“That sounds wonderful,” Penryn commented her smile present and true, though her eyes seemed sad as well. “You are very fortunate.”
There might have been a time in his younger days where he questioned her assessment, but not any longer. It was not his selection as Guardian that made him believe so, but the missing of what he had that made the realisation come, softly and in his quieter moments, when he allowed himself such an indulgence.
It was a good home that was worth missing. And he did, even now. When adventure and purpose married with duty, the path before them long.
Grimult turned to her, needing the subject to change, but knowing he must be careful of what he asked in return. There was a sloping incline that caused their steps to grow heavier, the stream itself tumbling lightly against the rocks in a facsimile of a much stronger river. It would have been a good place for scrubbing clothes, he thought absently, where the natural agitation aided the process that otherwise must be done by hand.
Perhaps on the journey home. When he did not wish to appear before his parents travel-worn and dirty.
The thought was a bitter one, tempered as it was with the sweetness of home. There was much that had to happen before then and he could not pretend otherwise.
“I take it that the sages keep no animals in their fortress?” Grimult asked, wondering if it was better or worse to pose a query of the sages rather than of her directly.
Penryn hesitated, and he thought to offer a retraction, but she seemed to reach some conclusion, sighing deeply as she did so. “No. A distraction, they claimed. And, though I suppose this is more true, they said it would be cruel of me to ask for one to come live with me when they would not have opportunity to roam about outside where they belong.”
He did not wholly disagree as he knew the importance to a creature to be able to freely see the sky, bask in the sun if their coat allowed it, to mingle with others of their kind.
But her words suggested that she was kept indoors as well, and his thoughts drifted to her hurried steps only the day before. “Were you...” he stopped before the question could be voiced. He was growing careless. It was one thing for him to wonder, to mull over the small details he knew.
It was quite another to blurt them out and put her in the position of censuring him for harassment on details that were most decidedly not his business.
But she seemed to know his intent in any case, her thumb rubbing over the handle of the lantern absently. “There was a courtyard,” she continued. “In the centre. Walled of course, but there were trees and a little patch of grass where I could sit. A pond if you could call it that, it was so small, and nothing lived in it.”
Manufactured then, and he had trouble imagining it himself. His people built things, yes, structures that tucked against what nature produced for itself. Homes were rarely shut away except when storms made it necessary for the preservation of what lived inside. Animals were given shelters for the winter, burrows if they preferred it, with plenty of materials to craft whatever they liked.
He could not imagine building a wall and pretending it was a garden, not when there were plenty that already existed.
He did not know what to say, not when her answers produced only more questions. He wanted to know if she had lived amongst the sages for the whole of her life, or did she remain with the family she was born to until she came to a certain age? Somehow he doubted that, but it was possible. She had been a baby once, that required suckling and changing like any other.
Hadn’t she?
A vessel, Aemsol had called her physical form. Like his people in shape, perhaps, but far different in spirit.
“You cannot imagine what it is like to look around and not see any walls,” she murmured, mostly to herself. “It is almost like being free.”
He was slow to understand her meaning, but when she glanced his way it became all the more clear. “You are not my prisoner,” he reminded her, and wondered how many times they would have to exchange assurances before they settled into any kind of agreement.
“So you say,” Penryn answered easily despite her lack of acceptance that she fully believed him. “But all the same, it is close enough for me to be very grateful for it.”
That should be enough, but it wasn’t. He wanted to give her the freedom she craved, to allow her to explore the world unencumbered by either himself or the task set to her. But that was impossible, and he would not berate himself for what he could not permit.
It wasn’t safe, most especially if she had been as sequestered as he feared. Apparently there were books, pictures and adaptations of what existed in the world, but that was hardly the same as practical knowledge. If he was not there, would she know how to build a fire? To feed it properly and keep it going, even if the wind was harsh and the wood slightly damp?
He could. His entire company had been ordered from their beds and informed they would not be returning until they had created a fire hot enough for their instructors morning brew.
The logs had been scrounged from an insect colony, wholly unsuitable for the task put to them, but they had managed. It took far longer than Grimult would care
