Alaric glanced at his right arm, strapped to a splint of rough wood and tied tight with ogre leather straps.
The straps bit into swollen flesh every time the cart jolted.
He looked from that useless arm to Joji, who was hauling the whole cart like it weighed nothing, boots digging into the dirt, shoulders steady under the strain.
"Since Lilina has been healing me," Alaric began, careful, "Joji, can I...?"
Joji did not even look back. His mouth curled as if he could taste the request before it was spoken.
"Your future, not mine," Joji said. "I already told you. Go ahead. Lose an arm."
The scowl in his voice shut Alaric up. Alaric swallowed the words and let them die.
He could feel Lilina's healing in his bones, the ache dulled, but healing was not the same as undoing, and Joji was not letting him gamble a lifetime of strength for a brief bright flare.
Behind them, hoofbeats kept coming. Shapes moved in the dark, riders circling for clean shots.
