She did not wake all at once.
Thoughts blurred and melded together as she made the transition between unconscious, and awake.
Awareness returned in fragments - pressure behind her every thought after, warmth after everything else. The sense of being held together by something deliberate.
Amia did not move.
Not because she couldn’t - because she hadn’t decided yet.
Her body lay on uneven ground, wrapped in something heavy and coarse. Fur, maybe. The scent of wood and damp earth clung close, stronger near her shoulders. Firelight flickered somewhere beyond her closed eyes, low and controlled.
Breathing came next.
Shallow. Managed. Someone had positioned her carefully - head angled, weight shifted so her ribs could rise without strain. That alone told her more than words would have.
She remained still.
A deep breath sent light pain creeping through her entire body. More of an annoyance at this point - but manageable - before it slowly subsided.
But the deep breath had also returned her thoughts back to her. Less fragmented this time.
Hands moved near her side. Not touching - hovering, then withdrawing. She felt the absence as clearly as she would have felt the contact. Whoever watched her knew exactly how close to come.
Her tunic had been loosened.
Not removed. Not cut away.
Just eased enough that she could breathe.
That decision mattered.
Pain registered slowly again - bruising along her ribs, a dull pull through her shoulder, the post-pain feeling of cold still trapped in her muscles. Nothing life-threatening. Nothing she couldn’t stand once she chose to.
Good.
The presence shifted. Weight redistributed. Knees on earth. A familiar stillness settled nearby - the same one that had pulled her from the river without asking.
Amia let her lashes lift.
The world resolved into firelight and shadow. Trees close, dense enough to hide a small camp. Deliberate placement. Temporary.
The woman was now leaning on the tree across from her, posture steady, attention complete. One boot on the tree trunk. Her folded arms resting on each other, and her hands free - empty. Waiting.
Dim flickering light highlighted the toned muscles in her shoulders, as well as her long thighs.
Their eyes met.
Amia held the gaze for a long moment, measuring.
“You didn’t wake me,” Amia said at last. Her voice was rough, unused.
The woman inclined her head. Once.
No apology. No explanation.
Good.
Amia exhaled slowly and pushed herself upright. Pain answered again - firm but honest. She welcomed it.
A hand moved instantly, then stopped as it got near her.
“Don’t,” Amia said. Shaking her head.
The motion froze where it was, close enough to feel some warmth, but not close enough to touch.
Amia swung her legs under herself and stood. The fur slipped from her shoulders. She caught it and folded it once, automatically.
“You carried me,” she said.
A nod.
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“You tended to me.”
Another.
Amia studied her then - the breadth of her shoulders, the grounded strength in her stance, the way she had done everything necessary and nothing extra.
“That was acceptable,” Amia said.
The woman’s posture did not change. But something in the air eased.
Amia sat down by the fire - barely flames and getting close to just embers now - no wandering thoughts. Just recollection.
Her tunic not drenched, but not dry enough that creases covered randomly across it as it shaped the outline of her back.
The sound of large boots turning in place filled the space between them. Complimenting the sound of the light breeze pushing through the leaves and the low crackle of flames near them.
The quietness and short peace a stark contrast to the events that transpired during the day.
She picks up a small rucksack by the tree - or maybe the size of her torso made it look smaller than what it actually was - her lengthy fingers sliding into the opening at the top. Pulling out multiple layers of fabric.
Almost flow-like as she moved towards Amia. Handing her a fold of new clothes.
Looking up at the eyes fixating on hers. Locking gazes again.
Her persona felt a bit more gentle this time. But Amia would not take the fold of clothes in her hand.
Gaze still locked, Amia’s face blank.
Dark lips curled at its corners as she gently placed the clothes in front of her.
Another gesture from her.
Another silent one.
Straightening her posture and walking back to the tree, she folded her arms as she leaned back and looked off into the dark. One boot once again propping itself back onto the bark.
Eyes watchful.
But Amia didn’t feel the need to want to escape.
More silence as time passed.
Embers of the campfire holding on to the spent wood by a fine thread.
Reaching a hand out to the folded clothes by her side, Amia picks up the fold of clothes. Inspecting it.
A white undertunic with its tunic, and khaki leggings unfolded onto her lap.
Well, it’s better than the torn one that I have on now.
The sound of fabric again as Amia raised her arms above her head and took the loose tunic off of herself.
Forcefully - and by her choice this time.
The weight on her bra shifted as the mass of her breasts returned to where they were after being dragged by the tunic. Fabric pulled taut, hinting at the weight that she carries on her chest on a daily basis.
Warm radiant air from the campfire tickling the skin.
She grabbed the edges of her bra - readjusting, and checking to see if there was any damage to the strap. Ensuring that it held her together.
One quick motion and the undertunic had found its place on her. Cheap material touching and framing the contour of her small waist.
Standing up, and pulling her hose down until it fell in a heap around her feet.
Stepping over and bending down to throw them to the side as her wide hips flared, thigh brows folding and teasing.
Her panties stretched and fell into a crevice between two firm cheeks.
Another swift motion.
Only this time she almost lopsided herself.
The khaki leggings getting caught around her thighs and needing some negotiating to cover over her shapely thighs. Fabric stretching when Amia finally won the argument.
A turn of her head at the direction of the woman by the tree.
Her eyes were still scanning beyond the dark past the treeline. Never wavering.
“Found whatever you’re looking for?”
A turn of her head at Amia, locking eyes with her again - although slightly shorter this time - before another form of a smile, but nonchalant.
She looks away, back at the direction that her head was pointed at before.
Turning her head to the complete opposite direction of where the woman was looking out to. Amia looks off into the distance.
“There’s a town that way over some hills. We’ll head that way to find out what the fuck is going on.”
She unfolds the fur coat that she had folded up not too long ago. Throwing it around herself as she tried visualising what could possibly await them if they were to head that way.
“I don’t know what the fuck else to do. But I just want to get as far away as possible from the capital.”
The wind almost seemed to shift to respond to the thoughts that she uttered out as she sat down.
Moments passed with the flickering of embers and the hum of the wind in the trees.
Amia laid down onto the makeshift bedroll of leaves and sticks below her. The aches returning as she bent.
The fur wrap laid snugly around her - somewhat providing some relief from the pain - even if it was just her mind playing tricks on her.
But she’ll accept it for tonight.
She turned towards the dark beyond the dim orange of the embers.
“We’ll move at first light,” she added.
Amia continues to stare at the distance as her eyes closed.
“Until then - stay close.”
She did not look back.
But she heard the soft shift of weight behind her sitting down.
Still in the same place it had been - where Amia first saw her when she first came to.
This chapter closes the immediate aftermath of the bridge and establishes the baseline dynamic moving forward.
The next chapter shifts back into motion and travel. Which I’ll be releasing soon.
