A Pug's Journey (Cultivation Starts with Breathing)

"Rinvara?" I breathed.

Her cracked lips quirked faintly upward. "Who else… would pet such an ugly face?" Her voice was a rasp, barely audible and oh—so familiar despite the ragged dryness.

I lifted my massive head, careful not to jostle the bed, and saw her face turned toward me. The bandages over her eyes prevented any eye contact, but she didn't need sight to find me.

Her nose twitched as she sniffed, and her smile grew a fraction. "I smell tears."

"I'm not crying," I huffed, though my vision was absolutely swimming. That got the tiniest huff of amusement from her.

I leaned closer, pressing my snout gently against her cheek. She was so fragile now—I feared even a nudge might bruise her. But she nuzzled back weakly.

Finally, I mustered my voice. "I'm sorry," I whispered.

"I should have been there," I said bitterly. The confession tumbled out. "I should have protected you. All these years you were out here and I stayed behind, all useless and pathetic. I didn't even know you were missing until it was too late—"

"Pophet." Her hand flailed weakly, patting at the air until I guided it back to my head with my nose. She gave a feeble tug on my ear, like I was a disobedient pup. "Hush. Don't you dare take blame for Ferron's sins."

I went quiet, teeth gritted, unable to answer that. Rationally I knew she was right. Emotionally… that was harder.

She sighed, a fragile, shuddery sound. "If anything, I should apologize to you. Dragging my little baby brother here…"

I let out a low whine. "It's not your fault either. It's Ferron's." My voice shook with sudden anger. "They're going to pay, Rinvara. I swear it. For every drop of blood—"

Her fingers pressed to my muzzle, silencing me. "Later," she whispered. "We'll deal with that later. Right now I just want to hear you."

Those bandaged eye sockets seemed to stare blankly in my direction, and I realized with a twist of pain that she probably didn't even know what state I was in. How badly I was hurt or if I was whole.

"I'm okay," I said quickly, nuzzling into her palm. "I promise. A little banged up, but I've had worse falling down the Basilica stairs." I tried to force some levity into my tone.

She gave a breathy almost-laugh. "Liar. But I'll take it." Her hand moved slowly, feeling along my face, my ears, down the side of my neck. She was mapping me anew.

"You've grown," she murmured fondly. "Filled out a bit, I think. Not quite a perfect loaf anymore, hmm?"

Despite everything, I wagged my tail. It felt unbelievably normal, this banter. Like a piece of us had slotted back into place.

Her hand found one of my paws and weakly squeezed a toe. "I know," she whispered. Her breathing was beginning to get labored.

Even this short conversation had exhausted her. Her head sank back into the pillows, face pinched. Yet still, she smiled softly in my direction.

I realized she wanted to hold onto me somehow. Wordlessly, I hopped up on my hind legs just enough to rest my upper body half on the cot. I made myself as light as possible and curled myself around her, a careful embrace of fur and warmth. Her arm found its way around my neck, fingers digging into my scruff with surprising fierceness.

I felt a hot tear soak into my fur where her face pressed against me. "I thought… I'd never..." she choked out.

I made a low soothing noise and licked her cheek. "You're stuck with me," I murmured. "I'm going to be glued to your side until you're sick of it."

Her breathing slowed, evening out against my chest. Within minutes, she was asleep again, still holding on.

I remained like that for a long time, long after her grip slackened and the steady rise-fall of her chest told me she'd drifted into true rest.

Gently, I extricated myself and tucked the quilt back around her shoulders. My eyes stung as I gazed at her sleeping face. Half her features were hidden behind bandages, and yet she looked more peaceful than I'd dared hope to ever see.

I left the room as silent as a shadow.

Outside the door, a nurse was waiting with an expectant look. I nodded to her. "She's asleep now," I said softly. "You can check on her."

The nurse smiled in relief and hurried inside with fresh supplies.

I realized I was still trembling from the intensity of that reunion. Slowly, I sank down beside the doorframe, intending to just gather myself for a moment.

Ferron would pay.

They would all pay for reducing her to this. For stealing her light and leaving her in darkness.

I don't know how long I stayed there, but it was long enough that I'd made a silent vow a thousand times over.

When I finally moved, it was to walk outside for some air before I did something foolish like smash through a wall. The midday sun was warm on my fur. It should have been a comfort, but I barely felt it.

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Over the next two weeks, that mix of tenderness and simmering wrath became my constant state.

As Rinvara slowly became more stable with each passing day, my resolve to utterly destroy those who had hurt her grew bigger.

She improved in fits and starts. Initially, she could only stomach thin porridge, but soon, the cooks were scrambling to satisfy an appetite that surprised all of us. By the second week's end she was requesting roasted chicken and spiced potatoes.

"Real food," she insisted with a hint of her old cheer, "unless you plan on sending me home looking like a scarecrow."

Her body began to recover its vitality. With nourishment and rest, her natural resilience, blessed by our divine lineage, kicked in. I even noticed one morning that a few locks of her hair had grown out long enough, and they gleamed the familiar bright silver of her Godbeast form.

Though she still tired easily, but each day, she could sit up a little longer and speak a little more. On good days, she even cracked jokes at my expense. The medics and the attached Sunmire cleric fussed over her like doting relatives.

Frankly, I think they already guessed who she was.

