Private A Bad Place To Be

Vyn took the offered hand, mock checking it for broth. Her grip was light and calloused from a life of things held too long and let go too late. “Xen. Good sound to it.” Said it aloud so that she may better remember it. It was a good name. Sharp on the way in, soft on its way out.

The compliment made her snort. Looked down her robes. Calling them red today was beyond generous, but there had been a time. Faded and splotched in an unevenness of a life spent on the road, they’d seen better days. Patched with three different color fabrics. Left sleeve not quite matching its twin.

“These?” A small tug at the shoulder. Something to fluff them up a bit. Like a bird preening. And the joke of it made the cold less cold. “These are the finest moth bitten fabrics coin can buy. We pass them down for generations. You should see what the robes looked like before the dog got to them.”

She tilted her head towards the end, with curiosity of her own.

“Ever met the Elum?” She spoke it casually like she wasn’t one of them. “We pass through the Sink, sure. But we don’t linger. Not the kind of place that lets you.” Her eyes went to the edge of camp, snowing becoming slush.

“Not a lot of Elum ever get seen there.” And softer. “You notice a lot, Xen?”

Vyn looked to the fire again. Easier than staring at honesty. She let the warmth do its work and untangle her tongue. She couldn’t be honest with the woman, not really – but the degree of falsehood was always a dance.

“He wasn’t mine.” A small smile as she stirred the embers. “Dog belonged to someone with better boots and worse manners.” And then leaned to Xen like it was a secret. “But it liked me best.” Proud, because that's what counted.

She couldn’t fully ignore the woman’s confession. She would return recognition in kind. “Yeah, that one’s mine.” A small nod. “The figure in white. Gets shy with visitors.” And a small smile. “Doesn’t bite unless you sneeze a lot.”

“We got the fire now.” A look to Xen. “And someone to talk to. It’s not nothin’.” She stopped there unsure how to ask without asking. “But then what?” What was the other woman hoping for out here? Best she could do on her own is simply die a couple miles down the road tomorrow. Or...

“If you’re aiming south, might want to walk with us. The Wagons.” She tried to make it encouraging. Cold made it difficult. “No contracts or blood pacts. Just breakfast and maybe boots your feet don’t freeze in.”

The younger woman seemed haunted by something. Must’ve been some debt to brave the snow on your own. But Vyn had ghosts enough of her own not to pry. Poked at the fire, movement warming her hands.
“Good.” With as much weight as her cold self could muster. “Everyone carries their weight.” She spoke to the woman, but nodded to the flame. “No one asks anything more, no one gets anything less.”

It must’ve all sounded terribly bleak.

“We eat when we can. Move when it’s time. Fight when we must. That’s the Road.” A small grin. Any bigger and she’d risk biting her lip on the way down.

“And if you ever get tired? Lean. Just don’t forget to walk after.” Remembered her own weakness more fondly than she thought possible. Her boot tapping the ground slowly.

“We’ve all leaned before.”

She nodded, absentminded, because they were in agreement. Road. Life. Whatever you chose to call it. Rules were quite simple, and it appeared the younger woman was already well acquainted.
„Not sure anyone settles anything out here.“ The tone was light, but the firepoking hand tightened around the stick. „But it's a good thing owing the Road a favor. Keeps you honest.“ Lately she had increasing difficulty with that last bit. Honest. What did that even mean? There was so much that had to remain hidden.

And, honestly, she was getting very tired of it all.

“Elum” She corrected without thinking. “Means forgotten, if you ask the old ones. Means not stopping, if you ask anyone else.” She could already hear the scolding in the back of her mind. Because the story she told wasn’t accurate. But it was close enough. The meaning was there.

“You’ll fit in fine.” And, finally looking back at the woman: “Just don’t let the little ones know you thought it was Elumni.” Voice flat as it comes, but her eyes betrayed the teasing. “Might never live it down.”

Vyn’s eyes went a bit wider at the wordplay. Whether Xen realized it or not, that was a very Elum thing to do. Whether she chose to share the Road or not – she was clearly already Wagonfriend. The spirit of the moment was quickly pushed down by melancholy. Many Deva she’d met along her path had dreams about the world before. The life before. Glory days, or some such. While she never really wished to know – she could appreciate the hope of it. There were probably great stories there.

Come to think of it…

“The Old Ones do remember.” Voice slowly picking up, gaining weight. A performer winding up. “But not like you’d think. Let me tell you a story.” A sniffle caught in her nose, threatening the mood, but not enough to extinguish it.

She would’ve poked the fire for added crackle and drama, but she’d been relieved of duty. So she simply began the story instead.

“There was a Deva once, one of the Old Ones. He didn’t leave a name behind, so we’ll call him Bob. Cause it’s catchy.” She gave Xen a smile, reigning in some of the enthusiasm. It wasn’t for the children this time around. “But he was a memory keeper. Only he didn’t trust the words alone, so he tried to carry the truth of the world in a bowl. Real big one. Some say obsidian, but that’s probably too much.” Her hands cupped the nonexistent thing. “Colorful and edged with silver, it was beautiful. And every time someone told him a story, he’d catch it.” She snatched a bit of nothing out of the air and fed it to the bowl. “Didn’t matter what type of truth it was, so long as it had weight. He’d whisper them all into the bowl.” And so did Vyn as she hunched slightly.

