He had the qualities they required, the skills they thought would best suit their Lightkeep, but perhaps they had not spent enough time checking to see if his tongue could be managed enough to keep him out of trouble.
Penryn said nothing, only turned back to her plate and finished at a much quicker pace than she had utilised before.
She would not look at him.
He would set things right with her, he would, but he could not deny that he was more than willing to hastily finish his own meal before breaking down their camp.
The matter of his oversleeping could be rectified with a quicker gait and determination.
The matter with Penryn was evidently a great deal more delicate.
She mimicked most of his actions, although there was not a great deal to do. She washed the plates of her own accord while he tended to the fire, smothering quickly and spreading the ashes, careful of any lingering embers that might catch on the underbrush about them.
She saw to her own bedroll, watching carefully as he folded it in thirds and rolled it tightly, binding it tightly with leather straps so it would be as compact as possible. Hers was perhaps not quite so tightly managed, but it was adequate. It could have been a great deal less so and still he would not have redone it, lest he make things even worse with her.
Both were then buckled to the bottom of the pack, and after Grimult filled their flasks, they were ready to depart. They would follow the stream for a while yet, and he was uncertain what would happen if they had to leave it for any significant duration. Their waterskins were large, but there was washing to consider, and their flasks could only last so long even if they took only the barest amount they could.
He could not afford to dedicate himself to the worries to come. Not when he had enough already.
He was certain the day would prove a difficult one, not merely because of the tension nearly palpable between them, but also because sweat was already beginning to tickle about his temples. If proved so hot beneath the shelter of the trees, he hated to consider how unbearable it would prove if they had to cross any open plains.
He might have resented the necessity of travelling during the hot season except that the reason for it was most apparent. Winters could be harsh, the cold and sleet persistent things that often kept most clans trapped within their dwellings, unproductive throughout the whole of the season. Those who made their homes in the caves were even more so, the waves tumultuous and dangerous, most especially if fledglings were kept inside, too young or too weak to fly on their own, parents too frightened of making the attempt with them tightly carried to land.
Harvest and springtime were milder, but rain was common, and as he glanced at Penryn’s lantern, safely carried even though she trudged beside it, he could well understand why this season was needed.
A flame, sacred though it might be, still needed to be sheltered from moisture, from wind, and that meant the keeper and her guardian would simply have to suffer through a great deal more heat than was comfortable.
But that did not follow that things had to be strained and uncomfortable between them, which they both had agreed would be tedious only yesterday.
“Penryn,” he began, not knowing what he truly meant to say, but knowing he did not wish to continue as they were.
Her steps did not falter, and she did not pause to look at him.
He sighed, wishing she had been granted someone who was better at words, was better even, perhaps, with women in general.
But Aemsol had been adamant that was not who she truly was, hadn’t he? It seemed wrong to question him, even as Grimult’s instincts suggested that Penryn was very much a woman, as unknowable as any other he had encountered.
“I have offended you,” he stated rather than asked. There was no denying it, and although he could not be certain of exactly which of his actions or words had been the cause, it was still obvious that he had been the one to cause her upset.
The acknowledgement did cause her step to falter, and she turned, her mouth pulled to a thin line. “I would like to make amends,” he continued, watching her carefully, trying to decide how best to proceed when she was giving him so little.
Something in her posture suggested she wished to cross her arms, but her hold on the lantern did not allow for such movement, so she had to settle for a slight hunch of her shoulders. Her head was bowed, her eyes focused on the ground before him and she kept walking, therefore he felt obligated to do so as well.
“You did not say anything,” she admitted at last. “About...” She did not seem to want to say the words again, so instead she gave him a pleading look, and he finished for her.
“Your lack of wings.”
She swallowed, nodding her head. “The sages all knew about it, so I never... no one has ever had to be told before,” she explained. “So I just...”
She struggled so with her words, as if the topic was of a very difficult nature, and he would not trespass here long. But clearly his avoidance had been hurtful rather than accommodating, and he could not allow that.
“I did not know what to say,” he admitted, each word carefully chosen. “I still do not.”
Penryn nodded, her shoulders indicated a heavy burden had been placed upon them.
From the corner of his eye he could see that her lower lips had slipped inside her mouth, doubtlessly being chewed at without mercy.
“What worries you?” he asked instead of trying to grope aimlessly for some silent indication of what she wished to hear.
A scoff, a laugh, and he did not know if he should be relieved
