They could serve similar functions, could they not?
There had not been a great deal of lessons in culinary excellence, only in survival, and if Penryn was not accustomed to tending to her own meals, he doubted she would be helpful in guiding his attempts.
It would be something learned for the both of them, and while he rather thought that would be a pleasing realisation to her, it was an embarrassing one for him.
He supposed it was natural to want to impress the Lightkeep, for him to seem a worthy Guardian in her eyes and not the bumbling fool that was more detriment than help.
But that did not ease away the concerns that lay heavily upon him, and weariness made him ache for sleep.
Sleep that he most assuredly could not indulge in until the Lightkeep was settled and resting in her own bedroll.
He glanced at her again when his inventory was complete. She had sunk down onto the fabric-covered ground, her eyes appearing very far away as she stared into the flickering flames that provided them with warmth as the night came and the world grew cool.
He was not positioned far from her, to do so would be foolish. He needed to awaken if she tried to move from the camp without his knowledge. She was not his prisoner, although he realised belatedly that his duties were similar. She was not to go anywhere alone, even if that was her desire. She could not be rid of him, not until the Wall.
Penryn released a heavy sigh, and she blinked, turning her head slightly so she could look at him. “I was excited to leave the sages,” she admitted, and he was surprised to hear that was what she had been stewing over for so long. He had meant nothing by it, would have retracted the enquiry if she had made known that it upset her.
Faced with her willingness to converse on the subject, Grimult no longer knew what to say. He was not going to pry into her private life that came before, to what it meant to be raised by a sage, to know what her days were filled with. Certainly not how to wash dishes.
“The Journey is your life’s work,” he said instead. “It is good that you were enthusiastic to see it begin.”
Penryn gave a snort, and he could not quite believe the roll of her eyes. “That must be the cause,” she agreed, although her tone suggested quite the reverse.
She reached up, and for a moment he was not quite certain of her intentions, but then a few long pins came free from her hair and he realised she meant to unbind it.
He swallowed, looking away.
He had seen his sisters perform such an action plenty of times. Whenever a merchant came travelling between the clans, he often showed off drawings of how differently clothing was worn and hair was tended to, his sisters pouring over the images while their mother haggled for the best deals. Grimult did not see much change in them when they proclaimed themselves finished. The placement of a braid held little interest to him, or if the hair was piled at the top of the head rather than the nape of the neck, but he would nod and compliment as that seemed all that was expected of him.
But to watch the Lightkeep perform such a task...
It should be commonplace. No different than if one of his fellow initiates had needed to brush out a burr after a tussle in the practice yards.
He forced himself to look, to remind himself that he was being absurd.
Her hair was longer than he’d expected, and wondered why that should come to mind. The braids were kinked into awkward angles, doubtlessly from the pins she now held in her mouth as fingers made quick work of releasing tendrils from their bonds, soft waves appearing in their stead.
She was unable to ask given the pins, but Grimult could anticipate the request, delving into the pack and removing a pouch filled with a comb. There were two such parcels, but this one held small trinkets as well, ties and ribbons that were doubtlessly for hair much longer than his own.
The position of her bedroll meant he did not have to stand and he simply reached across and laid the pouch beside her. Her fingers halted momentarily and delved into the proffered articles, and she gave him a smile of thanks before depositing the pins safely into their new dwelling. “Thank you,” she murmured, taking up the comb and passing it through her hair with more vigour than he would have thought necessary.
But what did he know of such things? Perhaps she had little patience for such tresses. It made him wonder why she did not cut it shorter, then, if it troubled her.
Perhaps it was not permitted by the sages? That seemed an odd thing to forbid, but he made no comment.
Better silence than to discomfit her with topics that were not truly his business.
He was to protect, to be her shield, not fuss over matters that he did not understand.
That did not stop him from wanting to do so.
Her hair was not loose for long. When pleased with the work of the comb, she dug through another of the little parcels and found a tie, her fingers working quickly to make a thick plait, sensible for sleep and travel, he thought.
She made no comment if she found his stares to be discomforting, and he felt a moment’s reproach that he did not have to watch quite so carefully to her every movement.
He rose, feeling awkward and uncertain of himself, determined to do a quick perusal of the perimeter
