It was nearly enough for him to withdraw, to tell her that her work was already sufficient, but he did not want to be dishonest with her. Not when he had already made this so difficult already.
It was not a lesson he had ever needed to give, and for a moment he simply stood, contemplating his options. If Penryn took it as rejection, she made no sign of it, only waited until finally, he took a step forward and spread his wings out. He briefly considered moving upward, just a taste of the freedom he had craved while still a fledgling, unable to fly for himself. He had never been so restricted, never had to use his feet so much since his flight feathers had descended and even now there was an itch, a desire to feel a cool evening breeze on his face as he travelled...
Where?
There was no going home. Not until the Journey was finished. And he would never leave Penryn. He doubted the tether would not allow it in any case, nor would his sense of duty. His place was here, and it was not as if his wings would atrophy in the meantime.
He hoped.
But with them spread so, he was able to bring the edge of one close enough for him to demonstrate the technique that was one of the first taught to even the smallest of his kind.
It felt unnatural to dislodge a feather that had yet to prove wayward, but he was able, moving it out of alignment so she could see. Penryn leaned closer, her hands clasped in front of her, and too far to actually touch. He nearly frowned at that, but perhaps her vision would be teacher enough. “It is very simple,” he assured her. “The quill can become twisted, yes? And it can cause discomfort, so we...” He stopped, realising he was trespassing into more areas where she had not.
Penryn must have recognised his hesitation for she smiled at him sadly. “It is all right,” she promised, and he wanted to believe her. “Go on.”
He swallowed, nodding. “Families help each other keep things tidy. Usually after sleeping, if there’s time enough for it, and at night if there’s not.” He took a steadying breath and allowed his wings to settle back into their relaxed position, the feather twisting neatly in practiced fingers, smooth and tidy next to its kind. “I do not know what the other Guardians did during their Journeys.”
Penryn took a step forward. “Probably just the same as we are about to do.” He could not see her properly, not when she was stationed so entirely behind him. It was an agitating thing, for her to be out of view, and he did not wish to prolong the experience. “Would you mind if we sit down?” she asked. “You are quite tall and I would like to see what I am doing.”
She had not asked it of him for the salve, but he supposed that was rather different. A smear of a finger, a patch of flesh readily showing the area that required attention.
Not delicate feathers that had opportunity to cause him further pain.
Should he have suggested they retreat to her bedroll? Or was his more acceptable for them both to make use of?
Or perhaps he thought and worried a great deal too much.
He knelt down, his heart beating a great deal too quickly for what the situation required. The urge to flee was there, but he stifled it, calling upon reserves of self-control that he was not certain he possessed.
It did not matter that this felt intimate. It did not matter that propriety demanded that only those intended as mates would be settled on a sleeping space together.
Those were rules of decorum for a different place. One they moved further away from with each passing day.
Perhaps they were rules that Penryn had never been taught at all.
She was meant for different things, after all. Greater things that did not involve how to show proper respect to a member of the opposite sex that was not yet an intended, friend or not.
He felt Penryn settle behind him. Her first touch was not along the joint as he’d expected, but what felt like a lone finger skimming the length of the wing, beginning near the top and ending near his waist. He did not bother to ask her meaning. Either she was trying to ascertain what they were meant to feel like, or, and the thought made him sad, she had simply never been given opportunity to touch a wing at all.
The sages possessed them, he was certain. And if there had been a family for her, they would be winged as well. It was only because of her unique status that she was without, born to carry a flame instead of a set of wings of her very own.
“You will tell me if I do anything wrong?” Penryn asked nervously, evidently finished with her exploration.
Grimult nodded. He was sitting with his back to the fire, the better to give her light to work by, and he realised it might be too dim for her to notice such an action, so he responded verbally as well. “You will know,” he assured her. “It will settle, otherwise you are going the wrong way and will be trying to pull it out entirely.”
Her hand had just settled on the joint, but it fell away again, her voice betraying her surprise. “That can happen?” she accused in alarm. “What if I pluck one by accident? Can it grow back?” She was growing more frantic with each question that passed her lips, and Grimult nearly smiled. Saryn had made similar enquiries when she was finally old enough to be allowed to help, but there had been a manic grin attached to them that his mother had caught, disallowing her involvement for another fortnight in case greedy fingers attempted to pluck at her brother rather than be
