I ended up exactly where I didn’t want to be. Scrunched up in the little tent with the rain drumming all around. The three bedrolls overlapped, given that there had barely been enough room for two, but having all three out meant that it was supposedly easier to pretend we weren’t all pressed up into each other’s space and no one was technically sharing a bedroll. It made for lumpy sitting.

I pressed up against the tent flap, needing that slight assurance I could rip it open and escape without anyone blocking the exit. Neither Wren nor Juniper protested that I was blocking their exit, which was another small mercy, but I wasn’t sure how things would go if anyone needed to leave to relieve themselves.

Seeing the younger girl in the tent, rather than Nii, had been a nice shock to pull me just a little bit more out of my thoughts when Wren escorted me back. It seemed that Breck had to weather the runaway pair’s messy dynamic in the other tent. But that was probably for the best. She could ignore them better than the rest of us.

Juniper lay with her back to us, curled up on her side, much like I had been minutes before in the rain. That memory was enough to start tugging at the other memories, the dangerous ones, but I kept my breathing slow and my eyes open. Kept my focus on the gloomy interior of the tent, the way my clothes stuck to my skin, the distracting feel of water slipping down my neck, one drop at a time, from my soaked hair. The sound of the others’ breathing and my own, the weight of my cloak wrapped tight around me, providing a bit of comfort and privacy, now that I had pulled it free from my pack. The air in the tent was heavy and damp, but warmer than being out under the branches.

Part of me still wanted to tug open the tent flap’s tie and slip out under the storm. Taking my chances against the cold and wet and sickness. Part of me was a fool.

Wren had changed out of her wet clothes. Her movements had been stiff and uncertain in the dark interior of the tent, but she made an effort not accidentally bump into me and I was silently, slightly grateful for that. Her wet clothes were soaking a wet spot into my bedroll which dampened my gratitude.

But I couldn’t bring myself to snap at her to move her clothes. There wasn’t really a better spot for her to put them unless we wanted wet patches dotting all the bedrolls in the tent. I couldn’t bring myself to change my clothes either. Couldn’t take the chance that I might accidentally brush up against one of them in the small space. So I sat, knees drawn up by the tent flap, water pooling up against my treated cloak, chilling my skin, and hoping I didn’t get sick despite reluctantly taking to the tent.

For her part, I could tell that Wren wasn’t taking our forced silent company much better. Questions had been piling up on her tongue since she caught me outside, and now she strained with the effort to keep her lips shut against them. Nor did it help that Juniper and I were both radiating signals that we didn’t want to be touched or comforted, and she had to fight against her own natural inclinations when it came to that as well.

Even Chirp had caught the mood and kept himself pressed up against Wren’s neck to give her what solace he could. Maybe things would have been easier if he had been his normal twittering self, but chances were that also would have strained my promise not to bag him in my cloak again.

Time passed slowly in the tent. It would have went faster if we had a light to see by, but no one was willing to go bother Colm or Sid for a lit candle, especially when there was a strong chance it would blow out before whoever went made it back to the tent. We could have worked on projects if we had some light, but not even our eyes were good enough to be productive with both clouds and fabric blocking out light.

It would have went even faster if we were willing to stretch out and nap the time away, but Juniper’s feet were already only a couple inches from my knee and that was enough to test my tolerance. I couldn’t risk the accidental touches that were bound to happen as three people shifted in their sleep in a space meant for two. So I took over the space at the front of the tent while they both filled one of the back corners.

It wasn’t surprising when Wren broke and acted on one of the few activities available to us.

Talk.

“You know how Fern said to look for big birds to find the Rookery? Once we get there do you think we’ll get to be like the Windtail?”

It was a clear, desperate attempt to broach the only safe topic Wren could think of. Her words hung in the air as Juniper shifted closer to her tent wall and I took my time to answer. Apparently, boredom could win the struggle over silence.

The Windtail was said to be a whisper woman whose blessing allowed her to call up and ride around on a gigantic bird made of wind and snow. Which was impressive until you remembered that all whisper women gained the ability to travel through shadows which, to me, made travel blessings a bit redundant. Still, she had one or two myths dedicated to her that I knew of and was mentioned in a handful of others. Most notable was the story of the Ice Tide: when the Windtail and her snow bird took the fight to the ocean and froze one of the Lady Blue’s conch commanders solid. That ruined the enemy’s coordination and won the day.

