Second Breakfast

Second Breakfast

The ranger leaned on the cairn, watching a gray horizon. Behind him, his companions slept. One of them, a halfling, stirred, mumbled, and then fell back into slumber. The ranger smiled. “Rest, friend. Someone has to.”

He hadn’t slept since he’d taken a blade to his leg outside Burnham. Now, whenever he closed his eyes, visions of the dark riders filled his mind, making his stomach turn and every old scar ache as if it were about to tear open.

He eyed the horizon, certain that the riders would appear there, distant specks, growing as they raced nearer. That was always how it happened in his dreams. But nothing came, save the warm glow of the sun.

In its rays, the stirring halfling awoke. He glanced in the ranger’s direction. “Another sleepless night?”

The ranger gave a weary nod, and the halfling set to work. He stoked embers back to life and set up a cookstove, humming all the while.

He waved the man over and placed a steaming cup between his fingers. “Drink this, sir. It won’t heal your wound, but I often find it a comfort.”

The ranger peered at the dark brew and took a hesitant sip. Warmth coated his tongue, flowed into his stomach, and spread to his aching muscles. His eyes widened, and he gulped down more, thrilled at a burst of wakefulness he’d not felt since before his injury.

“Thank you.” He took his seat by the fire. The brew might not offer healing, but it would offer strength enough for one more day’s ride, enough for him to guide his companions to the forest, where the elves would be waiting.