Moria kept scouring the landscape for places to hide, but they'd seen no sign of the thunder hawk, and as she grew more certain that the danger had passed, she sank into thoughts of her father, spurred by those reflections on his words.
She would never see him again. Never hear his voice. Never sit and listen to him gently instructing her, guiding her in the right direction. Had she appreciated that? Perhaps not. He'd had stories, too, endless tales of his adventures as a traveling merchant before they came to Edgewood. She'd liked those better.
She would never see him again. Not in this life. The thought seemed too much for her mind to even approach. It was like in winter, when they'd go to the spring to slide on the ice. Daigo would circle the edge, sometimes putting a paw on the ice, only to back off quickly. That's what the truth of her father's death felt like--her mind endlessly circled it, evaluated, considered, perhaps took a step toward acceptance, only to retreat quickly.
"So that beast . . ." Gavril's words shattered her thoughts. "It was a thunder hawk?"
She made a noise he could interpret as assent.
He replied evenly, as if fighting the urge to snap at her, "I'm trying to understand the threat, Moria. If it comes back again, we need to be ready."
She wheeled on him. "You would have let him die."
"What?"
She waved at Daigo. "You were willing to let him die if I didn't walk away back there."
"I would never--"
"We jumped on that bird. Daigo and I. For you, because you were too blasted stubborn to let go of your sword. Daigo made his injuries worse fighting for you, and you would refuse to heal him to protect a secret that is not a secret at all?"
"I did not mean I wouldn't treat him."
"And if I'd stayed?"
He pushed his braids behind his ear. "You wouldn't."
So it had been an idle threat, knowing she'd never risk her wildcat's life to simply prove a point.
&nb
sp; She resumed walking. "We can't keep doing this. If you have skills that can help--"
Thunder rumbled in the distance. They looked at each other.
"Was that . . . ?" Moria said.
"It sounded like it." He turned quickly, scouring the landscape. "We need cover. Rocks. Or a narrow chasm."
"I saw a pile of rocks over there." She pointed left, in the direction they'd come. "But it didn't look big enough."
Daigo nudged her to continue forward and she ran alongside him. Gavril's boots thumped as he followed. The plains looked flat, but the lava rose and fell in waves often too gentle to see. Moria crested one of those waves and looked out to a see a hillock in the distance, the sun shimmering off the rock, nearly hiding it.
As they raced toward it, the wind picked up, sand swirling from every seemingly barren nook and cranny in the rocky plain. Moria slitted her eyes and shielded them. Another roll of thunder, closer now. Then the sun vanished. She glanced over her shoulder to see a dark shape blocking it. The thunder hawk swooped over the plain, searching for its lost prey.
They reached the rise. It was nearly as tall as Moria. When the lava had swept over the land, it had plowed down almost everything in its path. Sometimes, though, it had met an obstacle unwilling to fall, even under molten rock. The lava had done its best here, but the obstacle remained--a heap that may have been a stone hut, one side crumbling now, as if it was finally giving way under the weight.
As Moria and Gavril scooped out the debris, Daigo paced and watched the sky. Finally, they'd removed all they could, leaving a cave-like hole. It narrowed in the back, better suited for Daigo's flexible form. He wriggled in as best he could.
Moria and Gavril hid their packs under the debris. Then Moria went in. It was a tight fit, with barely enough space to crouch.
"Are you going to make room for me, Keeper?"
"I'm trying."
Another long roll of thunder. The sky was so dark she could barely see. The sand whipping about didn't help, especially after they'd unsettled it moving rocks.
"Come out," he said. "There's more room in the middle. I ought to be there."