Like there are so many emotions coursing through my body that I can scarcely draw breath, I think, glancing at his hand on my knee. His mere touch almost has the same result as his lips on mine. “My body hurts,” I admit.
“That’s from the fighting, a side effect of not conditioning regularly. When we stop for the night, we can spar. It will hurt at first, but it will loosen your tight muscles.” He lifts his hand and turns back around. I close my eyes and smile. I like how Golmarr’s touch makes me feel.
The forest looks the same as ever. It is reminiscent of being in the cave and seeing nothing but darkness, only we see nothing but green. We could be walking in circles for all I know, except I can see the path before us, and there are no fresh prints on it. And yet it is beautiful beyond my wildest dreams. Endless birdsong fills the air. When the wind stirs, it ruffles the roof of leaves overhead, opening it in places so pieces of golden sunlight shine through like stars. I close my eyes to breathe in the smell of the forest, and instead smell Golmarr, so I inhale more deeply. If I could make a moment last forever, this would be it.
Enzio stops his horse, and we stop behind him. Pressing a finger to his lips, he motions to the right and then turns his horse into a dense thicket of vines that hides him completely. Golmarr guides our horse into the vines, and I peer over his shoulder to see where we are going. On the other side, the foliage is much denser than the trail we were traveling. At first glance, it is just wild overgrowth, but then I can see the faint markings of old travel on the ground. Enzio dismounts, hands Golmarr his reins, and goes back to the trail we just left, walking a little farther down it. When he comes back, he rustles the vines and closes them so there is no evidence that we have come through this way.
He presses a finger to his lips again, and our horse follows his. We enter a tight tunnel of green that is so dense I cannot see any traces of sky. If I lift my hand, my fingers will trail over the lush tunnel ceiling. The ground begins to gradually slope downward. Our horses weave their way through the thick, clinging underbrush. Branches and vines scrape at my bare calves, and would hit my face if Golmarr didn’t put his arm up to block them from the two of us. We go on this way for some time, while the ground slopes ever downward. The birds keep singing, and a breeze whispers through the forest, but the air grows darker.
Leaning against Golmarr’s back, I rest my chin on his shoulder and whisper, “Is it already sunset?”
When he turns to answer, his face is so close to mine I can feel the warmth radiating from it. “It is early afternoon. I think we are in the shadow of the mountain.” He turns back around, and I leave my chin on his shoulder.
We descend a steep patch of ground, and when the ground levels out again, the tunnel of green we have been traveling through opens up into forest once more. There is more birdsong, and a quiet rumble fills the air. The farther we go, the deeper and louder the rumble becomes. The air changes, too. I sit up tall and gasp. Reaching my upturned palm out, I watch as a snowflake drifts down and lands on it. I close my hand, expecting the flake to melt, but it is not cold. I look up. The dark green roof of the forest is speckled by floating white flakes. They fill the air, gently dancing on the wind. Some have settled in Golmarr’s dark hair. Without a thought, I run my fingers through it, sifting the fluff out.
“What is this?” I ask, holding my hand out to his side. He runs his fingers over my palm.
“Cotton. From the trees.”
I stretch my arms out to my sides and tip my chin up, letting the cotton swirl around me. Ahead, between a gap in the trees, a white veil of water is falling down the side of dark gray stone. Enzio stops his horse beside the falls and gets down. “I’m going to backtrack and make sure our tracks are hidden,” he says, and ducks into the foliage. The moment he is behind the leaves, he seems to disappear.
Golmarr dismounts and holds his hands up to me, and I fall into them, throwing my arms around his neck. When my legs touch the ground, they are so stiff and awkward that I tighten my hold on Golmarr to keep from falling.
“Easy,” he says. “Your body isn’t used to riding. It’s going to be stiff every time you dismount, so you need to expect it and be prepared.”