Aldrik took her scale from her; a few of the small plates were dented around the abdomen.

He sighed audibly. “I will fix this tonight, and have it to you by morning.”

She looked down at her chain; it appeared to be undamaged. There was a moment of silence and a soft night breeze ruffled her hair. Aldrik reached out and clasped a hand over her shoulder.

“She is ...” He sighed. “Do not pay what she says any mind.”

Vhalla nodded silently. It was a nice sentiment. But once some things were said they could never be unheard, and the brief exchange was already repeating in her ears.

Aldrik nodded back at her before standing, turning to a shocked silent Larel and Fritz. “Larel, take her back to your tent. You may have to burn through one or two of those altered shrubs.” He glanced at Elecia’s path out. “Fritz, come with me. I am sure Vhalla has internal bleeding from a hit like that, and I will not have her riding a horse tomorrow without getting a potion in her tonight.”

They both nodded, and Larel slipped Vhalla’s arm around her neck, helping her to her feet.

“It’s not that bad,” Vhalla insisted softly, not wanting to make any more of a scene.

“There’s no shame in accepting help. This march is too long to justify acting too strong now,” Larel told her sternly, yet gently.

“Listen to that one, Vhalla. She has a good head on her shoulders.” Aldrik pointed to Larel, and Vhalla saw the Western woman’s face turn up to a small smile. “Fritz, come,” he ordered briskly, and the two walked off in a different direction.

Just as Aldrik had said, the brush needed to be burnt away in some places. It was riddled with vines almost as thick as Vhalla’s wrist, blocking the most direct route back to camp. Larel used intense firebursts to incinerate a clear path.

“Groundbreakers can alter trees and plants?” Vhalla asked.

“Some can.” Larel nodded.

They didn’t speak again during the rest of the walk back to their tent. Larel offered to help Vhalla change into her sleeping clothes, but Vhalla insisted she could do it on her own. Elecia’s words ran through her head. The conversation had yielded too much information to dissect now. A sickeningly purple bruise had already formed on her stomach.

Vhalla only barely finished pulling on a long-sleeved nightshirt when there was a tap on their tent pole.

“Vhal? Larel?” Fritz asked uncertainly.

“It’s fine, Fritz,” Vhalla called, and he poked his head in. Larel shifted to make enough room for him to sit. It was crowded with three.

“Here, the prince told me to give it to you.” He handed her a small wooden vial.