His temples were pounding as a soaring headache tried to burst open his skull. Any minute now, it felt like the ground would be splattered with brain matter. Every movement was torture, and his head seemed too heavy for his neck to bear. And to top it all, Nyell felt like emptying his stomach. In a bush or a water course? Didn't matter. Anywhere was good as long as he could throw up and get rid of the tearing sensation in his guts.
Not like there was much left in his stomach to begin with, as he barely ate anything during the night and only drank his sorrows away. He also avoided eating in the cellar these past two days, for the food thrown down wasn't appetizing in the least. Moldy fruits and dust-tasting jerky were not what he'd call delicious. The diet in the jungle was already quite restricted, and when it was deliberately tampered with…The elders and their people could be petty about the weirdest things. Fortunately, they were all gone now, and the tribe wouldn't suffer at their hands in his absence.
Well, Nyell would never have entertained the idea of leaving if these monsters in human skin hadn't been dealt with. His sense of responsibility might not be the strongest, but he'd never turn a blind eye to his tribe's troubles. Regardless of everything, he loved his people, and that was why he hadn't had it in him to refuse anyone's invitation for a drink last night. Now, he was paying the price.
"Are you alright?" Allen's voice seemed to travel from afar, even though he was only standing a few steps away. "Your complexion doesn't look good."
"I might have gone a little overboard with the alcohol," Nyell admitted with a wry smile. "My bad."
Averting his eyes, Nyell scratched his cheek with a guilty look on his face. He hadn't listened to Allen and even paraded that he had a high tolerance to alcohol, higher than the average. It wasn't a complete lie. Werewolves' tolerance to alcohol was abnormally high, and hangovers rarely lasted for long, thanks to their regenerative ability. Some people often joked that their livers were made of iron, and most of the poisonous food could be detoxified. That was also the reason why Nyell hadn't died despite their shaman often feeding him the wrong herbs "by accident" in the past. His liver was a seasoned warrior.
Yet, today, Nyell was exhausted, and his body was protesting. Truthfully, he hadn't rested properly for weeks, and the mental exhaustion had taken its toll, too. After bidding farewell to his father, fatigue washed over him like a tidal wave, and all his limbs suddenly felt as heavy as iron. Maybe a weight too heavy for his shoulders to bear had been lifted off too quickly, and he couldn't adapt fast enough.
"You've been dragging your feet behind us for a while," Myrven pointed out, making Nyell pinch his lips. He was aware that the trio had slowed down their pace in the past hour to accommodate him. "The nearest shelter is still a good distance away, and we have to reach it before the sun goes down. Do you think you can keep up?"
"Don't worry, I'll force my legs to move whether they want it or not," Nyell shrugged, not showing a hint of worry whatsoever. "It's not the first time I'm braving the jungle while exhausted."
At least, he was only tired, not injured. It made things easier. Moreover, he knew his travel companions could watch his back and didn't have to exert his senses to stay on high alert. These three had a keen sense, strong enough to do it in his stead, and remembering how quickly they had reacted when a manticore ambushed them a few weeks prior, Nyell trusted them to pick up the danger before it could reach them. If he had been on his own, Nyell wouldn't have dared to venture into the jungle in his current state. He knew better than anyone not to push his luck and step down when he was about to reach his limits. Pride didn't keep people alive in this place; it only killed them.
"If need be," Allen raised a hand, a teasing smile on his face, "I can carry you. It'd be faster, too."
The little jab made Nyell's mouth twitch. Maybe he shouldn't have teased the shaman yesterday. Was he growing too at ease with the man? Maybe, maybe not. Still, Nyell's first instinct was to refuse and give Allen the middle finger. He might be tired, but he wasn't a damsel in distress. At least, not yet. When his legs gave up and his knees buckled, that would be another story.
However, before Nyell could tell him to shut it, another idea snuck its way into his mind. Since Allen was offering his help, why not comply? If anything, Nyell was curious how long the shaman could show off such bravado. His physical constitution was better than the average shaman, but it couldn't be better than a warrior, could it? Mischievousness flashed through the young man's eyes. It was the perfect opportunity to test just how much stamina the White Moon tribe's chief had, and maybe bring his ego down a notch.
"You know what," Nyell smiled, his eyes curving into beautiful crescent-moons, "I think I'll take you up on that offer."
***
"He must have been quite tired," Myrven cocked an eyebrow as he glanced at Nyell, who was sound asleep on Allen's back. The robe on his chief's shoulder had turned a shade darker due to being wet, courtesy of Nyell's drool. "It barely took a dozen minutes before he dozed off."
"He didn't sleep much these past few months, and even less this past week," Allen shrugged, bending over slightly and propping the man higher so that he wouldn't fall. The shaman's arms were locked under Nyell's buttocks, acting a bit like a makeshift swinging seat. "Should we pick up the pace? If we move fast, we can reach the second shelter by tonight."
Layla nodded while Myrven sighed. His chief could be so childish at times and so petty, too. Earlier, Nyell went along with Allen's suggestion but in a provocative manner, letting them know that he thought Allen wouldn't be able to support his weight for very long and would let go soon enough. Although his chief responded with a smile, Myrven wasn't fooled. When he felt like it, this guy loved to prove others wrong. It was a little hobby of his. With that in mind, Allen thought that he might as well skip the first shelter and go directly to the second, to prove his point. He could travel with a man on his back for a long distance and at a fast speed, even in a treacherous terrain. Or, to put it bluntly, he wanted to show off in front of his destined mate.
'What is he? A peacock?' Myrven shook his head silently before saying, "You're being childish."
"Hm?" Allen's smile grew malicious, if not taunting. "You should know better than anyone that the older you get, the more childish you become. That, or you become insane. Depends on the person."
"Well, I guess being childish is not such a bad thing after all," Myrven capitulated before stretching his body, aware that the next few hours were going to be excruciating. But on the bright side, at the speed they were going to travel, not many beasts would be able to keep up, much less ambush them. In a way, it'd be safer as long as their reflexes didn't lag behind and they avoided crashing into trees and boulders. Knowing them, it shouldn't be a problem. "Shall we compete? It's been a while."
"You want to compete when I'm carrying someone on my back?" Allen chuckled. "You're being unfair."
"No, I'd say that's a fair handicap for you."
Layla glanced back and forth between the two, her eyes sparkling. Compete! They hadn't done that in ages. She was getting so hyped by the idea that she started to bounce where she stood, just like a child. Or a bunny.
"But are you sure you'll be able to keep the ride comfortable for your charge?" Myrven taunted in good faith.
"Don't worry about that," Allen brushed off his aide's concerns before replying with another taunt. "As for you, are you sure you will be alright without Rymnev's help?"
A scoff was Allen's answer. Rymnev's big body would get in the way more than anything, and they both knew it. The familiar spirit was currently sleeping deeply in Myrven's consciousness, and he had no intention of waking it up. In any case, he could still tap into its power whenever necessary and thus enhance his own abilities. He was more than capable of following along.
"What shall we bet?" Myrven asked.
"What we always bet."
And then, without anyone telling them, they bolted off. The jungle might have been a maze, but they knew where to go. They only needed to follow the smell of the sea breeze that washed over a low mountain top and trust in their instincts. They might appear human outwardly, but they were still half beast, and their inner wolf could track old paths without needing to look at a map. They could always find their way back, whether there was a trail or not. They instinctively knew where to go.