A pair of horses approached at a canter. Blackmane pulled her into the brush, and she huddled against him, holding her breath as they passed. He was tempted to shoot them when they circled back, but dead soldiers would clue them in that she was helped, and the three-mile search would quickly broaden.

When the sound of horses faded to a distant thud, he rose and took her hand once more. She responded with a sharp breath.

‘What’s the matter?’ he asked.

She shook her head. ‘It is nothing. A few splinters.’

He looked down at her hand but could not see much in the dark, so he made a mental note to deal with those later when they were safe.

They ran the last mile. Whenever she tripped, he pulled her upright, and she would resume running again without saying a word. When they reached the horse, he let go of her hand, and she grabbed hold of his arm.

‘Where are you going?’

He noted the panic in her voice. ‘I need to fetch a large branch.’

‘What for?’

‘They’ll try to track you. We need to make that as hard as possible for them.’ He pulled out his knife and went to cut off a large branch.

‘What are you going to do with that?’

‘Remove our tracks.’ Mounting, he reached for her with his spare hand, pulling her up onto the horse behind him. She held on tightly as he kicked the mare into a canter. The leafy end of the branch dragged along the ground behind the horse.

‘Do you want me to hold it so you can concentrate on riding?’ she asked.

‘No.’ It would be too painful if her hands were full of splinters. ‘No more talking for a while. I want you to tap me if you see or hear anything. Can you do that?’

‘Yes.’

‘And let me know if you need to stop.’

‘I will not need to stop.’

She might have been useless with weapons, but she had the heart of a wastelander.

They rode for around four hours, only slowing down when his horse began to tire. Soon after, he felt the weight of Isabel’s head on his back. He glanced over his shoulder. She was definitely tiring but was not ready to admit it.

Around half an hour later, her hands slipped from his uniform, and she began to slide sideways. Blackmane dropped the branch and caught hold of her. She woke with a start.

‘Sorry,’ she muttered, straightening herself.

‘There’s a stream up ahead. We’ll rest there.’

The stream was barely a trickle, but it was enough for the horse to drink and for him to fill his waterskin. He brought it over to where Isabel stood shivering. ‘Here.’

She drank, then handed it back to him. ‘Now what?’