The ache was fierce as he thought of what she would endure instead, and he could not seem to convince his arms to release her, even as she pulled back slightly to look up at him.
He could not say who moved first, only that it was a mutual agreement that felt as natural as a next-drawn breath, a brush of lips that perhaps lingered for a moment. Maybe it was two.
His heart felt full to bursting when they parted, and he ashamedly realised that Penryn had to slip bodily from him in order for it to cease. There were tears in her eyes, but her smile was warm and soft as she regarded him. “Maybe we shall meet again in the next life.” A heavy rise and fall of her chest as she closed her eyes briefly. “I should like that.”
He did not want to think of a next life. He wanted to set this one to rights. Wanted his people safe, wanted Penryn to come home with him.
Wanted to kiss her again.
To feel her soft form against him, to hold her close, to provide her all the love that she had not experienced in her youth.
His throat felt tight and panic was beginning to seize him as she took a step through the doorway. She had to stoop, the opening low and small, even for her.
His mouth opened, ready to ask her not to go, to stay, to find another way, and he took a step closer, arm already extended so as to keep her from shutting him out entirely.
“I have to go, Grim,” she chastised, her hands already pressing at the door.
“I want you to be safe,” he found himself saying instead of all the host of pleadings that threatened to overtake him. “I want you to remember what I taught you. I want to know that you will be warm enough tonight.”
She would not even have her bedroll, and while he had shown her how to build and keep a competent fire, he could imagine her shivering still, not even a clean place to lay her head.
Her smile grew sad, and she shook her head. “I will treasure all you showed me. Of that I can promise you.” Another breath, and it became clear that she was fighting back tears of her own. “And use it well.” Her eyes drifted to the new world that surrounded her. “I have my own portion to complete, so I am not interested in succumbing to the elements. Not today.”
Not any day, he wanted to inform her, to extract another promise that she would find a way back to him.
“I really must go,” she insisted, a few tears slipping out, although she made no move to brush them away. “Be well, Grim. For me.”
And then she moved more quickly than he had expected, the door almost working of its own accord to shut between them before he could intervene.
It was over.
His task was complete, the Journey successful. The Lightkeep delivered and sacrificed to a world he did not understand.
And his heart...
It felt as damaged as his wing had been, aching and raw. Weeping.
But there was no Penryn to tend to it. Even now he was certain she was walking away from the Wall, towards whatever task even she, with all her disdain for the sages themselves, knew to be of such importance.
This had been the portion Aemsol knew would be most difficult for Grim. To allow her to go, to urge himself not to follow.
He had found some measure of confidence, had spun a tale that duty and dedication to the teachings given to him would give him the strength necessary to complete the task to the sages’ instruction.
He felt none of that now.
Only as if a piece of himself had been severed, had disappeared and he knew with all possible certainty that he would never see her again.
Had he taught her enough that her death might be a ways off? The cold months were coming, and he cursed himself for not spending more time dwelling on the subject of shelter and building up food stores to see her through the cold.
He hung his head, on his knees, the stones smooth and unyielding as he pressed his forehead against the coolness.
She was gone.
And he was alone.
His wing had yet to heal, so his initial travels would be slow. He would have to remain vigilant for any more beasts and riders, but even that felt shallow and unimportant. He had only himself to care for now.
He swallowed again. Daylight would not stay for long, and he should get moving. He staggered to his feet and took a step backward. And another.
He should turn toward home, should face his prize in order to coax him to move at all.
But to turn his back on the Wall...
It was like leaving her.
Fully and truly.
He grit his teeth, his hand clenching to a fist.
He had asked Aemsol why he lived the way he did, so far removed from any of the clans.
“Penance,” he’d said, although he had not chosen to elaborate.
As if he too had known that by leaving, he had sentenced his Lightkeep to an early demise, and could not bear the thought of living well, living the life Penryn claimed to want for him.
Aemsol could not forgive himself. Would Grimult?
The sages were so certain they knew best. Made certain that all around them believed them infallible, incapable for error or mistake.
Who was to say they were not wrong in this? That there was another way, a way where Penryn could see to her task and have him there to guide her back to safety.
Or to keep harm from coming to her by the land-dwellers themselves.
He forced another step, and
