And she did not want to go.
They had done their best to return the place to its proper order. The sheets had been laundered in the tub and dried beside the fire. The chairs were returned to their original positions, nothing suggesting there had ever been more than a solitary Lightkeep inhabiting the space.
“This was not meant to be our home,” Grimult reminded her, squeezing her hand and pulling her forward. It was a difficult thing to decide how best they should go, the order of things so important to their success. They could walk to the Wall in case a patrol was out and spotted Grimult’s wings. The treaty was sure to be voided on the spot, and the thought of that was intolerable. Not when they had already come so far. Grimult had suggested they keep to travelling by night, but that had been quickly rejected as they could not risk injury so soon into their travels, and she could well imagine a hearty tangle of boughs a formidable foe when inky blackness surrounded them, only the moon and stars to provide any sort of light source.
There was no more lantern to burden them, but it had been an aid as well, in its time, but Penryn could not bring herself to say that she missed it.
Even now, there was a stripe of thickened skin against her fingers where the handle had rested, incessantly rubbing against otherwise delicate flesh.
No, she would not miss it.
But she would miss this place, and the sweet memories that came from it.
But it was time to depart all the same.
Grimult’s wing had healed well, as well as the injury to his head, that disappeared far more rapidly than the wound on his wing. But Penryn was determined in her ministrations, and her admonishments if she saw her husband overextended the mending tissues, and finally Grimult claimed there was no accompanying pain when he moved it.
The ultimate test would be flight, of course, but they would risk that only once.
And so they must go.
“You are certain we should take it all?” Penryn asked one last time. She worried about the weight, about his strength having to carry her for so long, but evidently Grimult was tired of the old argument between them for he rolled his eyes.
“To discard unnecessary supplies here would mean they would be discovered and evaluated. Is that what you want?”
She scowled, realising she was picking fights as an attempt not to be sad about their leaving, and that was poor reason indeed. She took a deep breath and looked to her husband once more. “I am sorry,” she murmured, and he tugged at her hand, pulling her close.
“You are forgiven,” he murmured benevolently, and it would have been her turn to roll her eyes except that he was suddenly kissing her and she grew rather distracted when he did that. “I shall miss it also,” Grimult admitted when at last he released her, thoughts of anything but him sufficiently driven from the forefront of her mind. “But then I realise what I treasure most is you, and you will be with me.”
Well. When he put it like that, perhaps it was not really worthy of her tears.
They could delay no longer, not when they had agreed upon dawn for their departure. If patrols were to be made, it stood to reason that the guards would alternate their hours, exchanging lanterns and tired eyes for new compatriots, well rested and with warm bellies to comfort them during the chilled mornings.
Grimult watched as Penryn unlocked the door, her fingers reluctant to do so even as she required them to do so, and quickly too. They could not dawdle. They had eaten heartily, their pack was full of foodstuffs for later, and Grimult had promised her they could stop frequently for them to rest before pushing onward.
She stepped out first, judging their surroundings. There was a heavy mist settled around the cottage like a blanket, obscuring far more sight than she would have expected.
The decision was an easy one, an alteration to their discussed course. Grimult would have to be careful, but the heavy fog would surround them like a shield, obscuring their departure from any who might witness it.
And save them the danger of a walk through an unfamiliar wood, toward a Wall they might not see until it was actually upon them.
She bit her lip, thinking it was rather like a blessing, a confirmation that today was the day after all, and they had chosen rightly.
She took a step forward, gesturing that Grimult could follow. The cloak he had supposedly borrowed was tucked into the pack, confirming that the owner would not be receiving it back again. There was no safe way to do so, not without making it abundantly clear that another had been within the confines of the dwelling. And suppose it cast suspicion on the owner?
It was not worth the risk, and so Penryn said nothing when Grimult had stashed it away with a tight lipped expression of his own, and she knew well that the situation did not please him either.
Penryn was dressed in browns and greens, warm against the chill in the air that would only grow more so when the winds whipped against them as they flew. It had been a welcome when the day was hot and the exhilaration of being near him and finally—finally—experiencing flight for herself had made the entire experience shiny and glorious in her remembrances.
She wondered if it would survive untainted when tedium and strain inevitably came from unending days of it.
She took a deep breath of crisp air. Her hair was tightly bound, for she remembered Grimult’s complaint of it flying out into his face, a menace that she would not permit now that she knew of it. She wore a cloak for warmth, obscuring her leggings and overdress, and the boots were unfamiliar to her, but fit well enough.
And, as Grimult reminded
