Disclaimer: Valdemar and concepts belong to Mercedes Lackey; this fic and original characters belong to their author.

BROTHERS AT ARMS
Chapter Four: Kenna Dearborn. (Whose face is as pretty as his name.)
By Senashenta

Here's a little known fact—even though we Companions have made a habit of Bespeaking only our Chosen, we can actually hear most mindspeech within a certain distance of us. Of course, that goes right out the window if those who happen to be doing the speaking have blocked us, and as Teague and Nova were both angry with me, that was exactly what they did.

I couldn't really blame them, though. I probably would have done the same thing. But it was aggravating, and the wonderful Silence that we hooved-types had struggled to keep for so many centuries was beginning to grate on my nerves, and for the first time in my life I had a sudden and shocking revelation.

The Silence that I found so unbearable was what we forced the Heralds to put up with all the time!

I made a little promise to myself that the Silence would be moved to second place when I was dealing with humans in the future. What was strange about my little epiphany was that I was sure I had been human in all of my past lives, so really I should have recalled how annoying the Silence was long ago. But the even though the Gods above were a little more lenient with their information when Companions were concerned, they still insisted that we leave most of our prior-life memories at the door when we were reborn—so I couldn't actually be one hundred percent sure.

So even though I remembered being a bumbling-but-lovable sidekick type, I couldn't remember much more than that. Though I was semi-sure, as I met people in this life, that I had known some of them before.

I wondered if they had the same déjà vu feeling when they looked at me…

…then again, I did look remarkably similar to every other Companion in existence, so they probably didn't think anything of it. Or, the humans I met probably didn't. I couldn't say for sure, but some of the Companions or other non-humans I came in contact with may have recognized me.

…

Back to what's important.

Basically, I was standing near the stables at the edge of Companion's Field, staring off toward Healers. Morgan was still there with Toby, checking up on Dori, and I could tell he was still feeling whatever it was had hit him, even though I was trying to block out the feelings. The most frustrating part, I think, was that I desperately wanted to talk with him about it and I couldn't!

Well… I could… but it would be me doing all the talking—more like mental pantomiming—and I really wanted some feedback.

Damn my Chosen and his non-thoughtprojecting self!

I didn't mean that.

Sighing, I swung my head around and surveyed the Field, hoping that I might be able to see where Nova had gone off to. I knew where Teague was; he was still with Dori. And I figured Nova had probably gone somewhere to sulk and complain at Toby that I was unbalanced.

Unfortunately, she wasn't anywhere in sight.

In fact, very few of the Herd were anywhere near me. They were probably trying to hide from the somewhat chilly weather by congregating in the bushes and tree groves that were salt-and-pepper sprinkled around the Field. I wished momentarily that I could be doing the same thing, but at the same time I knew that there were more important things.

Like finding Nova to apologize and getting her to talk to Teague so I wouldn't be shunned for the rest of my life by my best friends.

Really intelligent, Harlan. Just because your Chosen is upset doesn't mean you have to take it out on them.

My eyes shifted back to the Healers Sanctuary and I pondered both the problem with Teague and Nova, and the problem with Morgan and—well, again, I wasn't sure if that was a problem or not.

Across the grass, I spotted a ghostly shape in the yard of Healers and blinked, squinting.

That was one of the problems with being a horse, I found. Even though I had been living as a Companion for nearly twelve years, I still wasn't used to the spherical vision. I was constantly finding myself wishing I could see straight ahead without turning my head to the side, which, unfortunately, wasn't possible as long as I was who I was.

Anyway, I thought I recognized the Companion who was floating mysteriously around the main grounds of the Healer's Collegium, which was a miracle considering the generally bad nature of my eyesight. At least compared to humans, anyway.

Cahir?

I was surprised to say the least, that Cahir would be wandering around Healers. He was probably the most anti-social Companion in the entire Herd, and possibly in all of Valdemarian history as well. And he certainly wasn't prone to bouts of restlessness—I had seen him stand in the same place all day more than once, if there was nothing he was particularly keen on doing. He just… planted his feet. And didn't move.

