Leo groaned, rolling onto his feet. He took off everything but his long shirt, squeezing the moisture from his garments and tying them to his pack. Talia looked impressed by his swiftness and knot-tying, if nothing else.
It was a long, cold, uncomfortable trek into the woods before Talia finally stopped in a clearing. “Here is safe enough,” she said.
Leo sank to his feet.
“Don’t stop,” she said. “You need to make a fire.”
“Can’t you–”
“Do. Not. Stop. Moving!”
He sighed, and she slipped away into the trees, presumably to make sure the clearing was as safe as she declared. He set up camp without her, stripping off everything, hanging it from the branches, and wrapping the blanket around his shoulders instead. He’d packed it well enough that it was only damp. His fingers were numb, but the fire had finally started to reach some of him by the time Talia returned.
She sat down on the ground, far from the fire, and said nothing.
“You’re angry with me,” said Leo eventually.
“Perhaps,” she said. “Or myself. I’m trying to work out if either is justified.”
“Why would you be angry at yourself?”
“For letting you cross. For not insisting we take the safer route. We are not yet pushed for time. A few hours would have been lost, but now they’ve been lost anyway; we cannot move until your clothes dry.”
Leo nodded. “And… you’re angry at me because I slipped?”
She shook her head. “Anyone could have slipped. You were being as careful as you could be. I think I might be angry because you came alone, because it’s harder when you don’t have help, but…”
“But what?”
She shook her head. “I have decided not to be angry,” she said. “So it doesn’t matter.” She looked up. “It’s midday. This clearing is as warm as it can be. Keep turning your clothes, rest. Hopefully we’ll get a few more hours to travel before nightfall.” She got up again.
“Where are you going?”
“Not far. Shout if you require me.”
Leo watched her go, vanishing almost immediately into the trees. She certainly was a strange one. Did she live a life such as this because she disliked company so much? Maybe she was uncomfortable about the fact he was naked underneath the blanket. It wasn’t necessarily his preference either, but you couldn’t see anything.
Then again, if her aversion to being touched came from a violent act in her past… he couldn’t blame her.
He wished she’d come back, if only for someone to talk to. Warming up was a miserable enough affair as it was, and passing the time by himself, trying not to fixate on the sounds of the forest, was no easy task.
Talia reappeared a few hours later. “Are your clothes dry yet?” she asked promptly.
Leo shrugged. “Almost.”
“And you have recovered?”
He nodded.
“Good. We have at least three hours of daylight left and the terrain is easy enough. Let’s not waste any more time.”
Talia turned around while he changed, rolled away his equipment, and stamped out the fire, glancing back only briefly to ensure he was ready. She set off at a brisk pace and did not stop for several hours. She didn’t break a sweat, not even as the ‘easy terrain’ gave way to thick undergrowth, the forest floor dense with ferns and branches that snapped underfoot. It was dispiriting to spend so long clambering through it, only to glance back and realise how little you’d travelled. Talia seemed to glide through, as if the plant life was no more trouble than a breeze.
By the time three hours had passed, he was soaked through again and panting hard. He was unprepared for this. If he’d had longer to train, if he’d been more active in his youth…
“That… was easy…?” he wheezed.
“Well, nothing came alive, chased you, poisoned you or–”
“All right, yeah, easy. God,” he stared at the ground, trying to steady his breathing, “how do you live like this?”
Talia did not answer. “There’s a stream ahead, if you want to freshen up,” she said. “I’ll see if I can get a fire started.”
Leo did not argue. He dumped his pack, unbuckled anything vaguely loose, and strolled off in the direction she indicated. He shoved his entire face in the water and guzzled greedily, splashing his neck, arms, anything. He’d sweated more in the past few hours than he had in an entire summer back in Germaine. Just how easy had his life been before?
He knew he was privileged. He knew that other people had it much harder. But he hadn’t even begun to understand just how that felt until now, until he’d felt a fragment of their exhaustion.
He stumbled back to camp, sodden and fresh, slumping down beside the fire and groaning as he rubbed his aching muscles.
“Missing your comfortable castle?” Talia smirked.
“Who wouldn’t miss that?”
“Fair point.”
She’d set up his fire and was cooking mushrooms over it. She’d added a bit of his smoked meat and tossed some herbs in. Rosemary? Simple a dish as it was, it smelled delicious, although there wasn’t much for two of them.
“I’m going to, er, freshen up,” she said. “I’ve already eaten, so don’t hold back.”
She couldn’t have eaten much, but he wasn’t going to push the issue. She hardly seemed like the type to go hungry on his account.
“Thank you,” he said.
She shrugged, as if ashamed of the praise. “It’s nothing,” she insisted, as she slipped away.
He tucked into his meal alone, once more aware of the pressing silence. Talia wasn’t gone for too long, this time, although she didn’t look much fresher when she returned. She was still streaked with mud. She sat down opposite, straight as an arrow. He’d never seen someone so stiff beside a fire before.
“Tell me about yourself,” he said.
Talia bristled. “There’s… little tell.”
“How old are you?”
She opened her mouth quickly, as if to spit out the answer, but then closed it momentarily. “I’ve lost count,” she admitted finally. “About your age, I assume.”
“I’m nineteen,” said Leo. “Is that about right?”
“About. I think. Like I said, I lost count, when there was no one…”
When there was no one to count it with her.
“Favourite colour?”
“Blue.”
“Favourite food?”
At this, Talia let out a soft moan. “Apple pie. But it’s been so long I can barely remember the taste, or the smell…” She sighed longingly.
Leo smiled. “I like that, too. We have a version in Germaine with dates and raisins and–” He stopped, suddenly aware that Talia had probably never experienced such luxuries. “Tell me a story,” he said. “One of your favourites.”
“I am no storyteller–”
“Then tell me why it is your favourite.”
Talia chewed her lip. “Have you ever heard the Ballad of Cecilia Brightsmoke?”
Leo nodded. It was a very old tale of a young noblewoman who escapes an arranged marriage by running away to the woods, where she befriends a group of mercenaries, learns the way of the sword, and ends up saving a kingdom from an oncoming invasion. “One of my favourites. Why is it yours?”