But first, a fire, lest the whole of their tasks have to be done by the light of the sacred flame.
He was certain the sages would find the idea a repugnant one.
He was grateful there was tinder and logs enough for his purpose within his chosen camp. It would not always be so, he knew, but he did not feel prepared enough to leave the Lightkeep even for such a necessary task. Not yet.
He pushed aside the fallen leaves and brush from the ground, using a piece of kindling to form a circle in the earth to hopefully contain any embers that fell.
He would not have his first fire spreading and setting the wood ablaze on the first night.
Or any of the other nights either, if he could possibly help it.
The tinder caught quickly, the spark rocks working perfectly. There were three sets nestled within a leather pouch, contingencies that might seem superfluous now, but he could be grateful for later.
Satisfied with the fire as orange flame licked at the larger offerings and promised a good blaze.
For how hot the days could be, the nights were cool, and he would not have the Lightkeep shivering.
She was huddled in her cloak, eyes drifting about their surroundings, and he preferred that to her stares of his every movement. He might not mind it so much later, but he felt watched and inadequate, completely lacking in proficiency that by all accounts should be the most basic of skills.
Shelter, fire, water.
A stream had joined their path roughly two miles back, so they could fill their flasks and not worry about rationing something so precious.
Food would have to be foraged, perhaps even traps laid for smaller game, but he was uncertain if he was expected to begin doing so immediately. There was food within the pack, carefully wrapped in paper and tied with string, although he had to guess at the contents from shape and smell alone rather than open them all.
“Are you hungry?” he asked, deciding he would use the Lightkeep’s level of hunger as a determination of his own.
She blinked, as if coming back from somewhere very far away. Perhaps she was—he understood so little of what accompanied her position.
“Yes,” she answered plainly. She peered first at him then at the large pack he carried. “Is that all right?”
An odd thing to ask. Whether or not there was food did little to dictate the state of one’s stomach. “If you are hungry, you should eat. It is unwise to lose strength so early into the Journey.”
A rueful smile passed Penryn’s lips, more grimace than humour. “True,” she murmured, although something about it, despite the apparent affirmation of his words, did not strike him as agreement.
Not knowing what else to do, he picked up one of the parcels and undid the paper. Waxed, to ensure nothing stuck, a fine cut that might be seen at any of the stalls on market day.
His supposition proved correct, the round shape revealing a wheel of cheese, mild to the nose but hardy for the road. He set the wheel on his lap, taking one of the many knives strapped to his person and cut through, offering her a slice.
She accepted it, although clearly she was unused to eating in such a way, her movements hesitant as she took it from him, keeping her fingers carefully away from his.
It was a foolish mistake, one that sent a lance of mortification through him. Surely the sages would have provided a means for him to share food with her without also risking illicit touches.
As suspected, there were two wooden plates tucked into a pocket of the pack, obscured by the darkness and their own heavy stain of brown. Apologies seemed inadequate—he felt inadequate—so he offered it to her wordlessly, and she took it with a nod of gratitude.
“I feel a little ridiculous, you having to carry all of this on your own,” she admitted, surprising him. She took off a crumb of cheese and seemed to hold it on her tongue, either to savour or to assess, he was not certain.
“It is not your responsibility,” he reminded her. He would not want her to share the burdens with him in any case.
She huffed out a breath after swallowing. “As has been made very clear to me, but it still doesn’t seem quite right.” She made a gesture toward the pack and his person. “You with all of that, and me with...” She turned, and there was no mistaking the look of resentment she gave the lantern itself.
Surely he mistook her expression. Her whole life was dedicated to that flame, to the vessel that held it, her purpose entwined with it so deeply that she had no other name.
Except she did.
For, as she reminded him, she was not a sage.
Grimult placed his own cheese on a plate before wrapping the wheel up again and tying it securely. A pouch revealed a large quantity of hard biscuits, enough that even on their most difficult days where the rest of their stores had disappeared and hunting failed him, they would at least have those.
He placed one on her plate before allowing himself one as well, and he did not miss her dubious glances at their plates.
“If you will still be hungry, I will provide more,” he hastened to assure her. His desire was to ration wisely, but he would not have her starve either. If she proved a hearty eater, it would only mean his need to hunt would come all the sooner.
“It isn’t that,” she explained. “I am not certain you took enough if you have the same amount as me and... well...” Words
