In the cool of the morning, Fieran stepped out of his tent, his swords strapped to his back. He glanced at Merrik’s tent, but no one stirred.
For a moment, it was too much like every morning for the last four weeks. No Merrik. A lonely walk from the tent to the hill beyond the hangar.
It should hopefully be the last walk like this. Merrik told Fieran the night before that he would be leaving for morning practice early. Fieran would have assumed Merrik was avoiding him, except for the pink flush to the tips of Merrik’s ears. Ridiculous of Fieran to assume this had anything to do with him.
Shaking off the weight, Fieran set off over the dead grass, cutting through the hangar to reach the hills beyond. He waved at a few of the mechanics, although he didn’t see Pip yet.
On the other side of the hangar, he hiked up the rise and over the crest of the hill, giving him a view into the hollow where he and Dacha usually practiced.
Down in the valley below, Dacha and Merrik faced each other, just talking. Uncle Iyrinder lingered in the forest beyond, well out of earshot.
Fieran hesitated at the crest of the hill. He shouldn’t interrupt. Not if this discussion was what he thought it was.
But then Dacha reached out and gripped Merrik’s shoulders in the elven hug. He said something Fieran couldn’t hear from that distance, but the words had Merrik ducking his head before giving a nod. After another moment, Merrik returned the elven hug gesture.
Dacha stepped back, his gaze swinging up to where Fieran stood at the top of the hill. He didn’t make a gesture as obvious as a wave, but the tilt of his head, the twitch of his hand, beckoned Fieran forward.
Fieran strolled down the hill, trying to keep his gait casual, his expression neutral, when all he really wanted to do was grin at Merrik. And maybe tease him about how the whole “talking to his girlfriend’s father” went.
Then again, Fieran probably should hold off on the teasing, and not just because Merrik’s girlfriend happened to be Fieran’s sister. But also because Fieran had yet to go through that proper step with Pip’s dacha. He had yet to even meet Pip’s parents.
Fieran reached the bottom of the hill just as Uncle Iyrinder approached from the copse of trees.
Merrik ducked his head again, not reaching for his sword as he avoided looking at anyone. “I am not sure I am up for much of a practice today.”
Fieran slung an arm over Merrik’s shoulders. Merrik flinched, but he didn’t shove him away or pull back, so Fieran didn’t withdraw his arm. “My dacha hasn’t even progressed me to full fights yet. Something about me still regaining my strength and reconnecting with my elfness or something like that.”
Dacha gave him a dour look that didn’t fully hide the faint curve upward to his mouth. “It has been necessary, sason.”
“So you won’t be the only one not yet up to fighting.” Fieran slapped Merrik’s back, though he kept the gesture light, beforehe stepped back. “We can all go through our sword stances together.”
Merrik nodded, though he still didn’t meet Fieran’s gaze as he drew his sword.
The rest of them all drew their swords, forming a line with space enough between them. With Merrik mirroring Uncle Iyrinder’s single sword stances and Fieran copying his dacha’s forms with the double swords, they moved through the various stances.
Merrik began to breathe heavily by only the third stance, and he stumbled on the sixth.
“That will be enough for today, sason.” Uncle Iyrinder lowered his sword, sheathed it, and rested a hand on Merrik’s shoulder.
Merrik lowered his sword, but his jaw knotted as if he wasn’t happy with having to admit weakness.
Fieran would have moved to the next sword stance, but a blaring siren cut through the morning, the sound somewhat faint all the way out here in the hills. He dropped out of the form and hurried to sheathe his swords. “I knew the break in raids was too good to last. They’re getting an early start today.”
Dacha sighed and lowered his swords. “Yes.”
Fieran spun toward the hangar, but he paused, glancing at Merrik.
Merrik waved at him. “Go on. I will follow as quickly as I can.”
With a nod, Fieran took off at a sprint, not looking back even as an ache filled him at having to leave Merrik behind to go at his own pace.
The ground crew were already pushing aeroplanes out of the various hangar bays, and several aeroplanes from Lt. Hadley’s squadron roared down the airfield.
Fieran dodged around an aeroplane and skidded into Bay 5, where the elven pilots of Flight A calmly glided toward their aeroplanes. “What are our orders?”
“Fleetwood is to head north and west, Hadley south.” Lt. Rothilion dragged on his flight clothes over his uniform. “The colonel wants us to remain over Fort Defense. So far attacks have only been reported to the west and south, but we know Mongavaria’s current strategy.”
That they did. Very likely, an attack on Fort Defense would be coming, once Mongavaria ensured the Alliance squadrons were distracted elsewhere.