“I doubt any birds we find will be as mythical as hers,” I said.

Wren shrugged. “It would still be cool to ride around on a regular giant bird. See everything from above. Chirp tries to describe what flying is like to me sometimes, but he can only flit so far and—”

She cut herself off with a quick “ow!” and then there was the sound of flapping feathers. “Chirp! That hurt!”

A very light weight settled on my head as Chirp twittered back at her.

Wren pinpointed his new location and shuffled forward on her knees. “Chirp, get off Gimley. Not everyone likes you using them as a perch.”

More chirps.

Wren, more hotly, “I wasn’t insulting you! It’s not my fault you’re not a hawk or a crow or some other bird with wings three times your size!”

Angry chirps were joined by some hopping on my hair. It was odd to be slightly involved in a conversation I only clearly understood half of, but that reaction was clear enough. I decided to take advantage of the distraction he offered and reached up to scratch him under the chin like I had seen Wren do.

He accepted the attention with a happy trill until I spoke, “Don’t worry, Chirp, Im sure she thinks you’re better than a pigeon or woodpecker. You’re not quite as annoying as—”

He bit my finger and I jerked it away as he fluttered away to make his last stand on Juniper’s arm.

Wren sounded exasperated. “Chirp, please leave Juniper alone. She’s not feeling well or a part of this at all.”

That caught my attention. Not feeling well? I tuned out the bird and Wren as she continued to try to reason and bargain with him. Sure, I had noticed that Juniper had been more withdrawn since the festerlings, and there had been that odd moment when I woke up to her standing over me, but I hadn’t seen her approach the healer’s tent at all or otherwise act like something was wrong.

Was she hiding an injury? Infection? I tried to think through the last handful of days, but I couldn’t pinpoint times when she might have limped, held herself stiffly, or did an odd movement when a more common one would have worked just as well to indicate an injury. Nor had there been any odd coloration, sweats, shortness of breath, or extra fatigue that couldn’t be attributed to our daily, long travels.

No healer’s beads and the memories were entirely too close, but the instincts and old habits rose up with a vengeance. To check and diagnosis. To treat.

Never leave a patient untended.

Her voice and one of tenets she had lived by. Of course, for her, it had been a matter of her reputation and influence. Patients were only those that she got paid to treat and if one sickened further and died under her watch then it was a terrible blow to the little bit of influence she had on the tribe. And she craved every drop.

Which meant that every patient had to be strictly watched and tended to thoroughly and efficiently. More often than not it had been my job to watch over them while I practiced my characters or memorized a plant and its uses or treatment. Every patient was tended to because I was there, watching, while she worked on this or that.

Perhaps the twins had been given that thankless job now. Constantly stuck in the tent to watch over the patients too sick to leave it.

I couldn’t treat Juniper now, not with the goddess possibly watching and the infuriating lack of beads in my hair, but I could, possibly, find out what was wrong. Just to scratch the itch.

Not that I should give either of them any more hints to my healer background. Even if Wren likely knew from spending the cold season in Grislander’s Maw. If she had ever went to get healed over the years she would have seen me.

Wren finally won Chirp’s huffy presence back on her shoulder with an apology and the promise of a treat. Juniper had barely moved throughout the whole bargaining exercise despite the fact that using her arm as perch had been the main topic.

Well, silence was easiest but that had already been broken. Poking at someone else’s problems was also better than mulling silently over my own. Especially with the rain and tent walls pressing in close to fling my mind back into the memories at the slightest sign of weakness.

I focused the full weight of my attention on Juniper. “Why have you been pouting like someone dropped your favorite doll in the lake?”

She ignored me.

Wren broke back into the conversation. “I just got Chirp to leave her alone. She isn’t feeling well. Leave her be, okay?”

“How?”

Wren sounded confused. “What do you mean?”

“How is she not feeling well?”

“She’s just not.”

“That’s not an answer,” I said, mulish.

Wren’s voice hardened. “Really? Because you didn’t give me an answer about whatever happened outside. Do you want me to press you about that? Because that’s what you’re doing to her right now.”

