Insignia, page 26
Grimacing, he massages the now tender shoulder testing its capabilities of motion.
He has grown a significant amount over the years. He is no longer a scrawny child too tall for the little amount he weighs. He may have only grown a thumbs width in height but living out in the forest, he has grown physically stronger. His shoulders have become broad and his arms are strong from the years of hauling supplies and game to his cave. The boyish features of his face have hardened and sculpted into a young man as the lining of his jaw became more pronounced. Though many of his features have changed, his trademarks remain the same; his hair cut unevenly by a sharpened deer bone sticks up in a curly untamed mess, the downturn shape of his eyes as if he’s always worried, and his nose is still a little too big.
The goofy smile he is giving to Amiria at this moment is another trait that will never go away or the way his hazel eyes seem to shine like a forest sunrise when he does. The three lined scars on his arm; grotesque, bumpy, and webbed, will never fade as if it is his own personal insignia.
“One of these days I’m going to get you.” Stirling jokes.
“How many times do I have to explain to you? It doesn’t matter how good you get at leaping around this forest. You will never match nine years of military training and pretty much nineteen years of at-home personal training. Just admit you’re never going to catch me. I was raised to defend and fight at any cost. You were raised to,” Amiria’s mouth curls, “To bake bread.”
“You—I’m going to get you.” Stirling pretends to be aggravated as he reaches forward in an attempt to snatch her but he isn’t even close enough to grab her bag as she gracefully leaps backward out of reach.
“As I said, you’ll never catch me, baker boy!” She mocks, bolting into the forest, her bag of food bouncing wildly at her side. The sound of her hysterical laughter disappears with her into the surrounding trees.
Stirling stumbles, his feet interlocking as he tries to hurl himself after her. He puts his hands out, catching himself before his face hits the ground, and jumps back into action. He takes off sprinting after her.
Running on the balls of her feet, the outside rolling inwards to her big toe, her heels never touching the ground, Amiria’s boots are soundless. Years of stealth training cushioned by the pillows of soft leaves and pine needles thrown across the forest floor.
She can hear it behind her, the soft padding sound of someone who knows these mountains like he knows his own home. Stirling is sprinting after her. She might be swift and nimble but his long legs give him the advantage in natural speed. He only falters in the fact that he doesn’t know how to muffle the sounds of his steps, making his speed obsolete to someone with a keen ear.
Stirling abruptly comes skidding to a stop as an object catches his eye. Backstepping a few paces, he stands over a bag lying by a stump as if it had been caught by a branch and pulled off the carrier.
“She is bragging about all her training but then goes about dropping her stuff. So stealthy.” Stirling mutters, tapping the bag with his shoe.
“Oof.” Escapes Stirling’s mouth as he is knocked forward with a sudden increase in weight coming down on his back.
He takes a couple of staggering steps forward regaining his balance as he gasps catching his startled breath. An arm comes around his neck with the other hand cupping the back. Pushing lightly, she presses his neck into her arm, enough to make a point but not enough to cut the blood flow.
Hunching forward, he tries to pry Amiria off his back, her legs wrapping around his waist, holding herself stable.
“That’s how you attack from above. Did you know if I were doing this for real, you would be unconscious before you can count to three?” She says in a low voice close enough to his ear he can feel the warmth of her breath sending shivers down his spine.
The hairs on the back of his neck and arms raise as goosebumps form. He can feel the pressure of her body against his like a constrictive snake, a stunning creature giving you a deadly hug. Her heart full of adrenaline drums rapidly on his shoulder blades and gradually begins to slow to a steady rhythm.
She drops her arms, letting them fall gently in front of Stirling, dangling against his chest, “Will you carry me, baker boy?”
“C-Carry you?” he stutters.
“Yeah, to the cave so we can finally eat,” she replies with a yawn, her eyes drooping. Seldom restful sleep caused by long extensive work shifts is catching up to her like a stampede. This is the first time she has asked Stirling to carry her, the first time she’s asked anyone to carry her. She thinks of it as something a parent would do when you were a small child, but when you’re born into the Winged Cavalry, you don’t have time to be carried. You need to learn to hold yourself up.
“Um, okay,” Stirling says shyly.
He raises his trembling hands, hovering them over Amiria’s thighs. He can almost feel the fabric sending an electrical current tingling his palms. There is something fluttering around in his stomach making him nauseous. Then his heart, it’s pounding all the way up into his throat, inhibiting him from breathing properly.
Taking a deep breath, his chest expands as far as it can go. His whole body is shaking. He holds in his breath, calming himself down, and slowly releases it, slipping his hands under her thighs just behind her knees. Her legs unwrap from his waist, letting her whole weight rest in his palms. Lowering her head, she rests her chin on his shoulder, her head tilting and settling against his own.
Heat rushes to his cheeks turning them rosy. He is glad Amiria is behind him, so she can’t see the vibrant color on his face. They have been close friends since the day she found him in the cave all those years ago but close interactions not involving a headlock were scarce.
