Welcome once more to Silvanus and Empire, the serialized fantasy novel on Steemit written by yours truly, 
. In our last chapter, Caddoc and Oren's little tête-à-tête was interrupted by Bryn, returning in a panic from nearly being destroyed by a mysterious thunderstorm.
Now, let's go across the river to see the aftermath of the same event, but through a much different lens...
Lyrinn tossed in her sleep, the blankets tangled around her body like a constricting snake. She called out, a low, plaintive wail.
Her eyes flew open. A terrible, roiling tightness in her stomach was plaguing her. Not again, she thought, as she bolted from her sleeping pallet and tottered to the back flap of the tent.
A moment later, she came back inside, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She leaned heavily on the tent’s ridge pole as she caught her breath.
The front flap of the tent twitched. “Lost One? Are you unwell?” The face of a broad-featured Silvani appeared in the gap.
Lyrinn shook her head. She immediately regretted it; the tent began to spin drunkenly. “I’m… I’m all right. Roots-of-Mountains, was it?” She gave him a weak smile.
The Silvani nodded. “At your service. Sight-of-Eagles himself tasked me with guarding your tent while you slept. Do you need anything?” He cocked his head at her. “Perhaps some water? You look a little green.”
“Yes, that would be… oh, gods. Yes, please?” Her stomach lurched again, and she clung harder to the pole.
Roots nodded, pulling his head out from between the tent flaps. Lyrinn deflated, sinking slowly to the pile of blankets and skins she had been using as a bed. She winced, settling into a cross-legged position, and tried to catch her breath.
Roots came back into the tent, clutching a bulging waterskin. He handed it to her and she took it gratefully. Removing the stopper, she was careful to not drink too much. Just enough to get this taste out of my mouth, she thought. “Ugh. Thank you, Roots-of-Mountains.” She handed the water back up to him.
“Just Roots is fine.” He took the skin from her in one large fist. His broad features creased in an easy smile.
Lyrinn shook her head and tried to give him a grin. “Well they certainly named you right, didn’t they?” She looked up at his squat, powerful frame. “Looks like you could carry me around in one hand.”
Roots chuckled. “My brothers used to hang off my arms when we were children.” He raised his arms up and flexed. His biceps jumped, even under the layer of generous padding carried with him. “Really though, I wouldn’t hurt a fly. Just don’t tell them that.”
Lyrinn laughed despite her awful nausea. “Your secret is safe with me, I promise.” She let out a deep breath she didn’t know she had been holding. “What time is it?”
“A bit after mid-morning,” the larger Silvani said. “You’ve been sleeping on and off since Spirit and Sight-of-Eagles brought you back here in the middle of the night.” His eyes flicked to the side. “Right after you, uh, conjured that storm.”
Lyrinn hung her head. “I still can’t believe I did that,” she murmured. She looked back up at Roots. “It was so… well, you see what it did to me.”
Roots nodded. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Can’t say I understand how you did that,” he said quietly.
“Neither do I,” Lyrinn answered. “Just a few days ago, if you had told me I was able to tap into such power, I would have boxed you around the ears so hard that your unborn children would feel it until they had children of their own. But today…?” She shook her head. “I feel so lost.” Lyrinn looked back at Roots, then down at her hands as they lay in her lap. “You’re… you’re not afraid of me, are you?”
Roots shrugged. “Well, when I was growing up, village elders would tell us all stories of those with the Mark. But we thought they were just that – stories. Never thought I’d actually see it put into use like that in my lifetime. Can’t say it’s not a little frightening to see… but afraid of you? No.” He crossed his arms, the waterskin dangling from one of his thick, pawlike hands. “You’re Silvani, even if you did grow up across the river. You’re one of us. You don’t fear your own kind.”
A voice rang out from behind Roots. “Well said, my strong friend.” Lyrinn looked up. Sight-of-Eagles was holding back the tent flap wide enough for Spirit-of-Vengeance to stride through. She smiled imperiously. “My Lost One has returned to us, and we are all the stronger for it.”
At the sight of her mother, Lyrinn’s heart began to beat faster. An already familiar feeling of warmth flooded across her, making her smile and driving away the pain of her churning stomach and aching muscles. The feeling intensified as Spirit met her daughter’s gaze, making Lyrinn catch her breath. “Hello, Mother,” she breathed.
Spirit stepped into the center of the tent, sinking down gracefully to sit next to Lyrinn on her sleeping pallet. She smoothed her hide skirts gracefully. “Hello, my daughter.” She placed a cool hand on Lyrinn’s cheek. It sent a chill across the younger woman’s skin, causing her to break out in gooseflesh along her arms. “You look to be recovering nicely from last night.”
“Yes,” she said meekly. Spirit smiled again, and once more Lyrinn felt awash in heady warmth. She leaned into Spirit’s hand, sighing in contentment.
“Yes, she does seem much better, suddenly.” Roots looked quizzically at Sight-of-Eagles, who was looming over both Spirit and Lyrinn like a morose shadow. “Sight, you look terrible. Are you all right… all things considered?”
Sight-of-Eagles breathed a deep sigh, visibly calling up reserves of energy to replay to his friend. “I’m still standing,” he said, his voice raw.
“Yes, our stalwart friend here has watched over me since learning of his father’s fate.” She looked up at the young Silvani, an inscrutable expression crossing her features.
“With everything that’s happened, Spirit, I wouldn’t dare to let you out of my sight for even a moment. I hope you understand.” His hand strayed to the hilt of the knife on his belt.
Lyrinn looked up at Spirit. “Thank you for keeping so close to my mother,” she said. “I know this can’t be easy.” She grasped Spirit’s hand in hers and squeezed.
Sight settled his tired gaze on Lyrinn. “Hardest thing I’ve ever done,” he said. He paused. “Lost my father and my sister all in one night.”
Roots put a hand on Sight’s shoulder. “Mouse could still be out there. You don’t think she’d let some Stonehearted assassin get the better of her, do you?”
Sight-of-Eagles visibly bristled. “Excuse me,” he said abruptly, striding from the tent.
Lyrinn struggled to stand up. “Sight, wait I – ” Her hand slipped from her mother’s grasp, and her stomach lurched. She sat down with a groan, clutching herself.
Spirit reached out touched her daughter. “Gentle, my love,” she crooned. Lyrinn’s queasiness began to subside. “You need more rest.” She guided the younger Silvani back down to her bedding.
Lyrinn’s eyes fluttered. She tried to speak, but it came out a jumble of half-spoken words. Soon, she was asleep, as if Spirit’s words had robbed her of her consciousness.
Spirit rose to her feet, gracefully as ever. “See that she is not disturbed,” she said. She led Roots out of the tent by his elbow. “Even by Sight-of-Eagles. I am afraid that my daughter’s condition cannot bear his grief. After harnessing the powers of Silvanus to such a degree, she needs to recover.”
Roots nodded, ducking his head. “Of course, Spirit-of-Vengeance.” He looked through the tent flap and back at Lyrinn, who was sleeping fitfully. “I’ll see to it.” The older woman nodded and left without a word.