And, with time, perhaps they would even have the strange pipework with taps of unending hot water. Marvellous and indulgent, that even now Penryn missed.
Her home with Grimult would not have such luxuries, she was certain. But she could not find it within her heart to mind.
Not when already she felt the pull to build it, to begin a life that was not dictated by the needs of a people as a whole.
That they might instead turn to sweeter things. The love of family, the happy domesticity of a day well worked and a rest well earned.
Of a loving embrace to close the day before slipping into slumber.
That would not happen this day. Not as their talks slipped into night.
Until all tired to the point where they begged for mercy, to continue come morning, with fresh eyes and a brain not muddled with exhaustion.
There would be days yet ahead.
Perhaps on this same patch of earth, on borrowed mats heavily waxed to keep the moisture of the earth from seeping through.
Or perhaps they would retire to the keep. Or one of the clan’s larger dwellings, where hospitality might be shared.
And perhaps, if the treaty took so very long...
Soon she would not be needed at all. When their words began known, when talks could flow freely without her aid.
She liked that idea.
Liked it very much.
A Lightkeep did not belong to herself. Not really. She was a vessel for the people, born and trained, and sent off to do the work that none else would wish to do.
It would look different in the future. It would have to, with talks of closing the borders entirely, not even to permit a sole Lightkeep and her Guardian from trespassing even so infrequently.
Perhaps they would come from the tribe itself. Tasked with the protection, the secrecy, of all their peoples, winged and wingless alike.
She did not know. Not yet.
But with her father as their advocate, she knew it would be different than it was.
And that was enough for her.
And when the flickering of many fires showed that most in either camp had already banked for the night, Grimult leaned his head down first to whisper in her ear. “Enough,” he urged.
She turned her head, blinking tired eyes and trying to conjure arguments to weary lips, but he shook his head. “Not everything can be decided in a single day,” he observed. “So for tonight, let it be enough.”
And when she translated his words to the others, there was notable relief to be found there.
She blinked, her eyes trying to adjust as she strained in the relative darkness to look about to the separate camps that had been erected on either side of the leaders. There was a divide, where none had dared to intermingle, and she could not blame them for that. Not yet. Not when there was still so much mistrust between their kinds.
But there were fires in each, pinpricks of light as dusk turned to night.
Stars beginning to peak through the swathe of night sky.
It was peaceful, in its way.
And she was so very tired.
They began to disperse, leaders to their own tribes and clans, the lone sage back to his brethren.
She worried what tomorrow would bring, if a night to converse with others would undermine the progress of the day.
But Grimult was right, and they were all exhausted, and the decisions could not be hastily made.
Not when so many lives depended on the outcome.
She had done her best, had recommended what she could, had offered truths when the sage was slow to give them.
But she was not a leader. Did not have the relationships to the people that would enable her to know each of their needs and see them best met.
Grimult’s arm was at her waist, and her mind was too numb to think of where they might be headed. She did not much care, as long as there was a warm bed nestled in the quiet where she might sleep.
A figure moved to the side of them before they were airborne, halting their ascent before it had even started.
She squinted, wondering if it was someone she knew, wondering if it was a sage coming to offer chastisement.
She did not think she could bear to hear it. Not now.
Grimult stiffened at her side, and for a brief moment, she thought that perhaps it was one of his family, coming from within the swarm of the winged-folk, finally able to approach their kin.
But he did not leave her side, did not rush forward to offer hearty embraces and fervent greetings.
And as she looked, the body seemed hunched with age as he came forward from the dim light beyond.
“Do you know him?” Penryn asked, her voice hushed. Strained from the day’s translations.
“Yes,” Grimult replied, his voice steady if a little surprised. “He was the Guardian before me.”
A grunt from the newcomer, and he came very near. Penryn tried not to shy away, but she felt strangely nervous, as if he might prove some danger to them both, despite his obvious age.
“Aemsol,” her husband greeted, moving his hand to his chest and giving a respectful bow.
Another grunt, as milky eyes roved over first Grimult, then Penryn herself. There was a sword strapped to his waist, dragging nearly as low as his wings, and she found herself wondering how he had managed to come here at all. Had they carried such an ancient into battle? Or had he found the strength to come, to protect his people, determination giving a surge of vitality that otherwise was absent?
“I had one question for you,” Aemsol said at last, his voice thin and nearly as strained as hers—although something suggested that his malady might come from disuse instead. “Only one. Do you remember?”
Penryn looked to Grimult, finding yet again that there was much she did not know of him. It troubled her, yet there was a comfort all the same.
That perhaps, if they were very careful, there would be a lifetime ahead to