She is the same as trying to hug a wolf. They resemble their domesticated counterparts, lovable and by your side but try and pet one, and you’ve got a good chance of losing a limb. They’re from a world of hunt or be hunted. She wears a frightening mask, but the mask is heavy and it is a relief for her to take it off. To drop everything and relax.
He can relate. He had worn a similar mask back when he resided under his family’s roof. His mask was made up of the materials of a lie. But fabricated lies like woven wool begin to fray and unravel in time, and the mask will need to be discarded.
He still hasn’t become accustomed to her touch. The light brush of her skin when they would accidentally bump or graze sends a heated pulse flowing through his body. It never became something he thought twice about. No, he only longed for it more.
Over time she slowly grew more comfortable around him and would lean on him or purposefully stand close enough to feel the warmth of his skin. He never found enough courage to do the same. He always waits for her to close the gap. He is afraid he will overstep boundaries; boundaries he isn’t even sure if they are there. He is afraid of messing with the level of comfort and trust she has put in him.
Squatting down, he picks up the bag of food off the ground while trying to not drop Amiria in the process. He hands the bag up to her. She moves only enough to slip it over her head and arm before returning to rest her head on his shoulders with a yawn. Her eyelids are heavy as she shakes her head trying to wake herself up. Her attempt is futile as her eyelids close under their own weight.
Neither of them says a word as Stirling carries her to the cave. Resting with the rocking motion, Amiria is lulled to sleep by Stirling’s stride. Being the rookie of her squad, she often stands the overnight shifts the senior members don’t want, on top of all the special requests King Dietrich summons for her to accompany him on.
She never complains about the long and odd hours. She still finds time to spend with Stirling even if she has fallen asleep numerous times. He never seems to care; he just enjoys the company anyway. He would pull the blanket over her and tend to the fire making sure she was comfortable.
On the days she makes it out to the cave deep in the mountain’s forest is the only time she can shut her eyes and let the natural melatonin leak into her brain, so she can snuff out the candle of the outside world without worrying about alarms in their personal quarters sending them off into the night for another mission.
Ignis and Taika, who Amira had sent ahead so she could enjoy the walk in the forest, lift their heads simultaneously. Their large scaly bodies absorb the warmth of the sun in the clearing crowding the entrance to the cave hidden between the boulders under the beech tree forever frozen in the state of falling.
Stirling emerges from the shadows of the trees. Amiria, now sound asleep on his back, has her face resting in the crook of his neck. Her long dark hair spills over his shoulder, flowing around her arms hanging loosely in front of him, obscuring her slumbering face.
“What did you do to her?” Ignis asks, referring to her unconscious body.
“I didn’t do anything. She’s asleep,” Stirling responds. “You think I’d be capable of knocking her out?”
“Yeah, you’re right about something for once. You have a better chance of convincing the Cavalry not to kill you, than to knock out the king’s star pupil,” Ignis remarks.
“Ha. Ha. Ha. You’re so funny.” Stirling’s sarcastic tone is obvious as he steps over Ignis’ tail. “How about you stay out here and think about the harmful things you say to people.”
“No, not people. Person. Just you. Aren’t you special,” Ignis teases in a cheeky tone. Stirling dismisses the insult with a shake of his head and submerges himself with Amira into the cave.
Inside the cave, Stirling makes his way over to the bed he has updated by laying large branches perpendicularly across two piles of logs stacked in a triangle. On top, he’s added multiple deer hides for extra warmth and comfort. He had kept true to Amiria’s request. He practiced the bow every day after she showed him the basics. It’s miraculous how quickly you can master something when your survival depends on it.
He turns around facing away from the bed. Shrugging her off he gently lays her down into the soft pelts.
Stirring awake, she yawns, “Oh, we’re here.” She props herself up on one arm, pulling the bag still slung around her off.
“Yeah, weird how you can magically travel while you’re asleep,” Stirling says.
He leans over placing his hand on her shoulder, helping lift her into a sitting position. She drags the bag onto her lap as Stirling plops down next to her snatching a pear out of the open top.
“I fell asleep again? I’m sorry.” She apologizes. “Your father is doing well. He misses you as always.”
“He talked about me again?” Stirling soberly stares down at the pear he’s mindlessly fumbling back and forth between his hands.
Amiria nods. “He always talks about you. This time he mentioned again how we could have been friends. Though this time, I think he actually agreed with me when I said how maybe one-day things will change. Well, he didn’t much as agree as in he didn’t shoot down the idea saying it was preposterous. So, I take that as progress. I also get the feeling he still blames himself for your, um, passing.”
The memory of blaming himself for his mother’s death resurfaces in Stirling’s mind. It had taken him years to finally convince himself differently. Even after, it still hung in the back of his mind, repressed until moments like this. Dragged from the back of the crowd to center stage.
When he had laid starving and dehydrated in the cave he believed would be his tomb he had blamed his father for his own demise. This was his fault for not understanding. Stirling came to accept this was solely on himself and that there was no one else to blame. Just like he always wanted, he made all the decisions in his life. No one made him choose this path that led him here. He walked here on his own.
His father is just following the laws of the land, the Cavalry are only abiding by orders, and King Dietrich is only acting upon a system he inherited long before even his grandparents were born.
