CHAPTER 7

A chilly January breeze cuts through the night air. Dark figures huddle over fires, their hands stretched out to the warmth, their breaths puffs of visible air. Dingy plates piled with meager rations of beans and meat and sloshing bottles of whiskey are passed around. The din of chatter, laughter and even singing fills the night air as Ben creeps away from the camp. He feels a brief twinge of fear and panic at the thought of being discovered but the thought of green eyes and a warm smile overshadows that fear. He continues the trek through the dark foliage until he comes to the shore. The moonlit waters are peaceful and still as Ben hurries to one of the tiny boats tied to the moor. Pushing the bobbing little boat off, he jumps in and grabs hold of the oars.

The dark waves licked at the sides of the boat, threatening a wet and anonymous death. There is a moment in between Morris Island, where his camp is stationed, and Charleston, where Tory lives, out in the waters when you can't see either shore and while many of the other soldiers felt discomfited by those few minutes, Ben felt comforted. His grandmother had once told him that, "there is no death, only a change of worlds." (1)

After almost an hour at sea, the little boat bobs up near the docks of Charleston and quickly tying it to the moor, Ben scrambles up the sides of the pier, arms screaming in pain. Walking through Charleston now, he could see the damage the fire had done. Burned out husks of buildings, the streets glittering still with glass and darkened by soot and ash. He quickens his pace and slips into the surrounding woods, footsteps inaudibly against the hooting owls and the sound of crickets. He passes Whisper's den, Whisper and her family all curled up together. She opens up one eye and recognizing him, returns to her sleep.

Once he reaches the house, he stands underneath her window and hurls small rocks up to catch her attention. When she comes to the window, red hair tumbling down freely, she stares down at him for a moment as if she doesn't recognize him and then, she disappears from the window, presumably coming down to meet him. He waits in the cold, dark eyes searching the garden for Cooper's golden coat.

Tory's small figure comes around the corner, hunched as if to ward off the cold. He feels guilty that she had to come out into the cold but he doesn't think he can stay away, not now.

When she reaches him, she doesn't reach for him like she usually does. Instead, she stares at the ground, shoulders shaking until he realizes she's crying. Reaching up, he tips her face towards his, thumb brushing the angry scar on her cheek. He wipes away the tears, swallowing through the lump in his throat.

"I'm sorry I didn't come any sooner," he says.

She shakes her head, red curls flying.

"It's too cold to be outside," she replies, voice cracking. She turns away, motioning he follow. Inside the house, it's warm and once again, the sheer opulence of everything takes Ben's breath away. For a moment, he can't help the twinge of resentment he feels, not towards her but towards the fact that his people live herded away from their own lands, in reservations, while those who made it so live in such a way.

"Umm... Are you hungry?"

She scrubs at her face and turns to him. Despite the fact that he skipped dinner to come here and he is rather hungry, he declines. She watches him for a moment, green eyes flickering over his face and goes into the kitchen. After a few minutes, in which Ben awkwardly stood about, she comes back with a platter of meats and cheese and bread soaked in honey. He follows her up the stairs quietly and gently shuts the bedroom door after they enter, only pausing to consider whether she wanted it closed after the fact. Her room is bare for the most part, only books and a single picture signifying that someone actually lives here. She puts the platter on the bedside table, shrugging off her thick robe and climbing back into bed. He stands awkwardly in the middle of the room, not quite knowing what to do.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" she asks, gesturing to the empty length of bed beside her.

Kicking off his boots, he crawls in beside her, settling under the warmth of the blankets. They sit in silence for awhile until she speaks.

"They're gone," she says.

"Shelton and Hi. They're gone and I miss them," she clarifies, her voice choking up again. Something in his stomach roils at the thought that his friends, honest and kind and true, had perished.

"Are they... dead?" he asks hesitantly, thinking of the burned buildings. She laughs a broken laugh.

"Good god, no. They went off to join the war. Stupid boys, so... stupid," she mutters, her voice angry but her eyes glittering with tears. Suddenly she looks up at him, green eyes burning fiercely into his. She grasps his hand, tangled among the blankets.

