Saryn had thought it a grave indignity, but their mother was to be obeyed, and there was no dissuading her.
Penryn was more like Lira, too afraid of causing discomfort to indulge any mischief.
“Some will come out of their own accord,” Grimult explained. “When they’re ready. If they are not, I will inform you. But truly, there is nothing difficult about it. No different than when you comb out your hair, really.”
Not exactly true. The methods utilised were different, but the action itself, a simple care and maintenance of one’s person was similar enough that Penryn released a little puff of air, and he heard shifting behind him. “Right,” she murmured, an air of determination about her as he felt fingers back upon him.
She was too gentle at first, her attempts thwarted by stubborn quills and errant feathers. When he did not react with pain to her initial ministration, she grew more confident, twisting lightly, a cry of triumph coming from her as it yielded to her whim.
He could not help his smile.
“Did I do that right?” she asked, evidently requiring his affirmation.
“Did it fall out?” he asked, knowing perfectly well it had not.
“No,” she was quick to promise him.
“Then you did perfectly.”
He could not see it, positioned as he was, but he could feel her smile in return, her relief almost palpable. Perhaps it was all part of her magic.
It was a pleasant aspect, if it was, and he did not mind her influence over him, disturbing though it should have been for feelings to not quite be his own.
She worked for a while longer, her fingers growing more confident the longer they practised their new skill. Only once did he give a hiss of warning, her touch withdrawing immediately and her sheepish, “Apologies,” coming just as quickly.
It was... peaceful.
It felt more like home than it had in the dormitories, and he could not quite believe that it was solely due to the one stationed behind him being female.
“There,” she declared at last, and he felt the whole of her palm smoothing down the area, either to check for any further mischief or simply to admire her accomplishment, he was not certain. Regardless of her motivation, she did not seem hindered by her bandages. “Better?”
He shifted his wings, allowing a shudder to go through them, settling all back into alignment once again. It did feel better, salve for the skin, feathers in their proper places. “Yes, thank you,” he acknowledged, wondering if this was to become a part of their routine. It felt terribly one sided still given that her hands would not need to be tended for the whole of their travels, yet feathers required this daily maintenance.
Perhaps there would be other ways that he could help her, although at the moment he was at a loss.
Penryn stood first, brushing her hands along her cloak. “Thank you for accepting help,” she countered, her voice almost prim as she regarded him, her expression almost pointed.
He did not know what to say, so he merely nodded. There were tasks yet to be seen to, and he did not want to waste any last vestiges of daylight with arguing.
“I am going to check the perimeter,” he said instead, wondering if she was going to decide to accompany him or use it for more personal needs she would rather perform without his immediate presence.
Evidently it was the latter, for she gave him a smile and a single nod of acknowledgement, watching from her bedroll as he saw that his weapons were properly in order before he walked out into the wood.
The tether wished to pull him backward, to insist that she come with him, but he refused to indulge it. He would allow her what privacy he could, and this was a task that needed doing.
It seemed strange that the trees were changing already. Less scruffy and more leafy, the trunks wider and growing steadily taller. He had expected the foliage to appear more like the inland near his home rather than the short, dark offerings that grew by the sea, but he had never pondered that even that might be forsaken for other varieties that he had never imagined before.
He looked upward at a particularly tall specimen. How many creatures made their home in its boughs? A great deal, most likely. Little land beasts closer to the ground, scurrying up with sharp claws made for that particular experience. Birds in the highest branches, unencumbered with the effort of a climb.
He would leave it undisturbed. He had no craving for meat as of yet, and Penryn had made no complaint of their simple fare.
Would she, if she felt that her diet required more variety? He hoped so. It was too difficult to interpret silence, to ascertain what every glance and look might indicate. But it might be better to inform her of his need for her explicit direction lest she avoid such requests in an attempt to spare him.
There were tracks pressed into the earth, some small, but a few much larger than he would like. The span was greater than his fingers spread out to their entirety, and he briefly considered the wisdom of moving their camp with such little light to do so.
They were not fresh, and that was a comfort. Fallen leaves covered some of them, and they were likely made when the earth was wet. It had not rained in many days to his knowledge, although it was entirely possible this area had received some while the training grounds were still their hot and dusty selves.
Nothing indicated a den for a creature that size, which could be of even greater danger if they were attempting to rest in its hunting grounds.
He got to his feet, still considering, when a voice cut through the quiet of the wood.
“Grimult!” Penryn called, fear lancing through him, his sword drawn before she had even finished speaking his name.
Eight
Instinct kept Grimult from answering in return. If there was a foe,
