And Grimult had slept well with a task accomplished.
But Penryn had no such training. Unease settled in his stomach, not for the first time. When they came to the greatest Wall of them all...
She was to continue on alone.
Without skills, without a Guardian to perform all that she did not know.
Grimult swallowed, the thought a sobering one. He would not see her come to harm, with him beside her or without.
“Penryn,” he began, the idea likely against anything a sage would want of him. If they had wanted her to know something, they would have taught it to her. But how was that practical? It could not be. Not truly.
“Yes?” she asked, tilting her head. There was a hint of wariness, as if waiting for some comment on what she had revealed, but this felt of far greater import, the need pressing on him almost beyond his control.
“If there are skills you wish to learn, things that would... help you for the tasks beyond the Wall...”
A sharp intake of breath, and he could see her wariness grow to a shuttering about her eyes. He shook his head, adamant that she understand. “I am asking nothing of you. I do not wish to know what lies beyond. Only... if there is anything that would be helpful that I might be able to teach you along the way, I offer my services.”
Penryn tilted her head, considering him. “As... tutor?”
Grimult nodded, feeling foolish for even suggesting it. She knew the word, which meant she had plenty of those in the past. Learned men that did not stumble over their every thought and sentence, who did know the secrets beyond the Wall and what she would need to do there.
He looked away first, apologies on his tongue that came spilling out without any effort to contain them.
What he did not expect was a hand to reach out, to touch his arm, her eyes glimmering and... pleased.
“I would like that,” she answered, and there was no denying the truth of it. “Very much.”
Grimult swallowed, his breath strangely short as her hand lingered.
A quiet, “Good,” was all he managed to get out in response.
Seven
Making camp was a different experience that night. Instead of Penryn sitting on her bedroll and watching him in silence, he had her as a shadow, asking questions of each of his activities.
Why did he choose that log and not the other?
How deep did the trench have to be surrounding their would-be fire?
What were they going to do if the stream departed from their path?
He thought the enquiries would grow tedious, but he found it refreshing to be able to answer and explain with ease rather than struggle for what might be safe to share with her. Penryn watched with fascination, as if even these simple things were exciting in their newness, and he found himself wondering yet again what her life had been like hidden away as she had been.
Soon the novelty would be gone and these small chores would be as uninteresting to her as they were to him. Necessary, yes, but as they grew weary and the Journey longer, he could well imagine the desire to grow lazy and forego a fire entirely in favour of an extra hour tucked away in the bedroll.
What he refused to think about was that the bag of supplies was to remain with him for the return. And yet as he showed her how to use the starters, he hesitated, allowing for the ease, but also beginning a lesson on how to do so without them.
If Penryn thought the information unnecessary, she gave no indication, sitting as patient and attentive as she had to everything else.
“I am making this take longer,” she said, an apology in her voice.
Grimult gave a shrug. It was true, but there was little else for them to do but sleep having already washed at the stream. There was not much she could ask about their meal, but that would surely change once he felt the need for a hunt. He had kept his eyes carefully trained on the surrounding bushes to see if there were any late berries that would make a good addition, but the creatures of the wood had picked them clean.
He was not overly concerned. The instructors would not have taught such vigorous lessons on the subject if the knowledge was not going to be put to use.
Did Aemsol fret about food and forage with his Lightkeep? The man seemed so steady and certain of himself, it was difficult to imagine.
But perhaps that came with age and reflection, the sureness that came with a job well accomplished rather than anything that might come before.
His wings were sore, and that troubled him far more than her questions and involvement—though he certainly was not going to admit it. The pack was a burden he had carried for short periods, filled with rocks and bricks to simulate supplies. And despite the careful design of each buckle and strap, the crest of each wing was still slightly squashed beneath the weight.
His feathers also required attention, he was certain, between walking through tight quarters of trees growing too closely together and two days of inattention.
But first, there were more important things to see to.
He did not have to delve far into the pack to find the pouch of dark blue, an emblem embossed in the front allowing for identification even if they found themselves trapped in darkness. He would have to be sparing with the contents lest they be in dire need and find themselves without, but it was worth it.
He had become acutely aware of the way Penryn passed the lantern between hand to hand throughout the day, each turn ending more quickly than the last attempt as both palms became too sore to bear the weight.
If he had suggested camping