"Promise me you'll look out for them," she says, clutching his hand like it's a lifeline. He wants to tell her there's no guarantee he'll even see them on the battlefield but she's looking at him like a drowning man looks towards the sky, desperately and he doesn't have the heart to tell her that. Instead, he promises and eats some of the honey bread and cheese for want of something to do.

The honey is sweet on his tongue, the bread seeming to melt in his mouth, tasting far better than anything they have at camp. He wonders briefly if her lips would taste as sweet. He promptly shoves the thought away, cheeks burning in the darkness.

They sit in the dark, the only sound in the room the sound of their breathing. She's laying on her side, hair fanned out on the pillow behind her, hand outstretched to the middle where it entwines with his.

"Do you think some friendships last longer than one lifetime?"

He moves down on the bed and lays down, mirroring her position; head on pillow, facing her, hand outstretched. In the dark, he can see the white of her eyes and her pale face.

"My grandmother used to tell me that there was no death, only a change of worlds. I think some people are meant to meet no matter what life they're in," he explains a bit sheepishly. Her fingers tighten around his and then relax.

Somehow, that seems to defuse the tension and the conversation picks up. She insists on asking him silly little questions like, "what's your favorite color?" for the simple purpose of "getting to know each other". He doesn't point out to her the irony of such a thing when they're already in bed next to one another.

He doesn't know when they fall asleep but when he wakes up, the sky outside is lightening with dawn and Tory is twisting and turning on her side, brows furrowed and odd little noises coming out of her. She sits up suddenly, eyes wild and breathing heavy, hands scrabbling all over her nightgown. He grabs at her hands and she turns to him, not recognizing him for a second.

"You're okay. It was just a nightmare," he assures her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she settles. She flings herself back onto the pillow, arm flung over her eyes. He watches her for a second and then stands, retrieving his boots. Green eyes peek at him from under pale arms.

"I have to get back to camp before they realize I'm missing," he says, voice still thick with sleep.

"Okay," she mutters and turns onto her side, back to him and doesn't look up again. He lets himself out and by the time the sun is hitting the horizon, he is back in his tent.


Tory is going to die of mortification. If her mother doesn't dig herself out of her grave and kill her first, that is. She listens as Ben puts on his boots and silently makes his way out of the room. Her face is flaming red as she buries herself in the blankets.

Tory has never shared a bed with a boy before, something most people would find strange for a girl in her 19th year, whom by all means, should probably already be married but no one had ever really caught her eye and her mother certainly wasn't going to force her into a union.

Despite the deep mortification she feels at having slept with him (innocent sleeping, her brain supplies), it's still too cold during the nights to be outside so they fall into the habit of staying in her room. He doesn't come too often, once or twice a week if he can get away.

Ella, on the other hand, seems to have permanently moved into her house during the day. She's there everyday and Tory knows it's because she hates staying in the city where the skeleton buildings are a reminder of the war.

It's a rainy February morning when Ella finds the woven dreamcatcher Ben made for her after that first night he stayed. She's snooping around in Tory's wardrobe, looking at dresses when she finds the little thing hanging by its cord in the back.

"This is cute. Where'd you get it?" she asks.

Tory, like a complete idiot, simply replies from the bed where she is playing cards, "Ben made it for me".

"Ooooooh. Ben. Do tell. Who is he? What does he do?"

Curses herself silently, she looks up as Ella hops onto the bed beside her, the cards bouncing into disarray. Tory sighs and starts collecting the cards.

"None of your business, El."

Ella gasps in mock horror.

"Victoria Brennan! As your best friend, it is absolutely my business who courts you. How dare you?!" she yells dramatically, hand over her heart. Tory snorts.

"Courting? Who even says that anymore?" she grins at Ella.

"I do and don't think you can distract me, miss. I will find out who this mysterious Ben is even if it's the last thing I do!" she sticks a finger in the air, face set in determination. Her eyes flicker down to Tory's and they dissolve into giggles. It felt good to laugh.


NOTE: WOOO BEN POV! Sorry for updating so late. Finals week was a pain in the ass!

1) Quote comes from Chief Seattle

I hope you guys enjoyed. Stick around for the next chapter, I think you guys will really enjoy this one ;) Until next time.