb; it was covered in ugly, puckered scars, and it was twisted where the bone hadn’t set straight. Like a broken tree branch. Some days he swore there was still a piece of Red’s tooth broken off in the flesh where she had savaged him.
“Where are you, Red?” He wondered if she was okay. Through his connection, Keith could tell what his lion was feeling, her pains and worries and thoughts. But all of that depended on distance, and right now she was far enough away for those things to be fuzzy. At least he could feel her at all. There had been stretches in the past year where Red had wandered completely out of range and Keith had been left with nothing. Nobody. It was the worst sort of feeling possible, to not know if his life’s companion was even alive . He had cried the night she wandered back close enough for him to feel the barest touch of their connection. After all this time, Red still hadn’t forgiven him. She was keeping her distance, and Keith couldn’t blame her.
He turned over on the bedroll. Tucked his arms beneath his head. If he wanted to get back to the village by dark tomorrow, he would have to get moving early, which meant sleeping now.
Keith let his mind wander. Over the features of Lance, over the argument he had overheard and the strange sense of familiarity he had felt when looking at the spirit. For a while he thought about the recent groundshakes that had been plaguing the valley, growing every moon in power and duration. He wondered if Shiro was okay. He wondered, as his mind drifted farther, if there were ways water spirits could leave their springs to visit certain boys in certain villages.
And just when Keith was about to enter a dream, the worst pain he had ever felt tore through his body.
He screamed. Trying to find out what had stabbed through him, he turned over on the ground, but found nothing. It was then he realized the pain was in his mind, flowing through from Red like a wildfire.
“Red,” he gasped. She was hurt. Badly. Her pain and anguish was terrible, unstoppable. Keith wanted to black out but he could not; as long as Red was conscious through this, so too he had to be. He wouldn’t leave her. He refused.
Because through the awful pain there came another wound, this one infinitely worse than the one he was feeling now. And the wound was this: Keith knew with horrible certainty that his lion was dying.