“If you are tired, you should rest,” Penryn countered, rubbing lightly at her upper arms. He had said something similar to her yesterday, he noted with a grimace. He rose quickly and stared at their camp, uncertain where to begin. They would need a meal before they continued on, would need to see to their bedrolls and to douse the remaining embers of their fire so it was not left unattended.
Vaguely, he also considered that he should scatter bits of underbrush about the area to disguise where they had been at all, lest they be followed.
The thought was a disconcerting one that he could not rightly reconcile. If the sages were meant to follow, then it was not his place to inhibit their progress.
Yet the urge was there anyway, and he would adhere to his instincts as much as was plausible, lest he chastise himself later for failing to do so.
Likely when disaster had already befallen them.
He felt a fool for standing there, paralysed with indecision and accomplishing nothing for it, even more so when Penryn felt the need to give direction instead.
“I will see to our meal if you would care to wash up. I already have.”
A grimace as it was confirmed that she had been wandering about while he slept like a fledgling. He could not get a clear position of the sun, blocked as it was by so many trees, but he could guess it was far later than he would have liked to begin setting out.
He would get better at this, he assured himself as he did as Penryn suggested. A splash of water on his face, a quick tending to his teeth, a comb through his hair. The more personal needs were attended to out of Penryn’s eye line, hurried so he could return to her quickly. He had wasted far too much time already.
For all that he rushed, Penryn’s movements were sedate. He noted that the wedge of cheese she gave him was larger than her own, although he was pleased that she had not skimped on her own portion in order to allow him the extra.
Dried fruits accompanied the cheese, only a few but enough to make the meal different enough from their last one. It hardly mattered as they would all be punctuated by the hard biscuits. He would have to begin foraging if they wanted something truly new.
“Thank you,” he forced out, not from a lack of gratitude but because embarrassment wanted to quell any words from coming out at all. He had humiliated himself last night and his offences against her were only mounting, and he did not know how to set things right.
Penryn nodded as she handed him his plate. “Friends,” she reminded him, her smile a hesitant, cautious thing, as if almost waiting for him to rescind their earlier determination.
He was uncertain of her reasoning for such concern. He did not believe he had behaved in any way that would suggest it, and yet there she was, looking at him as if their newfound peace was soon to be disrupted.
Perhaps he was thinking overmuch and she was merely reminding him that it was all right for her to complete simple tasks for him because of their friendship and he should feel no guilt over it.
Or...
Or perhaps he should have said something about her wingless state?
There was nothing he could say, nothing that would not lead to further questions about her birth, the nature of her very soul, and that was too deeply personal to tread near.
He sat on his own bedroll, intent on eating quickly so they could fill their water flasks and begin their journey once more, but Penryn ate slowly, each piece of fruit carefully bitten and savoured.
It was not his place to rush her.
The flavour was more sour than sweet, the red flesh of the charnick berries turning almost black in this state. They were never his favourite, but he was not going to complain—although he might suggest they were a better treat for her if she liked them so very much.
The longer their meal took, the more anxious he grew to be walking, to be moving from this place and the memories that were taunting him with his frightful misstep. But Penryn only grew more despondent, obvious in the curve of her lips, the glances she would give him, sorrow plain and mounting.
She expected something of him. Wanted words he did not know how to give, and it left him to conjure some and hope for the best.
It was not a prospect he appreciated.
He wanted to be sure with her, to know his place and tend it well, not flounder about in humiliation, either his own or, even more horrifyingly, providing it for her.
And yet she watched, waiting.
And his refusal to make an attempt would surely prove its own kind of disappointment, and that he could not abide.
He swallowed, his mouth too dry for the biscuit, and a swig of water was necessary to help it along. Perhaps that was the use of the charnicks, as one’s mouth could not help but water as they burst and released their juices.
“I should not have made my suggestion last night,” Grimult began, keeping his words formal and as detached as possible. He would smooth things between them, yes, but he would not trespass into anything else and that would require a boundary between them. “I apologise for any distress it has given you.”
Penryn stared at him, and it was clear from her expression that the words were not the correct ones. Or perhaps the manner in which they were given? It was frustrating to be so blind, to feel as if he was a failure at every turn, and it grew more difficult to believe that time was all he required to improve.
Perhaps the sages had chosen poorly, after all.
But they couldn’t, could they? They had the wisdom of the ages, the knowledge-keepers of the centuries before, and
