The blood seemed to float through the water, strands of crimson threading through the clear vial Astride has raised to the light. It had taken her much too long to collect it, the blood of a Regency mount—the goldhollow water, in comparison, had taken her seemingly no more than a minute.

“Two months is a long time to be gone for some mere blood and water,” Narcisse says, barely glancing up from the blade they’re polishing.

“It could not have been helped,” Astride replies, scowling. “The Regency mounts proved harder to collect from than I expected. Their blood turns to sludge in death—I had to capture one from its rider and draw from the live beast.”

“And return it to the herd before its rider noticed?”
Astride makes a noise of assertion. She moves further into the abandoned church, unbuckling her weapons belt and laying it across a long-crumbled marble wall. Sunlight filters through the surrounding forest, warming the church’s surviving marble columns and archways. The trees are heavy with yellow leaves, and the underbrush is a warm gold that

Astride has never seen change colour. Plants had begun to retake the derelict church long before she and Narcisse had found refuge in this little pocket of wilderness.

They had stumbled upon it by accident. Pursued by the invisible threat of the Regency, Astride and Narcisse had swept up their belongings and mounted their horses with a single-minded, desperate fear. The Sicyven Regency had not been a force to play with, even months ago before their conquest of the Western Merchant Alliance. She and Narcisse had traveled blindly, day and night through woods and over rivers. They had been half-asleep in their saddles when their horses stepped over the invisible barrier into this corner of gold and gilded light.

Though her eyes had been hazy with exhaustion, Astride still remembers Narcisse’s reaction as if she had witnessed it with perfect, crystal-clear sight. They had jolted awake as if struck by a bolt of lightning; the rigid lines of their back had been eerie in the shadowed golden forest, and they had thrown themself out of their saddle before falling to their knees, overcome with an emotion that Astride neither felt nor understood.

Narcisse prohibits hunting in the church’s golden forest despite the relative lack of game in the area. They take turns venturing past the barrier for food, hunting deer and rabbits and the occasional large bird in the other forest’s lush green undergrowth. Summer has descended upon the rest of the world, and the catches Astride hauls back to the marble church reflect the prosperity the warm months have brought.

Astride drops onto a spot by the fire pit. The firestone is a small scarlet pebble amidst a ring of oil spots and the few cooking utensils Astride had managed to grab, but the midday sun sends rays of light through the church’s half-collapsed roof. The gold light does wonders for Narcisse’s skin—they are alight with it, glowing and beautiful and irresistible. Astride drinks in the curve of their jaw, the elegant slope of their nose, the slight furrow between their brows. Narcisse is still polishing their blade and doesn’t show signs of discomfort at her stare, so Astride sits back on her palms and looks her fill.

Narcisse is not hers to have, or even hers to want, but despite that Astride finds herself wanting. She is a hare, chained to the earth and meant to run only on its surface, and Narcisse is a free-flying sparrow flitting through the branches; close enough to touch, to taste, but inevitably to soar away. To broader skies, to faraway lands.

Astride tears her eyes away just as Narcisse tosses the cleaning rag down. “Can your contact be reached by tomorrow night? The blood likely will not hold any longer past then.”

Narcisse flicks deep brown, nearly black eyes in her direction. “I will handle it,” they say. Astride nods, and they push themself to their feet. “Rest. I shall hunt tonight.”

Astride nods again, too weary to do more than acquiesce to their decision. Narcisse grabs a knife and disappears into thick golden foliage, and Astride allows herself to wonder. What could they have been, had things been different?