Grimult went to his bedroll and Penryn to her own, and Grimult strangely found his thoughts going to a future time. When he would return from tending the fields, to a home of his own and a wife there, food soon shared between them. He did not think often of such things before, and such fantasies startled him even now.
“Are you going to share?” Penryn asked, giving him a strange look.
He felt a subtle heat in the skin of his cheeks, and he was grateful for the low light lest any mortifying colour have found its way there.
“Of course,” he hastened to assure her, placing the cauldron between them before delving back into the pack. Dried strips of meat seemed a proper accompaniment, herbs and salt clinging to the exterior as he placed them on their respective plates and handed one to Penryn. She accepted, loading a good handful of berries beside it before settling back more comfortably—at least for her. His wings would have been crushed and uncomfortable to take such a posture, and he had to remind himself firmly that she had not such impediment and would be fine.
He bowed his head, focusing on his own meal once he had taken a handful of berries. He was thinking a great deal too much, most especially about her, and he did not know how to stop it. The days were too long and there was nothing to punctuate their travels beyond setting up and tearing down their camp. A meal shared and a dish washed. A flask filled.
“What are you thinking about?” Penryn asked, and he took a bite of meat rather than answer her. At least immediately. He could not put her off forever, he well knew, but he could find better wording for his impudent thoughts that refused to cooperate with his true desires.
“Travel is tedious,” he answered at last, for surely that was something she could agree with.
She hummed leaning back even more fully, her attention on the boughs overhead. It was something he might have done on one of the sandy beaches beside the sea, when the night was clear and the multitude of stars glittered back at him.
And then regret it heartily because sand was nearly impossible to remove completely from his feathers, and his mother bemoaned for days finding trails of it wherever he went, even after his flight home.
The thought brought a smile to his lips, missing the way she fussed, the way she took such pride in what might be considered a fairly humble home. But it was clean and always tidy, even when Saryn seemed to take it as a personal objective to keep her things strung around every surface in the abode.
Lira was far better at that, and rather have her subjected to another scolding by their mother, would often sneak about the house and put things properly away, Saryn sheepishly following behind when she realised the unfairness of her sister doing all the work alone.
“I find it most agreeable,” Penryn countered, putting another berry in her mouth.
“Do you?” Grimult asked, unable to keep the disbelief entirely from his voice. “Do you not miss a soft bed? Quilts? Fresh meals and tea?” He stopped, realising he was revealing far too much of his own desires. Only a few days had passed already he missed such things.
It was pathetic.
Aemsol would not have done that. Duty would have been all the satiation he need, the accomplishment enough to satisfy even the deepest hunger.
Grimult was grateful for his meal, he was. And he did not regret being chosen. And though they had warned of what it meant to travel so far and the conditions that would meet them, he missed the comforts of home.
Penryn had turned her head to look at him, and he could not find any censure there. That was something at least. “I suppose,” she relented. “But... I think you are describing home, and that is not something I possess.”
He opened his mouth, ready to assure her that she was valued and doubtlessly loved by the sages charged with her care, but she shook her head firmly. “It is true, Grimult, and I would ask you not pretend otherwise.” He should not speak of what he did not know, and should take her at her word.
“I am sorry,” he said instead, breaking his determination that there be no more apologies between them that night.
She looked back above her and nibbled at the dried meat with less enthusiasm than she had for the berries.
He did not blame her, the herbs pungent and the salt almost unbearable with its brine.
But it would be complaining to mention that, so he would not.
“None of this is your doing,” she reminded him, however unnecessarily. “But it will alter our experiences, I think. You will be anxious to be home and I...” she did not finish, doubtlessly realising that she was straying too closely to what would come after. After he left her at the Wall, after she went beyond to... to do what needed doing.
Whatever that might be.
Better not to dwell on that part, lest his stomach continue to roil at the thought of abandoning her. It was his commission to do so, his duty, but that made it no easier.
He forced himself to keep eating. Difficult subjects or not, he could not neglect his strength, not when it could be called upon at any time.
Penryn glanced at him, her expression rueful. “I am afraid I am not good company.”
Grimult shook his head, taking a swig of water to help the meat go down. Not so bad, then, when the brine did not have a chance to cling to the mouth. “I would ask for no other,” he answered, waiting to be embarrassed at such a confession but finding it did
