Morning comes pale and merciless.
She is already awake when I open my eyes, seated by the fire as if distance has existed for hours, expression composed enough to insult artists. The bedroll beside me retains the faint warmth of where she had been.
No mention passes between us. Naturally. I rebuild the fire while she packs the cups.
“You snore less when conquered by exhaustion,” she says.
“You drool when plotting theft.”
“I took nothing.”
“Half my blankets.”
“Then improve your perimeter.”
There. Terms restored. The night filed away under mutually beneficial fiction.
We break camp at first light and continue deeper where the forest begins experimenting openly with geometry. Trees grow from stones too smooth to hold roots. A fallen trunk lies across our path until we step around it and discover no trunk was ever there. Birdsong repeats the same three notes for an hour from changing directions. I mark all of it, then mark Aeryn’s responses beside it.
When branches lean inward overhead, she slows before blind turns. When running water sounds near, her shoulders ease. When fungal light appears under dead leaves, she avoids stepping directly across it. When visions threaten, she touches the inside of her left wrist with her thumb as though grounding herself through pulse. Useful.
At midday the trail divides along a ravine veiled in climbing ivy. She glances right for a fraction too long, then deliberately points left.
“This way remains clear.”
She expects me to reject the offered route on principle or accept it through habit. Either would be predictable.
I take the right path.
She stops. “That wasn’t my answer.”
“I’m broadening my education.”
The right trail climbs sharply over slick roots and broken stone. For twenty difficult minutes it appears I have chosen well. The canopy opens enough to admit clean sunlight. The ground remains firm. Fresh deer tracks suggest passage by creatures wiser than most men. Then the path narrows against a steep drop where loose shale shifts beneath the beasts’ weight.
One animal stumbles hard, nearly dragging its load into the ravine.
I seize the harness, drive my heels into gravel, and haul until balance returns. Stones rattle into unseen depth below. Aeryn is beside me instantly, cutting free a snagged strap before panic spreads.
Together we steady the beast and guide it across. Partial success. The route was not ideal. Neither was it disastrous. My choice proved something better than certainty. I can still adapt outside prepared rooms.
When we reach level ground again, I retie the loads with tighter knots and hand Aeryn the lead rope.
“You helped quickly,” I say.
“I prefer surviving my own manipulations.”
“So you admit them.”
“I admit self-interest.”
Close enough. I am starting to adore this banter between us. She is so quick to answer, so refreshing…
From then on I shorten distance deliberately. When the trail narrows, I keep her ahead where I can watch posture and hesitation. At water crossings, I go first and hold the line until she follows. During breaks, I sit near enough to hear changes in breathing that might signal an incoming vision. Freedomof movement contracts by degrees subtle enough to deny accusation, firm enough to matter.
She notices before the hour ends.
“You’ve become clingy.”