And now, for some reason, he was pacing around the grounds of the Collegia that were assigned to Healers.

After pondering for a moment I decided to go over. I needed to talk to Morgan, anyway, right? And besides, now that I had noticed him, curiosity was going to gnaw at me until I'd agreed to go over and ask Cahir just why he was intent to pace a furrow into the dirt outside the House Of Healing.

I still hadn't figured out where Nova was, but even though I was intent on apologizing, I knew her well enough to realize (finally) that it was best to let her calm down before approaching her. Lest her hooves find my nose before I could utter a single word

Nova, I had learned when we were young, had a bit of a temper on her. It wasn't that she was vengeful, exactly, but if you made her angry she had no qualms about letting you know just how she felt, and usually her hooves or teeth did the talking for her.

I glanced back at my flank, where a barely-visible scar marred the perfect silver white. If one was to look closely enough, they might recognize vaguely horse-like teeth marks. But they were faded into practically nothing, though Morgan had asked me about them more than once.

That had hurt, damn it.

I decided to stop dwelling on past bitings and head over to Healers, so I broke into an abrupt skittering trot, focusing my eyes on Cahir, who was still ghosting around rather suspiciously, and my mind on Morgan, who was supposed to be checking on Dori but seemed to be worrying about himself instead.

I don't blame him.

Do you think that could be because I had lived whatever-the-hell it was with him?

Hm.

I approached Cahir swiftly, as he was known to vanish quickly and without a word if he didn't want to talk to someone. The thing with Cahir was that he was an enigma, even among the Companions. We knew about the same about him as a fish knows about flying, and it was something that was constantly on everyone's minds.

Not that we were planning on stalking him to find out his secrets or anything, but especially among the younger Companions he was something to gossip about. Almost like humans with their ghost stories. Haunted churches and barns and whatnot, you know?

No one was really sure why he was as secretive as he was. What we did know was that he had always been that way. He rarely talked, didn't socialize, only got the stable hands to groom him when it was absolutely necessary and just in general did everything in his power to avoid being around others.

He almost had the same air about him as the Grove Born, but not quite.

I mean, he hadn't even Chosen, for Haven's sake, even though he was well past the age that most of went off to bring back our future-Heralds. Instead, he brooded silently and seemed more than content to be mysterious and stealthy.

Sometimes we wondered if he was actually a Companion at all.

I shook my head, snorting at my own silliness, and slowed to a stop a few yards away from Cahir. And for once he didn't seem to notice my presence at all. It was odd for him, since he was so known for disappearing at the slightest sound.

Instead, his head was down and tilted, and his eyes were focused on a handful of tall blades of grass in front of him.

For a moment, I considered just leaving and letting him be.

But then curiosity poked me again, rather rudely, and I made a mental noise that sounded similar to a human clearing his throat. :Um… Cahir?:

At the sound of my voice he looked up, seeming surprised, but didn't respond.

:Are you okay?:

He stared at me vaguely.

:You're just standing here, so… I was just wondering… uh, Cahir? Hello?:

His mind was obviously elsewhere, and I shuffled nervously.

:What… are… you doing?:

This time I got a response, though it was short. :Nothing, youngling.:

Youngling? I hadn't been called that in ages… but then, Cahir was nearly twice my age. Which was why his not having Chosen yet was such an oddity. In any case, after those two short words he shook himself and wandered off toward the Field once more, leaving me to stare blankly after him and wonder just where he had left his mind that morning when he woke up, for he seemed to have misplaced it.

No matter.

My eyes drifted to the grass he had been staring at.

I guess Cahir's allowed to have off-days, too?

It was the best explanation my brain could come up with right then, so it would have to do. After a moment I flicked my tail and started toward the main building, searching for the window to Dori's room with the intention of poking my head inside and checking up on everyone.

Not to mention apologizing for shouting at Teague…

An abrupt change of topic in the back section of my mind that was unofficial labeled "Morgan Calder" made me pause, and I blinked for a moment before realizing that he was moving again.

