Ero did his best to hide his impatience. Juen sat next to him, legs curled up, her head on her knees. She had pleaded for a few minutes rest. He could feel her shivers where her shoulder touched his. He unfastened his cloak and settled it over her shoulders.
“I’m alright,” she insisted.
“I’m not cold,” he said truthfully. White fingers slipped out to grasp the frayed edge of the garment and draw it closer. Satisfied, he went back to watching the rain. It gathered in fat drops on the edge of the hayshed that sheltered them and plopped to the puddles on the dirt.
The hay was dry, at least, and gave them some protection from the wind. It wasn’t strong, but enough to keep their faces wet. Hopefully, Juen wouldn’t come down sick.
The sound of the rain helped soothe the drive urging him to keep moving, keep running, never stop. It grew stronger, the longer he was away from people. He could have walked for miles yet.
But she couldn’t. So he sat in the darkness and waited.
“Is it always like this?” Juen asked. The darkness washed her into a darker mass within the night, her pale face just a smear.
“What do you mean, ‘this?’”
“What you do. When you’re not pilfering my jewels.”
He smiled. “A little.”
“Cold?”
“And wet. Lots of walking. Searching.”
“For?”
He shrugged. “A feeling, maybe. A call for help.” The shadows here were soft, no hint of evil, no restless muttering. He’d feel safe to sleep here.
“Do your comrades go with you?”
“No.” No one else could keep up. And he refused to endanger them. It was better to die alone than live with the death of his loved ones. With his failure to protect them.
“Sounds horrid.”
It was, though most people he met thought it romantic and exciting. “It’s not that bad, I suppose. Athus’li, She helps. It’s more boring, actually. It’s nothing like the stories.”
Juen’s voice rippled with hidden laughter. “Tell me honestly, Ero, did you defeat the Giant of Aghasba with a wooden spoon?”
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