He would improve at this, he had to believe. That he would soon be able to watch everything at once, confident in his ability to manage any crisis that befell them.
He wished he believed that more completely, for it still sent a bolt of anxiety through him as they moved away from their supplies, even so close as the embankment.
The pack revealed two generous chunks of soap, obviously cut from a much larger portion, likely made by the sages themselves. He brought them to his nose in an attempt to ascertain the difference in their purpose. One held a soft scent, flecks of herbs punctuating the yellowed hue of the entire block. The other, slightly whiter in appearance, held a sharper note that suggested it might be better suited for cleaning objects rather than a person.
He hoped his assessment was correct lest they suffer a few painful baths in the process.
The thought of that only furthered his unease. The instructors had warned that hygiene was a necessary part of their endeavour, as poor maintenance could quickly lead to infections, whether or not a wound had taken place. He was certain the sages had packed a few medicines and he had been instructed in their use and purposes, but he had no wish to squander them due to his attempt at modesty.
As well as the preservation of hers.
They would have to bathe, likely once the stream became a river further along their path, and privacy would have to be sacrificed in favour of protection.
Did Penryn understand that? Or would she be offended when he could not allow her to wander off alone?
Tension drew his hands into fists, heedless of the soaps held in each, and he forced himself to relax. He had to face each trial as it arrived, not mound them up all at once due to his imaginings.
He took a short-bladed knife and cut off a chunk of soap for each of them and took a small cloth for drying before replacing the softer smelling option and heading for the stream.
A job quickly done would put an end to one concern at least, so he knelt quickly and swished his plate in the water, using his hand to ensure any remaining crumbs came free. Penryn followed, mindful of her skirts and cloak, and accepted his offering of the sliver of soap.
They worked in silence, the job quickly completed, his taking longer only because he had to wash two of his knives as well. He felt Penryn watching him as she dried her plate, and he was uncertain the reason for her scrutiny. Should she not be staring at the lantern instead? Ever watchful and attentive to its need?
Or perhaps that was part of the magic in her, the awareness of its presence and form present in her mind regardless of where her eyes were directed.
It would be rude to ask, surely.
“Would you believe me if I said this was the first dish I have ever washed?”
Grimult glanced at her, realising she was holding up the plate with some pride in her features. He wanted to say that he found that too incredible to be true, but quickly rethought such a statement. He had been aiding with such tasks since he was old enough to hold a cloth, but he supposed that was not true for all families.
Or for Lightkeeps that had no family at all.
“You did well,” he complimented, not knowing what else to say to such a revelation. Perhaps the sages did pamper her after all, tending to her every need so that such menial tasks were not a necessary part of her training.
Which meant that this too was meant for him to do alone, and they had already broken one of the customs it had not occurred to him to protect.
Penryn must have known, which is why she had reminded him that a friend would help. A Lightkeep would stay with her lantern.
His head throbbed unpleasantly and he took the cloth back from her in order to quickly dry his knives and return them to their sheathes. He felt distinctly unsettled, uncertain of how to proceed with... anything, and that alarmed him.
“I think I shall have to learn quite a lot being out here,” Penryn commented, her eyes drifting to their path, her expression difficult to interpret. There was a note of apology, yes, but of excitement also, elements that did not exactly belong together.
“You walked quickly away from the sages,” Grimult found himself observing before he could think better of it and keep such things to himself.
Penryn had made to stand but hesitated when she realised what he’d said. She looked at him before she did so anyway, brushing off errant bits of twig and soil from her knees. “I suppose I did,” she answered cautiously, turning back to the camp.
It should not bother him that she did not elaborate further, but it did. There was too much to wonder over, about their situation and the Lightkeep herself, and it was not right to pry.
But it was not wrong to accept whatever personal revelations she wished to give him.
He followed behind, not hurrying, but careful. Penryn made an attempt at replacing the plate in the pack where it had been, but that was nearly impossible to accomplish as she had not seen its placement beforehand. He hoped she would not be offended when he moved it to its proper compartment along with his own, but was unwilling to allow their belongings to become disorganised.
Penryn stood awkwardly as if uncertain what she should be doing, and he decided to urge her toward rest by seating himself on his own bedroll, pulling the pack toward him and tidying and assessing, familiarising himself with its contents. The sages were efficient, their supplies generous, and Grimult would not complain about the weight of the burden when this was their only means of comfort on the long Journey. There was a small pot settled on the
