i be90349f18331670 by Unknown

a moment ago gone completely. He looked back at Dallin, quizzical. “Isn’t that strange?”
    “A little,” Dallin agreed. “But translations get bollixed all the time.” He stood, groaning as the bones in his spine cracked and realigned themselves. “Everyone thinks about that now and again. You’re as real as I am. Don’t borrow trouble.”
    Wil cocked his head, peered at Dallin sideways. “And what makes you so sure you’re real?” he wanted to know.
    It wasn’t one of his odd little jokes, and he wasn’t being difficult; the question was genuine. And far too big for Dallin to address before coffee.
    “Sometimes you make my brain hurt,” he told Wil tiredly. He stepped away from the bedroll, waved a hand toward it, and then went to wake the fire. “I won’t be getting back to sleep. You might as well have it for a few hours.”
    “Oh.” Wil shook his head. “I didn’t mean to disturb—”
    “You didn’t,” Dallin cut in. “I told you—dreams.
    I’d just as soon not chance any more tonight. They’re not terribly pleasant.” He threw some kindling on the smoldering bones of the fire and jerked his chin at the bedroll. “Honestly. One of us should be alert in the morning.”
    Wil peered at him thoughtfully for a moment, considering, then nodded. He looked down at the rifle and reluctantly held it out. “You, um… want this back?”
    67

    The Aisling Book Two Dream
    Dallin held back the snort, but not the twitch of a smirk. “I wouldn’t dream of coming between the two of you,” he said, shifted some bits of timber onto the coals, and went to hunt through his pack for the coffee.

    Dawn found Dallin poring over his map when Wil snorted awake and blinked over at him with a wide, lazy yawn. “This,” he slurred contentedly, “is a very comfortable bedroll.”
    Dallin didn’t look up, but smiled and took a slurp of his coffee. “Well, you’ll have to drag yourself out of it soon. I want to get started as soon as we can.” He tilted a curious look at Wil. “D’you know that your fingers are always moving when you sleep?”
    Wil paused in mid-stretch, frowned up at the sky for a moment then grimaced. “Yeah, so? You snore.” He lifted his hands, squinted at them, fingers of the left hand flexing and wavering in front of his nose. “Why the rush?” he wanted to know. “Something wrong?”
    “No, no.” Dallin turned his gaze to the map. “It’s time we started being proper fugitives and trying to hide our trail a little better. Besides a change of course, that’ll mean no more target practice or evening fires. Sorry.”
    Wil sat up and rolled his shoulders, tipped his head from side-to-side, the bones in his neck cracking so loud it made Dallin wince. “I’m already a brilliant shot,” Wil smirked. “I don’t need to practice.” He grinned when Dallin rolled his eyes, then he stood and stepped several feet away and behind a tree. “So, which way are we heading, then?”
    “If I haven’t got us completely lost,” Dallin muttered, finger tracing over the worn lines of the map, “Chester is only just over a week’s ride southwest from here, and 68

    Carole Cummings
    not much in between, so we can avoid being seen if we’re careful. We can stop there, sell the horses and replenish our supplies. We need more ammunition and our water’s getting low. No more unnecessary washing either, I’m afraid. And then we’ll strike northwest and follow the Flównysse all the way to Lind. If the weather holds and we don’t run into any trouble or delays, we should come upon Cildtrog’s Bounds in… say ten days, maybe twelve.”
    He looked up with a lift of eyebrows. Wil was just emerging from around the tree, buttoning his trousers and frowning at the ground.
    “Sell the horses?”
    Disenchanted and trying not to show it; trying to pretend his tone was curious and not just slightly mournful.
    You know what your problem is, Brayden? Dallin chastised himself. You don’t spend