The movement drew the serpent's attention. From its shadowed coil, its golden eyes narrowed and fixed on her.
Takoda met that gaze; the snake acknowledged that she had noticed. For a long moment neither of them moved. Neither trusted the other, and neither was willing to admit the small, uneasy truce they felt in the presence of a greater threat.
"I'm not attacking you," Takoda said, voice small and tired but the creature remained motionless.
"I'm too tired to attack you," she added, with a humorless laugh.
The serpent blinked once, and that small gesture answered more adequately than words.
Silence settled over the pit and lingered until minutes slipped by indistinctly. Without a sky overhead to measure by, time became an unhelpful blur.
Her thoughts drifted: Dakota's laugh, the set of Kade's jaw, the scent of home. A hard, private realization arrived with the force of a quiet wave—this was the first time in her life she had been truly alone and felt alone .
