Page 65 of Keeping a Nymph’s Heart

She couldn’t communicate with him, and she needed him to understand her, to feel her sense of urgency, and yet he couldn’t understand what she was saying. It had been so long since there was any relationship between their two countries that the languages no longer matched up well. But Orla didn’t have time to pantomime what she needed. She didn’t know what state she would find Owain in when she returned.

“A hippogryph, please!” Orla said while jangling coins in the silkies direction.

He continued to assess her, taking an inordinate time to stare at her chest before he looked back up at her face, motioning to her ears.

“Ef-en?” from the way he said the word, with the inflection at the end, it sounded like a question.

“Please, I just need help.” She was beginning to feel desperate. She couldn’t drag Owain all the way back here for the man to see what she was talking about. She needed his assistance now!

“Ef-en?” he said again, this time pointing to her ears.

“Elven!” she exclaimed, realizing what the man must be saying to her. She pushed her hair aside to show him her rounded ears. “Not Elven. I’m a nymph. Well, part nymph, anyway. You know what, that is irrelevant. No, not Elven.” She was rambling, but she was quickly spiraling into a panic. She felt her heart racing and her chest growing tight. This was taking too long.

Making a snap decision, she moved around the silkie towards the full paddock, pointing wildly at the hippogryphs there. “I need a hippogryph,” she said slowly while continuing to show the coins she held. Logically, she knew that saying the words more slowly wasn’t going to make him understand her, but she didn’t know what else to do. Owain had said that he would take care of the communication, and she had never had a reason to learn any language but her own.

As if finally understanding her, the silkie nodded before walking over to the paddock and unlocking it. He gestured for Orla to follow him and pointed to a hippogryph with fur and feathers the same tawny color as the man’s hair.

Relief flooded Orla as she ran to the hippogryph. It was a beautiful creature with the head and wings of an eagle and the body of a horse. She looked back at the silkie to hand him the money before he shook his head in decline.

“Uh, how do I get her to go?” Orla realized that she was again asking this male for information he could not convey to her, but she had never seen a hippogryph before, let alone ridden one.

Thankfully, he seemed to understand her this time and showed her how to mount the creature before pantomiming talking and pointing to the hippogryph. Taking a wild guess, Orla spoke to the hippogryph under her, asking it to take her to the redwood grove near the barrier between Iridaceae and Emmental, praying to Jove that she would be understood.

In an instant, the hippogryph was running before leaping into flight in the direction of Owain.

Mercifully, Owain was still breathing when she returned to him. His bleeding had all but stopped, but he remained unconscious, not rousing when Orla tried to get him to stir. It took all her strength to move him again. She struggled to pull him out of the fairy ring and towards the hippogryph. The creature was smart. She lowered the front of her body almost flush to the ground so that Orla could pull Owain over what would have been the hippogryph’s shoulders before she climbed on its back. She felt bad that he was hanging like a sack of potatoes over the beast, but she didn’t have the strength to get him sitting up right.

“Drea’s cabin,” she said to the hippogryph, hoping those instructions were good enough to get them where they needed to go. With a beat of its massive wings, the hippogryph shot into the air.

Draping her body over Owain’s, Orla held tight throughout the hours long flight. If she had been less preoccupied with making sure Owain was breathing, she would have noticed how awe-inspiring Iridaceae was.

The mountains were covered in massive redwoods. Fields of the most vibrant greens could be seen in the distance while a large, clear-blue river flowed through the middle of the forest. The water shimmered in the morning light like stars in the night sky. They passed a few towns and cities, much larger than Imsil. Beautiful villas and cottages lined the vibrant streets. Few of the people looked up as if seeing a hippogryph flying by was a usual occurrence.

Iridaceae was as beautiful as Orla could have imagined, but she didn’t notice it at all. Her only thoughts were of Owain and how desperately she wanted him to be okay. After several hours in the air, the hippogryph started to make her decent. Not far from the large river, a small wooden cabin with a stone chimney sat next to an overgrown garden. It was set a ways away from a circle of similar cabins.

Touching down right in front of the cabin’s front door, the hippogryph lowered its body so Orla and Owain could slide off her. Orla dragged Owain’s unconscious body towards the oak door. The door creaked loudly with disuse when Orla wrenched it open.

Taking a quick look around, she saw that the tiny cabin looked well cared for. The kitchen looked fully stocked with herbs and dried foods. There was a plush-looking brown couch in the center of the sitting room across from an ornate, well-maintained hearth. The simple wooden door on the opposite side of the sitting room had been left open. Orla saw a large, quilted bed and a washroom inside.

Tugging Owain over the threshold, Orla made her way to the bedchamber. Thankfully, the bed was relatively low to the ground, and Orla slung Owain’s top half on it before dragging his legs onto it as well. For the first time since they left the mountain, she could really look at him. His reddish-brown hair was plastered to his face, caked with blood and dirt. The light spray of freckles on his nose looked so dark against his ashen skin. Seeing his pallor sent a wave of panic crashing over Orla. She had only ever seen that color on someone’s skin moments before death. Cold sweat beaded her forehead, but she pushed the thoughts away. She had to stay present.

Owain was slashed along his front and back, but over the course of their journey, his bleeding had stopped. Orla’s knowledge of healing was limited, but she knew enough from her time in the king’s army to know she needed to clean his wound, lest an infection set it. She had no idea how Owain’s magic worked, but she prayed to every God that would listen that he had enough strength to heal himself fully. She sent a special prayer to Amara not to take him from her.

Orla didn’t know if she could survive losing him.

Carefully, Orla began to peel his blood-soaked armor from his body, noticing that her hands were shaking as she worked, her nerves threatening to overtake her at any moment. Once she had fully disrobed him, she went to the washroom, filling up a bowl of water and grabbing a washing rag. Methodically, Orla cleaned away the blood on Owain’s face and body. She hummed as she worked. Though she was humming for him, an attempt to sooth this male she cared so much for, she was also doing it for herself. The rhythmic vibrations calmed her racing heart and gave her something to focus on other than the sheer panic she was experiencing.

After he was clean, Orla pushed his wavy locks out of his face and admired his beauty. She ran her fingers along the bump in the bridge of his nose and along his full eyebrows. She admired his long, elegant antlers and set about counting each freckle on his face.

She hadn’t appreciated how magnificent he was before. Not really. Her heart hurt to think that she could still lose him. That she never told him how she felt about him. For the first time since she left Imsil, she greatly regretted the harsh words she said to him when she left. Gods, she even regretted stabbing him, though she did think he deserved it at the time.

Worthless bastard, she had called him.

Those words couldn’t be further from the truth. Owain was creative, brave, thoughtful, and kind. And all the while she gazed at him, trying to commit every part of his face to memory, she hummed.

She didn’t know how much time had passed, but from the window on the far side of the bedchamber, she thought it must be midday. She got up from the bed and made her way to the sitting room where she lit the hearth before returning to the bedchamber and pulling the covers up over Owain. She made sure to check that he was breathing.

Orla stripped herself of her own filthy clothes before refilling the bowl with fresh water. She didn’t have the energy to take a full bath. Grabbing her pack she had left by the front door, Orla pulled out a nightgown before slipping it on and padding her way back to the bedchamber.