Good thing this storm didn’t wreck anything beyond repair; though that little brat lit the brushfire, I can’t let you drift off like a leaf after attacking a Sanctuary convoy—you don’t want that wind carrying to your tribe, right?
...
Silver Luan lifted her head like a puppet on a slow string, met Spring Tide’s eyes like calm ponds, then looked at Cerqin, who trembled like a leaf in frost.
Alright, what do you want—attacking the convoy was on me; my blood boiled like a kettle and my body jumped like lightning, but the berserk wasn’t my fault.
That rage-burst was an accident born of crossed gusts, yet it left a board of scattered pieces like a chess game kicked into ashes.
Naturally; lines are lines like chalk on stone, and if the heat still smokes in you, you can keep teaching Cerqin like rain beating reeds.
Huh—like a sparrow springing from the reeds.
Cerqin froze like a rabbit in moonlight and stared at Spring Tide, fear pooling like cold water; she’d been last to think again, but her memories glittered whole like ice on glass.
That dragon tail’s touch still clung like a chill ribbon, and Cerqin’s knees pressed together like shutters in a gale.
Silver Luan’s face tightened in puzzlement like a knot of vine; Spring Tide and Cerqin clearly had odd tides between them, and she’d cut across like an oar—she’d thought the current would be different…
You don’t mind? The words dropped like a pebble into a still pond, rippling more than they weighed.
Not that I don’t mind at all, but once I learned this brat’s true stripes, I knew she’s a wolf-cub who’ll chase skirts like a restless tide.
Spring Tide paused like a held breath, glanced at the knight-captain healing the others like a hearth of steady embers, then let her words flow again like a stream.
In the Radiant Sanctuary, iron rules turn into silk when it comes to this kind of thing, like a banner loosening in a warm breeze.
Among the Sanctuary’s Nuns, sharing someone you like with someone else you like is common, like passing a lantern from hand to hand.
Several Nuns “educating” one prisoner happens daily, like a choir of swallows pecking one grain in a courtyard of thorns.
I’ve heard the Half Dragonkin, for breeding’s sake, have tangled bonds like braided smoke over a clutch of eggs…
Alright, that’s true; so how do you want me to pay for hitting the convoy—my purse is fat like a ripe gourd, I can cover wagons, healing, and some resources for cultivation.
How about this—her tone stretched like a cat under sun-warmed lattice.
Spring Tide slipped an arm around trembling Cerqin like tucking a lamb beneath a cloak.
Join my Holy Patrol for now; the escorting knights are battered like trees after hail and can’t keep marching, your strength stands like a shield beside mine, and you want your thing back, right?
Guard the Holy Patrol, then grab your item on the return, two birds with one stone like a sling cracking the sky.
Silver Luan caught the meaning like a fish in clear water, glanced at Cerqin nestled like a sparrow, and agreed with the snap of dry kindling.
Alright, no problem—her reply struck like flint sparking ash.
They wrapped the business quickly like tying off a bandage, and after a short rest, the Holy Maiden’s original escort turned back like a flock seeking roost to heal.
A new escort would catch up like dawn chasing night, while Silver Luan took the guard’s mantle like a cloak; the attack’s knot unraveled like twine in warm water.
Most of the women knights held little enmity toward Silver Luan, their gazes calm as fields after rain.
But when they looked at Cerqin, envy faded like wilted blossoms, and mischief gleamed like sun on puddles, bright with schadenfreude.
With matters done, talk turned to Cerqin’s responsibility like a loom changing threads, but their coy hints and thorny words chilled her like mist on stone.
Night deepened like ink poured over the hills; at least tonight was safe, though of three carriages one lay splintered like driftwood, and two more creaked wounded, their wards cracked like frost-webbed glass.
Which meant the carriages no longer muffled sound at all, like drums with split skins yawning to the wind.
They wouldn’t bully her before a field of wounded bodies, like wolves checking their hunt under a watchful moon.
Spring Tide and Silver Luan looked like different blossoms on one branch, yet in some places their roots touched like rivers meeting underground.
Now they seemed less like duelists who had fought to the death and more like sworn sisters, laughing like wind-bells over a quiet shrine.
Seeing that scene, Cerqin felt doom settle like a raven’s shadow on fresh snow.
A Nun’s workload doubling felt like a millstone dropping, grinding grain and bone alike.
Besides, as the current chief’s daughter among the Half Dragonkin and the brightest talent of her generation, Silver Luan was a Holy Maiden in all but crown, like a dragon pearl hidden in a shell.
Cerqin drifted in idle thoughts beside the fire, her mind wandering like smoke threading through pine.
About her ability, Love God, her bloodline’s memory held little, like a scroll with most lines washed by rain.
Aside from the name Love God, it offered basics: by skin-to-skin contact, she could restore stamina and mana to both sides like a warm spring welling under ice.
That was all the inheritance gave, yet Spring Tide had said flat-out the power wasn’t that simple, like a seed hinting at a forest.
If she dug deeper, the life-force it stirred might heal, like sap sealing a wound in bark.
No gift wakes as a mountain fully formed; it needs carving and patience, like water shaping stone.
There was one bright thing to cherish—Cerqin could now flick her power on and off like a lantern shutter in wind.
Did that mean when bullied later, she could channel the river back into her own cup, not theirs, like rain roofed toward her bowl?
She might face two at once, even two of the Sixth Rank, like a sapling daring a storm.
She burned to test it, but now wasn’t the hour, like a bow unstrung under starlight.
Tomorrow, when they pressed her, she’d try it on the fly like a fish cutting current.
At that thought, a spark of anticipation glowed like an ember under ash.
The late-night air ran cool like mountain water, the campfire still flowered orange like a lotus of flame, and none of the three felt sleep tugging their lashes.
Love God’s recovery also refilled spirit like dew filling cups; if only the healing aspect would bloom, she could, at Third Rank, raise those Fifth Rank knights like wheat standing after wind.
She settled onto Spring Tide’s lap like a cat claiming a sun-warmed stone, deciding, with nothing to do and no room in their talk, to steal a little comfort while the moon watched.
Might as well take advantage while they couldn’t act, like a squirrel stuffing cheeks before winter frost.
But after a heartbeat’s hesitation, Cerqin, pillowed on Spring Tide’s knees like silk on cedar, didn’t dare nudge Silver Luan’s dragon tail with her toes.
Silver Luan ran hotter than Spring Tide, and if desire flared like tinder, Cerqin might be judged on the spot like a thief before the village drum.
She wasn’t keen on playing public games under so many eyes, like foxes tumbling in open snow.
That long dragon tail curled half around the fire like a dark river, enticing as ripe fruit yet a weapon as heavy as an iron flail.
Suddenly, a tremor pricked her heart like a hawk’s shadow; she glanced up at Spring Tide’s face like checking the moon, and saw nothing odd.
As her brows knit like twigs crossing, something cold and hard hooked her foot like an icicle’s kiss.
She couldn’t see her feet from this angle, but she knew the culprit like a hunter knows his own snare, so she tilted her head toward the fire’s far rim.
One look, and she blanked again, mind white as snow.
Because of the angle and Silver Luan’s seat, the view lay open like a valley at dawn.
In Cerqin’s eyes, that forbidden land was bare as a dune in wind, with nothing to veil it at all.
Silver Luan, why aren’t you… uh—her words stumbled like pebbles skipping and sinking.
Then Cerqin remembered like a bell struck—what she’d filched earlier was Silver Luan’s favorite pair, the only one she wore like a habit stitched to skin.
