Embers

"Glad I got that going for me," Lax muttered. He stoked the fire, shifting the stick uncomfortably as a spot of wood rubbed against his palm.

"Look, I just mean that with Lainey gone-"

"Lainey's gone?" Lax looked up at Stelle, peering through the jagged bangs into the fathomless brown eyes beneath.

"You didn't hear?" Stelle grabbed a long-dead pine branch and set it gently atop the fire. All its needles went orange, curling over themselves as the fire swallowed them whole. "She got taken out in the last raid. Arrows."

The world was cold. It crept under the furs, down his chest, pooling with the grief in his lower belly, and seeped through his limbs until he could not feel the tips of his fingers or toes.

"How many?"

"Lax you don't want to-"

"Stelle."

The fire popped, scattering an array of hot embers all across the dirt between his feet. They pulsed weakly then went dark.

"Fifteen," she said, handing him a bottle of good wine.

He glanced down at its label. The silver mountains decorating it were rough under his thumb and cooler than the surrounding parchment. Pretty. The cork hung on his nail and then popped free with a bit of mumbled magic.

"To lost friends then," he said gruffly.

"To lost family."

Lax put the bottle to his lips and drank.