Shea’s lips twitched at the corners.
“You know you can’t do that forever.”
Shea snorted. Who did he think he was talking to?
He grimaced and rephrased. “You know you shouldn’t do that forever. Running isn’t doing you any good, girl.”
Maybe not, but it delayed the inevitable and it made her feel like she had a tiny bit of control. Something she desperately needed without the release valve that scouting provided. Before, when her emotions threatened to boil over, she could disappear into the wilderness. By the time she came home, whatever had been bothering her would have disappeared, given up, or resolved itself with no effort or emotional distress on her part.
Her safety valve was gone, and for the first time in a long time she was forced to directly confront how truly ineffective she was at dealing with other people. She hated feeling that way, which was why she’d taken to dodging things she didn’t want to deal with.
“Well?” Eamon asked.
“Well, what?”
“What happened to cause your guard to glare at you in such a fashion and the warlord’s cousin to corner me and interrogate me regarding your whereabouts?”
“Daere was here?” Shea glanced around as if the woman might spring out at any moment.
Eamon inclined his head. “Don’t worry; she left a while ago.”
Shea breathed a sigh of relief.
“You know whatever she’s done, she’s only trying to help.”
“Unfortunately, it’s not the kind of help I need,” Shea said.
“Hmm.”
Shea narrowed her eyes at Eamon. That sounded like the opposite of agreement. She folded her arms and leaned back in the pillow chair, this one had a back, thankfully. She chose to ignore his comment for now.
Eamon worked in silence as she sifted through her thoughts. She glanced briefly at Trenton, wishing he’d step outside. She was a private person and having someone watch every interaction made her want to hold back even more than she did normally.
“I’m not Trateri. Trying to shape me in their image isn’t going to make everyone around me any more likely to accept me.” There, that sounded neutral enough.
“I seem to remember you taking our venom. Your very survival says you’re Trateri.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“What did you mean?”
There was quiet as Shea sorted through her thoughts, choosing and discarding words that didn’t quite convey what she wanted to say. It was difficult to explain to someone who had never questioned who they were or their place in the world.
“I’m not sure I can explain.”
“Try.”
Her smile came involuntarily. “There are degrees of acceptance. You were born Trateri. You grew up learning every social cue, breathing in the culture and molding yourself to fit. Even if I had twenty years to do the same, I wouldn’t fit here the way you do. For you, being Trateri is instinctual.”
His face was thoughtful as he considered her words. “I see your point.”
Shea released a breath. Eamon’s opinion meant a lot to her. He and the other scouts on their team had managed to become a quasi-family during their months together. Extreme danger had a way of deepening relationships at a quick pace.
“Have you considered that Fallon and Daere aren’t trying to mold you into a Trateri woman, but rather are trying to give you a set of tools that you’ll need to navigate our society?”
Shea sat back and studied him. “What makes you say that?”
Eamon peered at her with a pensive expression. He had the look of a man who was weighing his words and trying to decide how much truth he wanted to share. He set his papers aside and sat back.
Shea braced herself. The last time he had shared truths, he’d pointed out how her lack of people skills made her inefficient at scouting. It had been something she had always known but not necessarily wanted to face.
“What future do you see for your life?”
Hm, not the tack she thought he was going to take.
“What do you mean?”
“What’s your ultimate goal? Where do you see yourself years from now?”
She’d never really put much thought into the future, content with surviving the present.
“I’ve only ever seen myself as a scout.”
It was mostly the truth. She’d once wanted to be a gatherer, a rare type of pathfinder responsible for gathering and safe guarding knowledge from the time before the cataclysm, an event so catastrophic that much of what had gone before had been lost, leading to the current state of the Broken Lands. The gatherers recorded the history of the world for future generations. That dream had died after a mission in the Badlands had destroyed any hope of achieving that future.
Eamon’s expression said he knew she wasn’t telling the entire truth but was willing to let it go for now.
“That would be a shame,” he said instead. “There’s so much more to you than someone who acts as a glorified guide to those much stupider than yourself.”
“That’s not all a scout does,” Shea argued, outraged. “It takes hard work and extensive training.”
Eamon held up a hand, forestalling any further protest. “You’re right, but you’re capable of so much more. I see that. I’ve seen it since that first mission. Fallon sees it too. You’re wasted as a simple scout. I think you know that too. It’s why you had so much trouble keeping your thoughts locked down tight when you’re given an order.”
He did have a point there, loath as Shea was to admit it. Seeing someone she led make stupid decisions and not being able to call them on it was akin to feeling like her skin was being stripped away one piece at a time.
“All I’ve known is this life. I don’t know if I can do anything else.”
“Evolve, adapt, learn. It’s the only way to get through,” Eamon said. “A Trateri scout typically only stays in the life for a short time before moving on to other endeavors. This lifestyle is too stressful on the body to stay at indefinitely.”
He gave her a look that said ‘come on’. She had to give him that point. It was similar for the pathfinders in her former guild. Once they got to a certain age, they started transitioning into other roles. They became trainers or rotated to one of the easier assignments, some took on roles in leadership and the governance of Wayfarer’s Keep.
Eamon spread his hands to encompass the tent around him. “Look at me. I loved scouting just as much as you did. Now I’m the commander of the Western Wind division. Things change; learn to change with them or life will right stampede over you.”
Shea studied Eamon and then she looked around the spacious tent. It was sparse compared to Fallon’s tent, which was decorated with the spoils of war and items made from the best Trateri craftsmen. Eamon’s quarters were considered sparse even by other commanders’ spaces. That was probably because Eamon hadn’t taken the time to outfit his tent with what his station now required. As a scout, he wouldn’t have had much, and it would take time to accumulate furnishings and luxuries.
Still, Eamon seemed to be doing well. More surprisingly, he seemed to be enjoying the challenge of the position. Something Shea would have sworn was impossible before seeing him in action.