He glanced down at himself, wondering at what exactly she was referring to. The differences in their sizes perhaps? She was smaller, yes, but there were many in his village that were of even less height. And he was considered small in comparison to Hammil.
It was all a matter of perspective, and he had divvied out what he considered a fair portion to each.
He hesitantly looked back at the bag with their provisions. “I can accept more if you think it necessary,” he offered haltingly. He would only do it for her sake, to alleviate whatever worry seemed to plague her. He would rather have more for the morrow than feast in a single night.
Penryn stared at him for a long moment, more the Lightkeep he knew her to be than any time before. He did not know what to do under such scrutiny and it took everything in him to remain calm and placid, not to fidget and confess wrongdoings as he had done as a fledgling and his mother gave him a stern look.
“Is this how it is going to be?” startling him with her enquiry.
He looked up from his plate, already confused and she was making it no better. “Pardon?”
She sighed, obviously irritated, and put aside her own plate. “Are you going to take what I say and make it an order? I will have to be very careful about the words I use or you could get into a great deal of trouble.”
Grimult frowned. “Everything you say is important,” he confirmed, but as to the other part...
His answer did not seem to appease her, and she let out another weary sigh, picking her plate up again and seeming to ignore him as she forced herself to eat. She broke off little crumbs of cheese and placed them atop the biscuit, seeming to prefer their flavours together rather than alone. He would try that himself, but did not wish her to think that he was mimicking her.
There was a strain between them now, one that he felt responsible for, although he was not entirely certain what he could have done to prevent it. But he had to try, for both their sakes. He shifted uncomfortably, and grappled for words that did not want to come.
“You are an authority,” he tried to explain. “Is it not... natural that your words should have weight?”
Penryn swallowed, squaring her shoulders and looking at him firmly. “If I told you I was going to march into that wood over there and you were not to follow, would you listen?”
He glanced in the direction she pointed, the height of the trees giving an unnatural darkness even though the sun had yet to tip fully behind the horizon.
“It isn’t safe,” he reminded her.
An eyebrow rose. “So you would refuse to listen?”
He took a breath. “My sole purpose here is your protection. It is preferable that you allow me to tend to my work.”
Penryn nodded, an expression of distinct unhappiness warring with resignation. “Then please, do not pretend that what I tell you has any kind of authority. We both know who is in charge between the two of us.”
She said nothing more, taking small sips from her flask of water and eating her food.
He had been hungry before, but now each bite was a forced thing, the dryness of the meal sluggish to travel downward as he swallowed.
Insects were beginning to wake from their slumbers, calling out for mates in hums and chirps, far louder than when he’d been on his father’s farm. He was uncertain how he would manage to sleep through it, but he supposed if he felt the need to keep watch, that would prove a blessing.
But he could not do that forever. He would have to sleep, would have to rest so he would have the energy for tomorrow and whatever troubles it brought along with it.
And the tether between him and the Lightkeep continued to twang out of tune, reminding him of her displeasure.
“I do not...” he began, before taking a deep breath. This felt like one of the fights between his sisters rather than one he had participated in before. There was a misunderstanding between them, to be sure, but his sisters were the ones that often resorted to silences that could span for nearly a day before sheer necessity of sharing their sleeping space demanded some accord be reached before bed.
The Lightkeep did not spare him a glance.
“I do not know what you want me to say,” he admitted at last, not knowing how to fix something that was not truly broken. She was right. Her word was not law and he was not bound to it—not if her safety was risked because of an errant command. But it did not follow that she was his to order about. She was... the Lightkeep. Stories of her had filled his thoughts since long before his wings had grown their proper feathers. It was much the same for all the other fledglings. The Guardians were heralded as great heroes, yes, but they were nothing without the Lightkeep, making the solemn trek to return a piece of the sacred to its source.
Beyond their borders, to a land too holy for even the chosen protector to remain beside them.
Penryn’s lips formed a thin line, and she rubbed her palm along the side of her leg absently. “Then we are at an impasse, for I do not know what you expect of me either.”
Grimult blinked uncomprehendingly. “It isn’t my place to expect anything of you.”
She did look at him then, her face one of disbelief. “Really? I am certain they have told you of how I am to behave for the entirety of this...” she struggled for a word, her hand waving to the path before them, and he helped as best he could.
“The Journey?”
That was evidently not precisely what she was going to say, but she accepted it. “Fine then,
