So the hourglass wouldn’t bleed out, the three refused to wait for a new guard. Spring Tide sent the wounded knights back in the least-broken carriage, like leaves riding the current home.
At pale-gold dawn, she and Silver Luan chose two horses, wind and cloud beneath their saddles. They packed only what mattered, river stones in their bags, and rode for Eastwind City.
Cerqin was told to share Silver Luan’s mount, two sparrows on one branch, whether she liked it or not.
That choice had been sealed last night by the fire, embers whispering a quiet pact between Spring Tide and Silver Luan.
Cerqin wanted to protest, sparks at her lips, but the flame went out before it caught.
She understood only when she saw Silver Luan pinch her tail between her thighs, a jade-cushion on hard leather, and point to the space before and behind her.
Cerqin blanched, beauty cracking into panic, a startled doe in moonlight, and she stepped back twice.
For a Half Dragonkin, clamping your own tail felt like crossing a line in the sand. But no kin stood here to judge, and without a tail pad, bare skin would meet cold saddle like stone.
What truly scared her was the upturned tip of Silver Luan’s tail waiting in front, a thorn at a flower’s heart.
“Get over here,” Silver Luan said, impatience like grit on the wind. She’d already shaped her tail with power, carving jade for this lesson.
Cerqin swallowed and glanced past her to Spring Tide on horseback. Sunrise lit that green hair like emerald leaves trembling on a branch.
Spring Tide looked back, eyes narrowing, a smile strong as steel and sweet as tea. The look said what wind says to grass.
Get up here, little mugwort.
“I can sit behind?” Cerqin asked, voice small as rain.
“What do you think?”
“I think—”
“Quit stalling. Move.”
Silver Luan hummed, mirroring Spring Tide’s narrowed eyes, but the pose didn’t suit her blade-bright aura, like frost on steel.
“I don’t mind making my tail longer,” she said, the threat a spear cast from shadow.
Cerqin’s knees turned to water. Panic rushed her tongue.
“Wait. It’s already at the limit!”
Any longer felt like a spear for the heart.
Fear first, then steps. She shuffled forward, and Spring Tide, already mounted, snapped like a bowstring.
“Can you hurry it up?”
Daylight belonged to Silver Luan’s discipline, a sun-side ledger. Night was hers. She’d once owned the whole day; now she’d charge double after dusk, yet loss still bit like salt.
Cerqin felt the thorn beneath Spring Tide’s petals. Heat rose to her cheeks like peach blossom, and she edged closer.
Silver Luan leaned from the saddle and hauled her up, fast as a hawk taking a rabbit off the grass.
Held high and facing forward, Cerqin swallowed again. Beneath the Nun’s habit, the skirt hid no secrets, a veil with no cloud.
“Should I set you down slowly, or just let go?” Silver Luan asked, voice cold as ice along a blade.
“Choose.”
“Silver Luan… are you still angry?” Cerqin murmured, her words drifting like river mist.
“…”
“I—”
“I heard enough begging and apologies last night, rain on a roof. That garment mattered. Mother gave it to me.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, true as a clear spring. Not the fear-laced, thrill-fed sorry she gave Spring Tide—this one was rooted.
Silver Luan’s tone softened again, light as when they first met, cherry petals on a breeze.
“But I do like you. Though our deep exchange wasn’t what I imagined…”
“Mm… let go—ah!”
The gentleness had been a masque. She released. The hard tail tip crossed the threshold like a key turning, pressing into the inner chamber.
Cerqin cried out, sky-piercing and bright. Tide-magic surged like a full moon. The horse felt damp along its back, stamped its hooves, tossed its head, and whinnied, a trumpet in the lane.
Softness along her tail made Silver Luan blink, dazed. The Dragon Deity’s gift shaped flesh like clay; sharpening sensation was as easy as breathing.
The horse broke into a run. Up and down, the saddle beat like drumskin. Excitement spiked, and Cerqin’s magic slipped the reins.
She hadn’t expected it—arousal turning control to water, the spell moving on its own like a hidden spring.
Same as before: it passively restored both their stamina, stronger than when she guided it, a tide with no command.
Failing to turn the tables stung, tears a storm at the rim. The thrill swept them away like surf in sunlight.
Night fell in a blink, ink soaking the sky, stars like rice scattered on velvet.
They pitched a tent by the road, a shell against the wind, kindled a small fire, and ate a little, rough as travel bread. Cerqin could barely walk, still drifting from saddle to cloud nine.
Spring Tide couldn’t wait. Hunger edged her hands; she scooped Cerqin into the tent like a wave taking shore sand.
Silver Luan kept watch by the fire, eyes on the dark water of night. From the tent came rising waves, breath and tide. Heat crawled under her skin; doubt rose like fog.
Things had drifted off course, a boat away from its star. What next? Once she reclaimed her belongings, should she end the trial and return to the tribe, mountains at her back?
She didn’t know. The road ahead was mist.
In her mind, the pink-haired girl bloomed again, a stubborn spring flower that refused to close.
After days of hard gallop, they finally saw Eastwind City’s silhouette, ink against plain, river a silver ribbon at its side, far from the salt-bright bustle of Eastern Sea City.
The outskirts breathed pastoral quiet. Spring sowing had just ended. Green waves rolled with the wind, a balm to tired hearts.
None of them had eyes for the fields; duty weighed like rain.
Cerqin least of all—day and night had spun like a wheel. Her gift kept stamina and spirit pegged at a peak, yet a strange fatigue pooled like a receding tide.
She wanted a bed, wanted sleep heavy as the sea.
Spring Tide and Silver Luan skipped the view too. Once inside Eastwind City, there’d be no time left to educate the pink-haired girl, moon hours cut short.
Regrets aside, Spring Tide straightened herself like a blade in its sheath. Silver Luan would serve as guard; she outclassed a dozen knights, but fewer hands made the hunt harder.
Before the replacement guard arrived, they needed intel. Eastwind City already murmured with word of cult forces, rumors like crows on a fence.
They didn’t march straight to the Sanctuary’s local seat. They slipped in low-key, plain clothes like grass in wind.
Spring Tide chose a travelers’ tavern, told Cerqin to stay put and not wander, and then took Silver Luan and headed out, two shadows moving with the street’s current.
