Free Beneath the Twin Moons of Haldae by Angela Yseult Page A

Maybe he was getting frustrated that she was slowing their pace so much. How long would he indulge her before getting tired of the entire situation? Would he leave her to find her way to the shuttle then? She couldn’t believe he would abandon her, but just the same, she couldn’t stop the worry from spreading inside her when his frown deepened.
    He crouched in front of her and picked up something brown and limp from the ground. It took Zaren a few seconds to recognize her shoe, and realize that her left foot was now bare. Dampness had permeated both her shoes long before, and there was little difference between the damp moss beneath her left foot and the damp material beneath her right.
    Kris turned what was left of her shoe between his hands. Stained by grass and mud, the top of it was torn in two places, while the sole had come apart. Dropping it on the ground, Kris touched her other shoe. The sole pulled off under his fingers; it wouldn’t take much for this shoe to come apart like the other one.
    “Great,” Zaren muttered. “How am I going to walk now?”
    She eyed Kris’ bare feet morosely. He was clearly used to hiking through the woods like this, but she wasn’t. Rocks, mud, slippery leaves or thorny plants—this promised to be rough.
    Kris said a few words. He sounded a little pensive, though Zaren had no idea what he could be saying. Encouragement? Was he telling her it wouldn’t be that bad? Was he promising her they were almost there? Or was he simply telling her to get a grip or he’d wash his hands of her?
    That last option, as improbable as it may be, almost made walking barefoot seem like a pleasant adventure.
    “Zaren?” Kris said, and from the tone of his voice it wasn’t the first time he had said her name. She looked at him and saw that he was holding out his empty hand to her. “Knife?”
    She blinked at him once before recognizing the word and nodding. She pulled the knife from the fruit bag and gave it to him hilt first, then C fir twatched as he dug it into the soft moss, cutting a square sheet of it, then a second one. Next, he stood and gathered a few thick, shiny leaves as wide as both of Zaren’s hands put together.
    Under her widening eyes, he used vines to bind the leaves and moss together, fashioning them into a small boot directly around her left foot. Without a word, he tugged her remaining shoe off and proceeded to cover that foot the same way. When he was done, he stood up and held out his hand to Zaren. She clasped it, and he helped her to her feet. He didn’t let go immediately and held on to her as she took a few careful steps. The makeshift shoes seemed secure on her feet and were more comfortable than she would have expected.
    “Thank you,” she said, smiling at him and squeezing his fingers.
    He returned the smile, though it seemed a little forced, and dropped her hand. A muscle in his jaw clenched several times, and Zaren found herself wondering if he was angry—and if so, why. What had she done? What could she do to make it better?
    She said his name questioningly, wishing she could ask him what was wrong. He shook his head just once and said one familiar word: “Shuttle.”
    She picked up her shredded shoes—don’t leave anything behind, her instructor’s voice trilled in her mind—and stuffed them into the fruit bag along with the knife. They started walking again.
    Kris was still picking fruit, edibles leaves and roots as they walked, but the playfulness was gone. It seemed more like a chore than anything else, and when they stopped at midday, he seemed impatient to be on his way again.
    Zaren wished she could have asked what had changed, whether she had done something wrong. She also wished she could have asked about the wolf, about where Kris went every night, and why the wolf remained at bay during the day. Finally, she wished that she could have told him she was grateful; her smiles didn’t seem enough anymore, and Kris didn’t react to them as he had