“Any cool missions recently?” he says, changing the topic.
The Winged Cavalry consumed the majority of her life, leaving only a scarce amount of free time, but Amiria did love her job. She is truly born for it.
She grins, leaning into Stirling, her eyes shining as she speaks. “Yeah, there was this group from Uviktiland. They managed to get past our borders and took up shop near one of the mining towns on the northeastern side of the island. I guess they thought we mined for Wyvernite crystals. Ha, guess they still haven’t figured out the obvious. Well, they were being discreet and stealing an almost undetectable amount of other stones. But you know the king. He notices everything. He sure does love his documents. So, a few members of my squad and I had to go and exterminate them.” Amiria sits back. “There are some things he does like to leave undocumented.”
“That sounds pretty crazy,” Stirling admits while taking a few bites of the pear.
He begins imagining himself hiding out in the woods at night. Silently stalking unaware victims like he stalks a deer. Waiting until the perfect moment to ambush the bandits and... his thoughts trail off, his eyes fixated on the half-eaten pear in his hand. His hands are rough and calloused from extensive manual labor; the hands of a builder, of a hunter, of a Rider, but were they the hands of a killer? Could they take the life of another even if they were the enemy?
“I guess it was crazy. Except for Calix, oh he irritates me so much.” She says, shattering Stirling’s thought process.
“He just thinks he’s being so charming and he’s going to win my heart one day. He just, I just want to oooo.” She finishes by pretending to strangle the air.
He hates hearing Calix’s name. He is a gifted Rider the same as Amiria. Overly praised for merely existing and destined to rise quickly through the ranks because of his bloodline. Stirling’s veins surge with jealousy. He doesn’t know if he wants to hit him or shake his hand.
She manages to evade it, but she knows Calix is her father’s top candidate for who he wants her to give her hand in marriage. Nobility doesn’t always get the luxury of marrying someone they love but instead someone who will benefit the family and future generations.
Amiria is all Stirling has besides Ignis and it will kill him internally if he never sees her again. She speaks about how much she despises Calix, but he can give her the life he can’t. They will be allowed to go out in public together, and announce their relationship to their family and friends. Have a home and children. They could stand hand in hand beside the king in charge of the entire Winged Cavalry. What can he offer her? A life of treason? Life in a cave hiding away, barely surviving and everyone thinks you’re dead? Sure, she comes here on her day off for temporary escape but would she ever want to live day in and day out like this?
“What did he do?” Stirling asks because he wants to hear what negative things she has to say about Calix.
“The usual, undermining me because I’m a woman and thought I needed to stand back and let him handle the dirty work.” Amiria grits her teeth while clenching the bag in her lap.
“Woah, hey take it out on him and not the food.” Stirling says, slowly prying each finger off the bag until it’s free from her crushing grip and sets it off to the side, “I thought you didn’t like when people put you on the Cavalry pedestal, right Miss Prodigy?”
“I don’t!” Amiria snaps, “It’s different than not putting me on this pedestal. He talks down to me like I’m his doll, and calls me his little bird, like I’m fragile and need his help. You talk to me as if we are equal. It’s different. We’re just two people who enjoy spending time with one another.”
Ignis and Taika pop into Stirling’s mind. They were two very different dragons with two very different riders, but at the core, they were the same. They need to eat, sleep, and breathe. They are alive. They have thoughts and feelings about the world around them. The whole kingdom is full of people like Calix, especially in the noble class. Birthright is everything in their mind. Status is something you can earn but it is limited to your field. You can only work your way so far up the ladder until you run out of rungs. Some people’s ladders start on higher ground with better support. His father has only begun to come to terms with how irrational the system is. People should be able to dictate their own lives, even if it is as simple as learning a new hobby or who they choose to spend their free time with.
Someone needs to stand up and prove to them they can. He isn’t like Amiria though. He is not brave and selfless. He isn’t willing to risk his own life for the greater good. He is no one’s hero.
The wooden frame shifts as Amiria scoots away from him. For a split second, a pang of hurt stabs him in the chest. She doesn’t want to sit close to him anymore. The pang immediately turns to the flits of a sputtering heart as she lies herself down, resting the back of her head upon his lap. She scoops her hair from being tucked under her letting it cascade over his legs like a river dark in the night of a new moon.
His body stiffens. His back is straight as a board. His head tilts down at her, her lips slightly parting as if she has a question, and her eyes full of wonder as she stares up at him. They remind him of the night sky. As if they hold all the answers, but at the same time none of the answers because it is impossible to get there and learn the secrets held inside. He knows the sunlight will reveal her eyes aren’t black but a deep brown, the same as her dark hair when it is struck just right by the light it will reveal highlighted strands of almond.
He lets out a breath releasing the tension in his muscles. His shoulders hunch. He can’t help but smile. She has a way of making his body confused. He will tense up at her close proximity only to end up relaxing under the touch.
“If you could fly anywhere, where would you go?” she asks dreamily.
With no hesitation, Stirling answers, “Southeast past Uviktiland.”
“Southeast?” Amiria scrunches her nose, “But we don’t know what’s over there.”
