"Seems like we're close," Thalien muttered at last. The first words between them in two hours. His voice carried lightly on the wind, yet to Arnold it fell heavy, breaking the long, brittle silence like a stone striking ice.
"It seems so," Arnold answered, eyes fixed on the churned earth ahead. He didn't look toward the horizon, though he could feel it there, the Yarz- their camp, rising like a sprawl of steel and canvas in the afternoon haze.
It wasn't failure that kept his gaze low. Thalien had agreed to help him. The knot in his chest was not fear of refusal, but the heat of shame.
Shame that he couldn't raise his eyes to meet his younger brother's, knowing the price of what he'd asked.
Was that the reason you decided to share the road with me?
The question still echoed, sharp as a hook caught in his ribs. Not the words alone, but the way Thalien had spoken them, the seriousness behind his eye and the pain in them.
Arnold had decided long ago that he was a despicable man.
