Not in any ways that could be seen as inappropriate, even by the most stringent of elder women in the clans, usually so critical of any behaviours in the younger offspring.
But she did not hesitate to tend to his wings even without asking. If she felt the buckle on a strap was cutting wrongly, she would fix it.
And once, she had even taken his hand to lead him toward a small crop of wild tubers, excited with her discovery and insistent that it would make a fine stew.
Her eyes were warm and hopeful as she said it, as if she had been looking for such a thing specifically to fulfil what he said he missed most.
The product itself was not at all like his mother’s recipe, but boiled in enough water and after adding bits of the overly salted dried meat, it was good, at least by the standards they had grown used to during their travels.
The soothing baths they had enjoyed had faded and sore muscles returned, most especially when the forest had turned into a patch of marshland, the insects who called it home a terrible blight upon the land. He was able to use his wings to blow a fairly constant stream of air about him that kept many from landing, but he had been unable to shelter Penryn at the same time without risking the flame going out in her lantern.
She had claimed she had been fine, but upon waking the next morning and seeing the many welts covering just her face and hands, Grimult had sternly asked her to strip down to her shift so he could cover her in salve.
Her cheeks had heated through, nearly matching the reddened wheals that were already present there.
She was silent as he worked, and his work was focused, even when acutely aware of just how much of her skin he was touching.
He could have handed her the little pot and allowed her to tend to herself, assisting only with the back of her neck and any areas she missed in her first attempt.
But as she did not make the suggestion, he did not either.
He worked in relative silence, grateful they had made it beyond the marsh the day before or else she would be subject to another day of torment.
The resentment he began to feel for the lantern was absurd, as its keeping was the entire purpose of their Journey, yet still he struggled with maintaining the initial awe he had felt for it.
“You react so poorly,” Grimult observed, putting a little extra on a particularly large swelling.
It was a ridiculous thought, but he was almost sorry that he had managed to escape with only a few bites, as she would have to suffer alone.
But instead of begrudge him, Penryn merely rolled her eyes. “I always have. I stayed out in the garden one evening, just to see if anyone would notice. They did, eventually, but these beasties had already found me.”
Grimult did not want to ask it, a tightening in his chest threatening that he already knew the answer. “And did they treat them? I imagine these itch terribly.”
She avoided looking at him then, and that was answer enough until she finally decided to answer vocally. “The first night was a reminder of the consequence of disobeying. I was to come in when the sun began to set and I did not. After that, when I scratched enough that the welts began to ooze, they began to treat them so I would not catch an infection.” A grim smile, her chin resting on the arm he had already done, the other extended into his waiting hand. “A little harm for the Lightkeep, just not enough for permanent damage.”
There was a lilting quality to her voice, as if it was an intonation she heard often from someone during her formative years, and it disturbed him greatly. “I do not understand,” Grimult told her honestly, watching as dark eyes flickered to meet his at last. “Why they brought you up as they did. Why you were not treasured greatly.”
Not simply because she was the Lightkeep, but because she was Penryn.
It was beyond his comprehension.
They did not train her in the basic skills that might keep her alive, did not see that she would be able to survive when their paths split apart and she was on her own. But kept her clothed, they fed her well enough and taught her... something. They must. What would come beyond the Wall, of matters she could not share with him?
That knowledge had once been enough, certain was he of the rightness of the sages. But his trust had been shaken, and he was having difficulty trying to piece it all back together. Not when every word she spoke reminded him how brittle his faith had become.
Was it the same for all Guardians? Or was it some tremendous failing in himself?
He wished he knew. He wished he had been permitted a true conversation with Aemsol, one where he could have asked the questions of what the Guardian would truly face, not merely the potential dangers that might be met along the way.
In that regard, they had been fortunate. They were weary, but they had yet to starve.
Penryn’s skin glistened with the application of the salve, and she would likely need to keep most of her clothing off until it dried. She seemed more calm already, her eyes alight with near madness even as she tried to keep her body still and silent from the discomfort she was enduring.
Had that been a lesson also?
Their morning meal sat uneasily in his stomach, and he had to remind himself that she was under his care now. And it mattered when it hurt, and she could speak freely of things that ailed her, fearing no censure from him.
As it should have always been for her.
“I cannot answer that,” Penryn responded at last, giving a little sigh as she did so. There was something in her posture