Which meant he wasn't with Dori anymore.

Which meant he wasn't with Teague anymore.

Which meant I didn't have to go and stick my nose into their room.

I stood in the grass, half-following Morgan's movements with my own consciousness, and tried to decide if I was going to stay where I was and focus on my circus brat of a Chosen, if I was going to go back to the Field to locate Nova, or if I was going to head on over to Dori's room anyway, and tell Teague I was sorry for snapping at him.

There were times, most of them similar to that one, that I wished there were three of me. That wasn't to say that I was always shouting at my friends and snooping on my Chosen, or that Dori was always in Healers and Morgan was always being smucked upside the head with strange feelings from complete strangers (mostly because he wasn't an Empath) but there had been quite a few times in my life that I wished I could be more than one place at once.

Eventually, my mind was made up for me when Morgan started down the hall away from Dori's room and I unconsciously linked in with him once more, riding along in his skull toward wherever he was headed.

Wherever?

I knew he was going back to that room again.

Duh.

I silently cheered him on. Was it really me or was it my blatant nosiness that was waving tiny nonexistent flags in his direction? I seriously doubt that anyone could have answered that question.

He walked purposefully down the corridor, and I could practically hear his feet tapping on the hardwood of the floors. When he reached the correct door, he hesitated for a second, as it had been pulled shut in his absence, but then turned the knob and peeked around the corner.

The boy who was occupying the single bed in the stark white and green room was asleep, and I felt Morgan take a breath before slipping through the doorway and shutting the door behind himself as softly as possible.

He was handsome.

Of course, it would be hard for anyone to tell, really, as he was covered in angry looking burns. Anywhere that wasn't apple-red was wrapped in layer upon layer of bandages, with the exception of his head, and even that was mostly wrapped up. What could be seen underneath the bandages was singed skin and burnt hair, and he was still very much lacking even the hint of eyebrows.

And though his eyes were closed, both Morgan and I could very clearly remember the shocking shade of blue they were.

"What do you want?"

Morgan must have jumped a foot into the air when the boy spoke, his voice soft and harsh sounding, as if he had tried to drink sand. Beneath the harshness, though, there was a lyrical note that spoke of a wonderfully smooth tenor, but at that moment, his voice was probably in need of as much recovery as the rest of him.

Screaming would do that to a person, I remembered vaguely, and fire was definitely a cause for it.

"Um…"

Morgan floundered for words, and the strange rush of complex feelings began to return. I wondered if the other boy was feeling them too, though I really had no way of knowing for sure, as his eyes were still closed and he hadn't moved a muscle with the exception of muttering those four short words.

Even though I knew I shouldn't have been snooping in the first place, I felt the need to prompt my Chosen, since he was still standing just inside the door, staring at the patient in the bed with his mouth gaping like a fish and his cheeks turning a flaming pink color.

:Introduce yourself, Morgan.:

He was startled by my sudden interruption, but took it well, and after only another few seconds of silent pondering and careful sentence-structuring, he managed; "uh… I'm Morgan Calder… " with that said, the rest of the words seemed to come out all at once; "andIknowyoudon'tknowmebutIsawyoufromthehall andyoulookedprettybadlyburne dsoIwantedtoseeifyouwereokay !"

Oh my. I had to mentally sort that one out, and across the room the other boy seemed to be doing the same thing. His eyes opened a crack and he tried to raise a non-existent eyebrow, then hissed in pain and gave up on the idea.

In the end, I think what Morgan said was something to the effect of "I know you don't know me, but I saw you from the hallway and you looked pretty badly burned, so I wanted to see if you were okay." Or he could have been talking about the nightingale that was nesting outside of the window to his room in the Heraldic Collegium, but I'm not really sure.

I was so busy shaking my head and mentally wincing at his expense that I barely noticed when he asked; "so… what's your name?"

And after a moment of contemplative silence, the reply came; "I'm Kenna Dearborn, and you're right. I don't know you. So it's none of your business how I'm feeling. Now would you mind leaving my room?"