“People saw how devoted Bob was, so they started bringing him their own memories as offerings. Anything they could do. So their stories wouldn’t be lost. And he caught them all. For a while.” Her face took a dramatic turn.

“But bowls you see… they crack. Small bits at first, hairline really. But these spiderwebs grow and the liquid seeps through, memory fed to the ground beneath.” Her foot moved out of the way to avoid being washed with memory.

“Bob didn’t notice right away. And names got smudged, faces blurred… even lost a whole wedding once. The bowl never spilled, but it left a trail wherever he went.” Her face back to its smiling self.

“By the time he got wise to it, it was too late. He’d forgotten most of the ones that came to him. Couldn’t even remember why he made the bowl in the first place. So he set it down on the side of the road and walked on. Empty handed, yes, but finally lighter. And behind him?”

Vyn looked over her own shoulder.

“A road. Winding and glimmering faintly with all the memories that dripped behind. Not a single one wasted.” She looked at the fire, then Xen.

“So if the Old Ones forgot, we’re still alright. Because the Road remembers for them.”

She found her own head bobbing at the catchy bit. She could make a song of that one day! Would just need to find someone more gifted to actually sing it.
But then Xen asked her next question and the moment was gone.
Of course Bob didn’t try fixing the bowl. Probably even broke the damn thing himself. Stories always seemed fun, until you were tasked with carrying all of them.
Then it was just too much.
But you could never allow them to be forgotten, such was not the Road.

“Maybe he did try, and it just didn’t take.” Bob sounded like a guy who would do that. Break his own bowl then act surprised.
Her eyes followed the blanket going down between them before settling back on the fire.
“You can sleep inside,” She said flat. Not like she dragged Xen out here only to have her become an icicle overnight. “Just don’t hog the covers. I’ll blame Bob!”

“You should go ahead. I’ll join you shortly.”

Fire cracked, and silence grew. It was easier to think without an audience.

'O-kay, then!' Rocking to her feet, Xenovia stutter stepped her way over to the tent, the fire's touch fading as she dipped her head inside. Pausing at the threshold, she took a moment to glance over her shoulder. Vyn still sat huddled by the campfire, her robes bunched about her as she stared into the flames. An air of loneliness surrounded her, and for half a beat Xen found herself tempted to go back.

A hug might've done them both some good.

Letting the tent flap fall behind her, Xen settled down for the night. Outside the canvas walls, the wind continued to howl, like a creature driven mad with cold. 'Goodnight, world,' Xen muttered sleepily, the furs piled atop her muffling her voice. 'See you in the morning.' Eyes closed, it wasn't long before sleep came to claim her. The land of dreams awaited.

What she found were nightmares in disguise.

Blood stained the canvas overhead. Red as wine, and just as sweet, it filled Xenovia's mouth, choking her, clogging her throat and lungs like river water. Help! Help! Her thoughts ran wild as she struggled for air, rolling this way and that, her legs and arms a frenzied tangle as they fought to throw aside her sleeping furs.

'H-help,' she gasped, her lips coming unsealed as she bumped into someone, something lying beside her. The world responded in slow motion as she realised she could breathe- speak, even. But the fear clutching her heart would not let go. Could not.

Xenovia saw the figure stir.

'Help me.'

She hadn’t meant to come inside, because the nights were easier with some distance. But the cold dug much deeper than pride, and before long, the tent flap would seal shut – firedeath following soon after.

So she lay beside Xen’s restless form. Just close enough to feel warm, but far enough not to let herself relax. The other woman was restless through the night. But, bad dreams or no, they were hers and Vyn didn’t intrude. People were entitled to sadness of their own.

She did keep a mental count of how many times the squirming woke her. By the fifth, she was far less understanding. Still, she never interrupted the sleeper. Xen needed the rest.

Fear came with the morning sun. Deeper than the restlessness of the past evening. Vyn was still half awake when she heard it. The call. She didn’t need to be told twice.

She moved slowly. Didn’t speak yet. Somehow it felt like the moment was too fragile for anything other than silence. One arm across the space between them. It couldn’t have been more than an arm’s length, but it felt so far.
She drew Xen in, furs and all. Slow. Careful. More than a little awkward. But warm. Safe.
Didn’t ask about the dream or comment on the trembling breath and the flinch that came after.
She just held on.

And stayed.

“The first or the sixth time?” A small, sleepy grin, before she dug her head back into the furs.
“Don’t blame me if a bird shits in your hair.” Voice muffled; more fur than Vyn by the end.
Just five more minutes.

Didn’t look after Xen as she exited, but the smile lingered a moment longer.




The morning hit sharp and clear. Sun was out, but it kept teeth of frost. Not even the clearest days were ever fully warm. The storm had left no trace, except a day enhanced by snowlight. A few birds chirped with tentative optimism.

And then, movement, at the very edge of camp.
Half shadowed by the pile of firewood, crouched a gaunt, vaguely humanoid figure. One of Vyn’s.
It was bent over, in the middle of placing more logs atop a tidy pile of fresh firefuel.
Snow had been cleared in a neat and deliberate radius around the tent.

Pale froze the moment it realized it was visible.

Then without a sound, still hunched over, it began to crabwalk away sideways. Slowly. Carefully.
As if pretending they had never seen each other might somehow work.