He did not know whether to tell her he was sorry or that he was glad, and the war between the two seemed equally well matched. Glad because he had managed to prove a capable companion, but so very sorry that her life thus far had been less than it should have been.
His anger toward the sages simmered as it had since the beginning of the Journey. Their sole purpose was the care of the woman beside him, and they had not been proficient. They had kept her fed and clothed, but that was all.
Or were they so removed from their own people, their own kind, that they had forgotten what mattered most?
Perhaps they required a dose of pity as well.
“You do not need to say anything,” Penryn assured him when his indecision went too long. “I am certainly not expecting you to say that same.”
He took a breath, settling for honesty. “You deserved much better than this.”
She glanced at him, her brow furrowed. “Do I? I am certain there are others who have it worse.”
The tail of her long braid had fallen over her shoulders and dangled perilously near her plate of food, and rather than dislodge his hand from hers, he used his other to push it back out of harm’s way.
Or before it could do harm to the meagre remains of her evening meal.
“That is not the point,” he replied gently. He was certain that was true. There were rumours from other clans, of families torn apart by infidelities or outright harm between the members. He was certain to grow up in such a volatile home would be... damaging.
But that did not negate that Penryn’s expectations should not have been so low of her Guardian, that her childhood should have been peppered with happy memories, of comforts that outweighed the freedom found in a seemingly endless journey.
“No?” Penryn asked, blinking at him, her cheeks turning a strange colour the longer she looked at him. Was she embarrassed? That had not been his intention. Touching her hair had worsened it, and he would do well to remember to keep his hands away from her.
Even as one was still trapped within her grip.
“No,” Grimult answered with all the sureness that she lacked. “You deserve... much more than this.” He almost said more than himself, but stopped short of doing so. He tried to imagine Hammil in his place, a silent protector that would have prioritised fresh meat over showing Penryn how to build a proper fire, of how to wash their shared plates properly, the best way to forage for their supper.
She seemed to crave conversation, so a Guardian like that would not have pleased her.
Felnir would have offered that. Although talks between them would have been filled with boasting of his prowess, doubtlessly buried beneath a tremendous amount of flirtation.
Would she have enjoyed such attentions? She did not seem immune to the effects of her physical form, regardless of what he had been taught of her spirit. Of the otherness that would preclude her from such wants, such needs. But had the sages ever asked her? Or did they simply inform her of what the previous Lightkeeps had been and expect her to be quite the same?
“You are going to think me a complainer,” Penryn worried with a shake of her head. “I was not made to suffer, Grim. I had my minders, and tutors to ensure that I knew all that I should. I had food to eat, and a chamber to call my own.”
She did not speak of friends. Nor of love. Of family and the bonds that lasted lifetimes.
“One can still be neglected even with all of that,” he reminded her, in case no one had ever acknowledged that before.”
She did not bother trying to smile, even with the shrug of her shoulders, and he was grateful. It would have been a false, tired thing, better left undone.
“I suppose,” she relented. “Just as I suppose there are plenty who would have chosen that life if it meant they did not have to suffer a hard winter or an empty belly for too many nights in a row.”
There was no point in arguing it. Famines were few, but they did happen. Sickness soon followed and he knew some suffered. But few died, not when clans came together in such times, when resources were shared instead of hoarded, each careful not to take just as was needed.
“This is a poor contest,” Grimult protested with a sigh. “And I do not see how any needs to be the victor.”
At that she did smile with a nod of her head. “Too true,” she murmured.
And to his surprise, he felt a sudden press against his shoulder, and he was too afraid to look.
Although, if he was to suppose, he rather thought she had laid her head against him.
He should move. Neither of them had finished their meals, and the fire could use an addition before they slept.
It was also inappropriate if any found them positioned so, fingers entwined, her settled so close.
One might even confuse it with something between two lovers rather than.... than what they truly were.
Yet still, he did not move.
It might have been fear of offending her that kept him still, or his own hidden desire for such contact. He could not be certain, although he assuaged his sensibilities with the former.
She was tired, and he was there, just as a wall might have been.
It did not mean anything untoward.
Even if his pulse fluttered rapidly as if he was still out in the fields running from a beast that had yet to catch them.
But whose trail came ever nearer.
“I am glad you were willing to stay,” Penryn murmured, and with some incredulity he realised she was falling asleep. It seemed impossible given that they were just speaking, but when he managed a glance downward, her eyes were closed and
