She pretends to weigh the question, eyes unfocused, mouth tilted as if she is thinking deeply. Then she says, “When I first came to the temple as a child I tried to grow a flower in a candle cup. I felt terribly alone in those early days and I have always loved gardening. It only lived a few days and I spoke to it regularly. I cried myself to sleep that night when the sisters threw it away.”

  Aarav looks over to her, soft and genuine. “That sounds like a difficult thing for a child to go through.”

  “It was,” she says. “But I am not a child anymore and I am much better at keeping flowers alive.”

  He smiles at her light jest. “You don’t seem like someone to let anything hold you back, let alone a dead flower. Even one that meant that much to you.”

  Aarav can’t remember the last time he had spoken so freely with someone.

  Later, and without any steering from him, she finally speaks of Marrow and the night she ran. She gives him a version of the truth that he can easily tell isn’t the whole story, but it is a start. Unknown attackers. Smoke and fire and death all around her. The fear of being caught as she ran for her life. She talks about the moment their paths crossed in the tavern and says, plainly, that he saved her by choosing to care for a stranger.

  The compliment hits hard. He doesn’t know what to do with this feeling of weight on his chest. He tries to set it beside him like any other feeling he wishes gone but this one won’t move.

  He answers instead by admitting a truth of his own, in hopes it would help her find the whole story to tell.

  “You found me having a rough time, but you seemed to be having a rougher go of it. If you asked why I helped you back in the tavern, I honestly couldn’t give you an answer. You needed help and I gave it without thinking. Later when I saw you cornered by those people, well, I find helping people has a way of paying back two fold. Even more so when it cost me nothing to do so.”

  She accepts this the way she has accepted most things from him. Calm and measured. Appearing to take everything at face value.

  The sun lowers. Light catches the edges of leaves and rims them in silver. Wagon shadows stretch and thin, ribbon long across the road. From up ahead they hear Marden click his tongue, and the line begins to slow.

  The stand of oaks they have been working toward lifts its roof of leaves on the low rise to the left. Beyond the trunks, a trickle of water gives itself away with a brief gleam. The ground beneath the canopy lies flat, pressed smooth by the memory of the camps that have come before us.

  The drivers draw the wagons into a shallow half circle that cups the space. Mules shake their manes. Harness rings. Leather sighs. Men and women move with the familiar efficiency of work practiced often.

  Aarav feels the relief in his legs that comes when a day of travel finally ends. He climbs from the wagon, flexes his hands, rolls his neck until a stubborn knot gives way.

  Seren follows, stepping down with the careful balance of someone who hasn’t learned to trust her feet. She settles on a clean patch of earth and looks around, taking in the wagons, the place chosen for the main fire, the people busying themselves with the camp setup.

  He likes that about her.

  She looks at a place and just accepts it all, as if there was never any question as to this being where we would be.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  Canvas loosens. Poles come free. Ropes arc over low branches and thud into place. The animals are led to water. A young driver strikes sparks into kindling and nurses a small fire until it begins to burn on its own. Another crew slings a rack for damp cloth. Marden walks the edges of camp with a ledger, counting heads and bundles with an eye that has mislaid very little in its time. Ivo lifts an armload of wood without a sound and stacks it beside the largest fire ring as if it weighs nothing.

  Aarav takes his turn with the axe, splitting lengths that will feed the fire once the cooking begins. He likes the weight of the tool and the clean cut through wood when he strikes true. He likes how a simple, repeated job lets his thoughts line themselves up. He finds it helps him clear his mind, which he finds himself needing more recently.

  Even as he tries his best to focus his mind, he can see Seren sets up a small healer's station near the edge of the camp where she can work without being in the way. The men from noon return so she can inspect the morning’s bandages. Others come with smaller aches. She binds a wrist. Her voice keeps breaking through his calm. Talking to both her patients and the others who come just to talk.

  By the time the last rope is secured and the final blanket thrown over a line, the day reaches that soft slope just before evening. The air cools and lifts. Wood smoke threads itself through the shade of the oaks. Someone laughs near the water. A pot goes onto the largest fire with a clank that promises stew and bread.

  Aarav looks across the camp of workers and finds Seren without having to search that hard. She is already looking at him. He lifts his hand a fraction. She returns it. The kind of signal that friends could make. She seems safe.

  Tasks pull them apart again. He carries a bucket, then a bundle, then a rolled length of canvas. Every time he gets the chance he looks for Seren. At first he tells himself it is because he has to make sure she is safe, but it isn’t long before even he has to admit to himself it is a flimsy excuse.

  The last rays of sunshine finally disappear and work stops as people begin to choose their corners and the circle of wagons settles into the shape it will keep until morning. Aarav stands in the low hum of it, feels the good ache in his arms, and allows himself the simple thought that the road was long but the company made it kinder.

  Aarav drifts toward the wagon he has been riding in all day without thinking too hard about it. He slows near the rear wheel, scuffs the ground with his boot, tries another patch, then settles on one that will not jab him awake halfway through the night. Putting his cloak down, he eases back against the wheel and lets his shoulders rest. From here he can see the thinning edge of the camp and the darker shapes of trees beyond it.

  He notices movement across the camp. Seren. Two women from the third wagon lift a hand to her and make room by their fire. Aarav can’t stop the brief thought of disappointment that he quickly tries to play off as worry for her safety. He straightens the edge of his cloak instead, fussing with it.

  Footsteps cross the packed earth. He feels them before he turns his head.

  Seren stops beside him and lowers her cloak to the ground, close enough to share the shelter of the wheel but not right next to him. Aarav shifts a fraction to make space, keeps his face neutral, not remarking on the choice. He is surprised though, and a little bit happy.

  He busies himself with the edge of his cloak. Surprise should never show its face.

  “It is nice and flat around here and the wheel might cut some of the evening chill,” he says, even. “It should be a warm night anyway.”

  “Thank you,” she replies.

  She sets her cloak down, spreads it with neat hands, and eases her back against the wood. Once she leans there, the wheel takes on the role of furniture, as the both rest against it.

  Night settles in without much notice. The main fire is left burning. The smaller ones are reduced and covered. Someone calls the watch. Ivo takes first and moves to the edge of the trees, where he stands still and keeps unnaturally still. Aarav is set for second watch and remains where he is. For now, there is nothing he needs to do.

  They talk quietly while the camp settles.

  Seren mentions helping finish the bandages before dark and checking in with some of the other women. She says there wasn’t anything that bad to deal with. Aarav tells her he helped out with general labour.

  They fall quiet after a while, listening to the sounds of the camp settling. People whispering in their small groups. Mules and horses shifting around.

  Seren starts to nod off, her head dipping every now and then. Until she finally says good night, and rolls over to sleep.