The thought made him uneasy, his hand drifting to the hilt of his short-sword. He did not want to use it against anyone, regardless of the clan of their birth, but he would have them keep at a distance and encourage them back to face the inevitable censure for having done what was forbidden.
If his steps would have faltered, pausing before the boundary and appreciating the momentous occasion it was to go beyond, Penryn’s own easy passage through would have dictated against it.
She drifted forward with a sureness that was both comforting and alarming, and Grimult had only to follow.
And keep his eyes ever open.
There was no sign of anyone. Not yet. Only a great expanse of golden grasses, likely green and lush when the weather was milder. It seemed odd to Grimult for no trees to punctuate the open spaces. Bushes, yes, the larger ones even thin and sparse, almost unnatural.
It was almost as if the area had been cleared by hand, long ago, and nothing had been permitted to grow since.
But that was ridiculous, for that would mean that some regularly crossed to tend to the wide space.
There was no obvious path through the long grasses, Penryn’s cloak catching frequently and pulling. Grimult extended his wings less they suffer the same fate. He could not be certain what was hiding within the grasses, if nettles and thorns would catch and tear, burrs burrowing deep and painful.
He had yet to catch much glimpse of what Penryn wore beneath her cloak, but he hoped it included sturdy boots and leggings to protect her skin from harm. Many women preferred skirts, although that suggested a modicum of leisure, as the additional fabric was not terribly practical for flying.
He would not pretend to understand the subtle communication between women regarding status and their modes of transport. All he knew was what he saw, his mother tsking at him when he’d asked about it before, more concerned that a woman had flown with a skirt on and shown an indecent amount of flesh in front of her son rather than answering his actual question.
Penryn evidently grew tired of the grasses clinging at her for she tucked the lantern in one hand and hoisted the hem of her garments in the other. He could assure himself at least that her footwear was practical, coming up beyond slender ankles and tied with a neat knot. She would not be able to ford water that stood very high, but hopefully by then she would release her wings and allow them to fly even so short a distance.
Although there was something still not quite right about her shape that set an uneasy feeling through him.
But he should not be dwelling on such things in any case, so he diverted his thoughts once again.
“I hope they do not follow,” Penryn commented. She did not turn her head so her words were muted, and he was not certain they were even directed to him at all.
Grimult nodded, then realised she would not be able to see the gesture with him stationed slightly behind her. “It is forbidden,” Grimult reminded her, not wanting her to worry that he feared quite the same.
She did turn her head then, a frown toying at her lips. “People do what they shouldn’t all the time,” she answered, and he wondered what her life might have been that she could say that with such certainty.
He supposed it was not strictly false. Rules were consistently bent to accommodate a whim, some spent too much time deep in their cups. But there was a weight to Penryn’s words that suggested other, more poignant wrongs.
But that could not be.
The sages were tasked with raising the Lightkeep, of training her in all the knowledge that accompanied the position, and they would not have her mistreated.
She was far too important.
She must have observed it in others then. There was a clan stationed nearby, tasked with cultivating the crops that the sages used. There were plenty of misdeeds she might have witnessed without ever having to leave the protective walls the sages of old had erected.
“I suppose you are right,” Grimult conceded, not wishing to contradict her, even to give a more gracious view to his people, imperfect though he knew them to be.
“Only suppose?” Penryn commented, a hint of a smile in her voice. “You have known better people than I have, then.”
Grimult did not know what to say to that, so he resorted to silence. He did not know how to take her words, did not know how to reconcile them with what he knew of the sages and simple practicality—what good was served in displeasing a Lightkeep?
He couldn’t imagine.
They made it through the grasses, an outcropping of trees welcoming them with shade. He paused, insistent that he would make both of them stop for a sip of water, but had to call out when Penryn did not oblige. “My lady!” he urged, forgetting her request for the use of her name. She did stop then, and he was certain she was annoyed with him, but the separation between them set his heart racing. Would he have to declare each time he needed to pause? Evidently so. He had assumed, however wrongfully, that she would be somewhat aware of his own position and want to keep close to him.
Had she not been taught of the dangers?
He did not want to have to explain, to be forced to frighten her, but he would if it meant she would halt long enough for him to open the pack and fetch her water to drink.
“We cannot possibly be stopping already,” Penryn remarked as she doubled back, her features showing precisely what she thought of such an idea.
The pack was unbuckled quickly enough, dropping from his shoulders. There was no strain yet, but there likely would be as the days wore on. But the contents would make the Journey bearable, and he was not going to complain.
At the top were two
