Ronan
The days blurred together into a cycle of motion, and I forced myself to keep moving. If I stopped, if I let the fear, it would devour me whole.
The herb satchel on the shelf was already heavy, but I added another bundle of dried yarrow for bleeding, knotting the twine with clumsy fingers.
My palms were cracked, raw from grinding roots and hauling wood, but I ignored the sting. Pain meant nothing if it kept Lila alive.
I traded favors and work with villagers for flour, for salted meat, for jars of honey to tempt her appetite when nothing else would stay down. They asked questions, of course, but I silenced them with a look.
Better they think me an overprotective mate than risk word spreading of where we were.
Damon didn’t know where Lila was, and didn’t know we were together.