“It’s not the same.” I cast a glare at Juniper’s back. “You’ve found quite the bodyguard to replace the old ones.”

Juniper mumbled something unintelligible.

Wren retorted back at me, “It’s not that different, either.” There was the sound of hair rustling. “Why can’t we all just get along?”

That shocked a short bark of laughter from me. “Because that’s so easy.”

“It is,” she insisted. “If you let it happen.”

I snorted and burrowed further into my cloak. “It’s not wanted.”

A thread of exasperated annoyance thinned Wren’s normally friendly voice. “Right. Because no one’s good enough for you except for Prevna.”

My head jerked up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What do you think it means?” and then a few heartbeats later, “It’s not like you hangout with anyone else.”

“Breck doesn’t hangout with everyone either. Idra and Ento can hardly untangle themselves long enough to focus on Juniper when they’re around. I don’t see why you care.”

“I don’t.”

I rolled my eyes even though she couldn’t see the movement in the dark. “Great.” And then because I couldn’t seem to help myself, “It’s not like you can keep your hands off Dera anyway.”

Chirp twittered something before Wren shushed him and said, “People can have more than one friend, Gimley.”

“Sure.”

I wasn’t sure why they would want to.

Silence reigned in the tent again. Long, gloom filled moments to wonder why I had bothered worrying about Juniper or arguing with Wren. I didn’t need anyone else getting too close. Didn’t need friends or conversation or healing. I just needed to become a fully fledged whisper woman. After that, everything else would have to work itself out.

Unexpectedly, Juniper was the one to break the silence next. “Idra and Ento do their job well.”

Her statement seemed to throw Wren off as well, so I just repeated my earlier statement, “Sure.”

Better that than have another aggravating conversation drag on.

My intentions failed as Juniper stubbornly spoke up again, “I wouldn’t have been captured if they had been there.”

Wren mused, “Idra’s barrier would have been helpful against the festerlings’ spit.”

I ignored Wren’s comment as I huffed out an annoyed breath. “We weren’t there just to protect you. Pull your own weight or face the consequences like everyone else.”

“But I was the team leader.”

I had to work to keep most of the bite out of my voice. “Was?”

Juniper’s voice came out muffled. “You didn’t even rescue me first.”

Oh, for storm’s sake. Sometimes, I forgot that Juniper was one of the youngest in our group, because of her solemn attitude and drive to kill the Lady Blue’s creatures. Sometimes it slapped me in the face.

I unclenched gritted teeth to speak. “We had limited resources. Your blessing and fighting skills didn’t match what we needed for a second rescue.”

“You rescued Wren.”

“So?” Wren sounded more than a little defensive.

Juniper answered her question. “You’re not better at fighting than me.”

“She had Chirp.”

“So?” It was Juniper’s turn to sound defensive.

“I thought the birds might make a good distraction.” I debated how rude I was willing to be and decided that I couldn’t make it much worse than I had already been that day. “And I didn’t want to be dived at and have him twittering in my ear incessantly for not rescuing her.”

Wren spoke at the same time Chirp chirped huffily. “You picked me because you think Chirp is annoying?”

I wasn’t about to tell her that he could be cute—when he wasn’t being a gluttonous fluffball. “It wouldn’t have made us very stealthy.”

“He knows better than that.”

I tilted my head to the side. “Does he?”

Wren sounded like she was going to keep arguing, but Juniper broke back into the conversation first. “I would have been the better pick.”

“You’re not even leading us now. You might have been a perfect tribe leader’s daughter back in your tribe with everyone listening and waiting to do your every word, but you’re not now.” I waited a beat so my next words had more impact. “Now you’re just being a spoiled child.”

Everyone was fuming now.

But it was silent except for the drum of the rain on the tent. They didn’t seem to think that they had any arguments that I wouldn’t counter or dismiss. They weren’t really wrong. Arguments were easier than sharing or understanding or getting to know them better. In a way they were familiar though she would have shut down most of them before I even had the chance of getting the final word.

Besides, they had already formed their opinions about me and what I should or shouldn’t do. Why not feed them? It wasn’t like I could see their looks of disappointment or anger in the dark and I finally, completely felt my control slip back into place without the threat of my mind tipping backwards. If nothing else I had always been good at this.