I. MEMORY
—

A nightmare is a nightmare and it cannot hurt her.

But a memory is a memory and it hurts, even if the memories are not her own. These are not her hands holding the chains, soaked in blood, holding another's as they lead to a fall. These are not her feet sunken in mud, crunching over a field of bones, stumbling as she screams and screams and screams and—

Maren.

Maren. Maren. Maren—

"Maren."

Edér's voice, soft and kind, somewhere above her. She turns towards him, eyes blinking, blinking. Shaking hands seeking.

"Easy now," he murmurs. "It was only a bad dream."

No, no, she wants to say. It was more than that, more than only. Her ears still ring and her heart still aches. Her hands are wet with blood–no, sweat. She reaches for Edér's hands, clasps them and squeezes them. Tries to remember where they are, why they are where, who they are with. Counts back the events of the day on her ten fingers (not nine, not four). The broad strokes. She focuses on her companions, their faces, their names. The memories she knows for certain are real.

And with remembrance comes clarity, comes calm.

Edér squeezes back, firm and warm and real. Maren clings to it, lets the sensation slide beneath her skin and sink into her bones.

"Hey," he says.

"Hi," Maren croaks.

Her eyes dart around camp, moving from the low fire to one sleeping form to another. At least she didn't wake them. She hopes.

"Seemed like a bad one." Edér frowns.

"It was."

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

No, Maren doesn't say, instead: "I think I used to be a terrible person."

Edér's fingers spasm around hers. "I can't pretend to understand what's happening in your head, but I do know that was another life. Whoever that was, it ain't you."

Her throat closes around all the words she wants to say, thick with fear and tears. Sometimes I can't tell the difference.

"Please don't tell the others." I don't want them thinking I'm the worst of me.

Edér hums his agreement (and it sounds nice, better than—) and says no more. He doesn't let go of her hands and for that Maren is grateful. It feels like a tether, a reminder that she is here and she is real.

A promise that the woman Edér thinks she is is true.