[This post is from Phelan’s point of view.]
An uncomfortable flutter worked its way through Phelan’s stomach as he looked forward Marin. His jaw tightened as he saw a familiar stubborn look take root in the girl’s eyes and his stomach sank.
“I’m fine,” Marin said again with a tone of voice that brooked no argument.
Leinth stared back at her steadily. “If you say so,” she said softly, then turned. “But I still think that another set of hands dealing with those wards would not be unwarranted.”
Marin stayed silent. Phelan looked between the two for a moment. Finally, he exhaled a sigh. “It’s not worth fighting about, you two,” he said quietly. “Really, it’s not.”
“Of course not,” Leinth agreed. Marin nodded.
“Come on. There’s more stuff to look at before we know exactly what kind of damage’s been done.” There was a sigh in Marin’s voice, one she wouldn’t quite let slip free. Phelan studied her for a few seconds, then looked away.
She’ll run herself ragged—run herself into the ground—and there’s nothing I can do to stop her. Not this time.
He swallowed his own sigh and gestured to the churned ground of the courtyard. “Well, we’d better make sure there wasn’t any damage to anything further in, since those bastards got inside. We’ll have to figure out a way to reinforce the dome faster than what we did today.”
“At least we had the dome,” Marin muttered.
“We’ve learned from our mistakes,” Phelan said, regretting the words the instant they left his lips.
Marin winced, but nodded. “Yes. Yes, we do.” She shivered slightly in the rain but marched resolutely toward the tents. The murmur of voices reached them, echoing down hallways and off walls. Thunder grumbled above them, more sullen than angry. Phelan dared breathe a little easier, hoping that it meant that the news regarding Sif was good—or at least not dire.
We can only hope.