“You’re not laying there all night,” the Hawk said from above—Anji hadn’t heard the approaching boots over her chattering teeth—“Brush the horse down.”

“I’m your prisoner,” Anji said to the ground, “not a valet. See to your own damn horse.”

Anji gasped as pain erupted in her side. The Hawk drew her foot back again and Anji held her hands out to catch it, but the woman only sidestepped and gave another swift kick to her leg. Anji curled in on herself, waiting for another blow, but it didn’t land. Raspy breaths rattled through the Hawk’s old lungs.

“Brush it down or you don’t eat,” she said, tossing a horse brush to the ground by her head. “I don’t mind getting you back to the city scrawnier than you already are.” She turned and stomped toward the bundled tent.

Anji narrowed her eyes at the brush, but clambered to her knees and snatched it up. She shook her manacles at the Hawk. “It’d be a lot easier if I—”

Fabric cracked like a whip as the Hawk flapped out the length of gray canvas. “Your hands stay bound.”

“Why?” Anji said, standing. “Afraid of what I’ll do with them?”

“Terrified.”

Anji scowled. “I need to wash them.”

Without a word, the Hawk fished inside the large brown sack at her feet and tossed over a sloshing canteen.

Anji splashed some water onto her hands, wincing at the cold. She rubbed most of the day’s dirt away and dried her skin on her soiled pants. Not exactly refreshing, but it would have to do.

“Thank you,” she said, setting the canteen against a rock. “See? You can be civil after all.”

“Stop pestering me and get on with—” The Hawk sputtered and twisted away, hacking and coughing so hard she had to screw her eyes shut.

“Hey, what—”

The woman held up a gloved hand, as though warding Anji away. Anji was too transfixed to think of doing anything other than staring.

“You keep coughing like that. Are you sick?”

The Hawk’s head wagged, nose red, tears running down her wrinkled cheeks. “Just brush the damned horse.” She coughed once more, spat something into the dirt, and set to pitching the tent as though nothing had happened.

Eyebrows raised, Anji crossed the camp. The horse’s tail twitched as she approached, and she made sure to stay within its line of sight.

Last thing I need right now is a hoof to the chest.

“You’re a pretty thing,” she said, touching her palm to the mare’s glistening coat. “Been a rough time for you? Same here, but we’ll get you brushed down and well-fed. How’s that sound?” The horse lowered her head toward the tufts of heather underfoot. Anji looked around at the Hawk, who tore her gaze back to the half-finished tent.

“What’s her name?”

“Didn’t bother giving her one.”