She became something of a legend to them—the kind heroine who had once graced their station and then suffered a martyr's trial. The mere fact she lived was enough to boost their morale.

The Mortician came by on three separate occasions during that period. Each time he checked Rinvara's condition with a brisk, professional air.

For her part, Rinvara thanked him profusely at every meeting, her voice warm with gratitude. The Mortician usually harrumphed and mumbled that he'd merely done what was necessary.

Me? I remained the anxious guard dog throughout. I rarely left her room, except when absolutely forced. At night, I slept curled right outside her door, a lumbering sentinel.

A couple of the soldiers even set up a cot for me there

Rinvara chided me about it once. "You'll make the poor men outside paranoid" She teased, fingers idly stroking the fur of my neck as I sat beside her bed.

I just grunted. "Then they should be thankful I'm on their side."

She smiled and scratched behind my ear. "Ever my protector."

Damn right. I think I thumped my tail for her sake, but deep down I was utterly serious. I wasn't letting anything happen to her again.

Two weeks after Rinvara first woke, the doctors deemed her well enough to move.

She still couldn't walk, but aside from her crippled state, she was stable.

An armored transport was arranged to take us back toward the border proper. I learned that Bishop Tharne himself had sent orders for our safe passage.

Sunmire command was keeping everything about Rinvara's condition under the strictest secrecy, which I appreciated. Rumors were already rampant across the fronts of someone important being injured and retrieved from a Ferron stronghold.

Morale could swing wildly depending on how the narrative was spun. But as far as these twenty soldiers at the outpost were concerned, they hadn't harbored one of the Six Heirs of Sunmire for half a month. Just a 'high-value cleric.'

The morning we prepared to depart, I helped settle Rinvara into a sturdy wheelchair that had been brought along with the convoy. She protested the whole time, of course.

"I can walk if someone would just let me try," she groused as a few nurses lifted her onto the seat with extreme care.

"You can barely stand," I countered. "Humor me, sis."

She folded her arms, pretending to be cross. "I miss when you were too little to talk back."

A snort escaped me. I nudged her knee with my paw. "Comfortable?"

She grudgingly adjusted a cushion. "It'll do." Truth be told, she was probably relieved—her legs trembled even transferring from bed to chair.

Two Sunmire guardsmen from the convoy stood ready to guard her. Unlike the outpost's ragged fatigues, these two wore the polished breastplates and blue-trimmed cloaks of church soldiers.

They were handpicked by Bishop Tharne to ensure our safe journey. They snapped smart salutes to Rinvara, then to me.

Our little send-off was an emotional affair for the outpost medics and soldiers. I saw it in their eyes: the reverence, the gratitude. They knew this battered young woman had once healed them, inspired them. And now she was the one needing help.

As the wheelchair rolled toward the waiting transport wagon, a cluster of nurses and soldiers gathered, offering small bows or murmured blessings.

Rinvara, ever gracious even with bandaged eyes, turned her head toward the group and smiled. "Thank you all," she said softly. "For your care and courage. Sunmire is lucky to have you."

The outpost's commander stepped forward and pressed a fist to his chest in a knight's salute. "We're the lucky ones, Miss Lady," he said gruffly. "It's an honor to see you safe."

She inclined her head in gratitude.

I cleared my throat gently. It was time to go.

The guard to Rinvara's right nodded and began pushing her chair forward again.

The Mortician was there too, of course, overseeing the transfer with his usual impatient air. He caught my gaze and gave me a curt nod.

I dipped my head in respect. "We'll see you back home soon?"

He grunted. "Perhaps. If nothing happens anytime soon, I might be called back." He then did something unexpected, he reached out and squeezed my shoulder. Just once, firmly. "Take care of each other," he murmured.

Rinvara must have sensed something because she smiled in his direction. "Thank you, teacher."

The Mortician made a vague huffing noise, spun on his heel, and strode off before anyone could get more sentimental.

And with that, we departed the outpost. I padded alongside Rinvara's wheelchair as it was wheeled up a ramp into the back of a covered wagon. The guards secured her and made sure she was cushioned for the bumpy ride.

The medic from my original team—the same woman who had tended Rinvara in the fortress and in the front—had elected to stay with us through the journey, acting as her personal nurse.

She fussed over Rin like a mother hen, double-checking every strap and blanket. I gave the medic an appreciative nod.

Once everyone was set, I clambered into the wagon as well. One of the wheels creaked alarmingly under my added weight until I hastily redistributed myself to the center. Eventually I settled on the floor at Rinvara's feet, facing backward so I could watch the road behind us.

The two armored escorts sat at the tail, legs dangling off, rifles at the ready.

The wagon lurched into motion, pulled by a pair of hearty steam-driven crawlers clanking at the front. We trundled away from the only place I'd known relative peace in weeks, heading toward Kareth's Gate and civilization.

As the outpost disappeared around a bend, I heard Rinvara softly sniffle. I lifted my head to look at her. She had her face turned toward the receding camp.

I understood. That scrappy little station had saved her life. Those people had shown her such kindness when she was at her lowest.

I edged closer and rested my chin on her arm. In response, she reached down and stroked my ears, her fingers threading through my fur. We stayed like that the entire journey, until the dusty roads gave way to the familiar outskirts of Kareth's Gate.