Murderer.
Ny's eyes flashed open, two bright orbs of violet-blue in the darkness. Her limbs frozen, she cast her eyes around the camp, over Safiya's resting body, Okku's lumbering mass caught somewhere between metaphysical realms of sleep. Heart pounding against her chest, breathing ragged, she made one more visual pass over the camp before she lay back heavily against her mat, exhausted, before it hit her–where was Gann? He was supposed to be on watch.
You're a murderer.
As if he had appeared from the shadows, Gann suddenly stood above her, his normally carefree features replaced by a wall of scorn... and fear. She felt her stomach drop, as it normally did on the thin line between sleep and coherency.
"I'm not a murderer," Ny whispered.
Yes you are.
"Only in self-defense," she mumbled. Her lips seemed to have trouble moving, to form a good answer. "I'm not a murderer..."
Then let me help you remember.
A light, cool mist bathed her face, washing away the perspiration. It reminded her of the fog that sometimes gathered in the swamps around West Harbor, heavy with the smell of woodsmoke and burnt pig. And then she was swept in a torrent of memory, triggered by the woodsmoke... burning villages... dead friends... a glint of silver... anger, guilt, betrayal. Finally, she couldn't bear it anymore and clawed her way to the surface, her own quiet tears shocking her out of sleep.
She opened her eyes, her breathing coming out in short, hitched gasps. The bright light stung her eyes–that was different, she could've sworn it was night out. Safiya was already tending to a fire, and Okku had disappeared, presumeably relieving Gann of watch duty.
She shuddered, reliving the horrible dream. Then she glanced behind her, a natural hunter's instinct kicking in, and saw Gann watching her from the exact position he'd bee in her dream. His face was unreadable.
"Murderer," she whispered.
Slowly, he shook his head. "You're not a murderer."