If a particular night when he was a good pace nearer meant that perhaps he had a fondness for her rather than simply a duty for her protection.
Her cheeks burned to remember such fancies, of her desperation for belonging, for love, that she conjured all sorts of imaginings about her poor Grim. She did not want him to know if it, did not want him to ever think that her own love came merely from proximity, willingly conferred to whoever was nearest.
Satisfied with his purge of their belongings, Grimult put the rest back in the pack. It sagged slightly at the top, no longer full and pressed to its limits by their supplies, and she felt a moment’s panic that they had sacrificed too much. But this was the plan, and she had to remind herself firmly that they were not faced with weeks of travel on foot, and should presumably be there in only a few days of determined flight.
She wondered if that would be accurate once they had stopped for the night and muscles unused to such abuse made themselves known.
Penryn had not dared ask Grim if his wings would be weakened by their lack of use, from first the Journey and then the injury. If it was, she would soon know, when her new boots got their use after all.
“Better,” Grimult commented, holding out his hands to beckon her back toward him. She gave him a smile as she did so, placing a kiss on his lips before he could pick her up once more. “And what is that for?” he enquired, as if there must be a reason.
“Just thinking,” she murmured, not truly wanting to speak of it, but finding Grim’s fingers at her chin, coaxing her to look at him. His eyes pressed even if his words did not, and she sighed deeply. “I have not actually done anything wrong yet.” She frowned, reconsidering. “Not... not wrong. But whether I like it or not, there is a part of me that wants the sages to be pleased with me. And I know they would say to send you to tell them of our news, for me to remain in the cottage as I was told to do, to never return over the Wall.”
She turned her head, looking over the precipice to the wilds beyond. Dry and hot when last she had been there, the rains must have come and given a freshening to the foliage for grasses in golds now were edged in tinges of green, the earth rich rather than parched.
“But I am going to,” Penryn confirmed with a nod to her head, turning back to her husband.
And she could only pray that they allow her to speak before they reacted, that they allow for explanation before they gave her the ultimate penalty.
Her body was tense as Grimult picked her up, but he did not immediately set them airborne. “You will be safe,” Grimult assured her, and she did not think that he referred only to their next jaunt in the skies. He would keep her safe for as long as he was able, and that set a tightening to her throat.
She wished that doing what was right, what was needed, meant that the dread and worry would simply disappear, that the course was firm and she could be also, never wavering in her decisions.
But she did.
And a part of her already regretted not remaining in the cottage, of even spending one more day sequestered in its walls with Grim.
She grew all the more regretful when the storm hit.
It began as a darkening of the clouds at first, the wind taking on a bitter edge as it whipped at their faces. They had covered a good distance by the time the rains began, but not as long as Grim had said he would prefer before they made camp. He pushed on, his lips tightly pressed in determination, but she could see the weary lines beginning to form as he struggled to maintain their course. The winds were pressing them westward, and they continued to drift in that direction, pushed all the more when the winds sent a sudden surge of current.
And she could see when Grimult chose not to fight, but to drift.
Their speed was great, and Penryn clung tightly to Grimult, trying to share her warmth with him, trying to keep her words to herself, the suggestion to stop and make camp burning at her tongue. It might take more days if their progress was slow, but better than Grimult using all of his strength on their first day.
The clouds meant the light left them too soon, and although she could feel Grimult’s frustration, she could not deny her happiness when they began their descent. There would be no hot supper to offer him, not when their cook-pot had been abandoned, but there would still be a warm fire if they found enough shelter to protect it from the storm. Or if they found kindling and logs that were not already soaked through.
She missed their fireplace.
And their bath full of hot water.
She shivered, forcing herself to move when Grimult landed, not wanting to overtax him. He staggered slightly at the landing, and she put her legs down as soon as she could, hoping to steady him, but only managed to tangle their limbs and send them both tumbling to the ground.
“Sorry,” she burst out, wanting to laugh, wanting to cry. Wanting more than anything to see him dry and warm.
Grim shook his head. “It’s all right,” he assured her, not bothering to move as he took in great lungfuls of air, the rain continuing to pelt down upon him from above.
