"Amusing."

"Most," she nod, spying how his lips curled, eyes gleamed, and his tusks stood with all their pointed promise.
"There are worse things for a man to be."
"Drab, dull, boring, to name just a few such things," her head bounced along.

"Largely the culprit for how my life has gone, that sense for propriety."

Let his words linger in the air. "Is that so?" she said as she watched him look about.

“Suppose I’ll keep it up, if it makes you smile. ”

How the feeling they brought settled down the base of her. Up her chest and along her neck. "All the more when you smile in turn, Aarno," she said, waiting to catch his eye, and held it.
 
It was so. And he affirmed with a nod of the head, small and easily forgotten to the bob of the ride. Her words though — he’d remember those, the last notion drawing him to relent, to gaze at her again.

Not dull, not boring, not drab. That was most of his worries gone now wasn’t it. With that to spend he braved holding her look, to meet her as she met him. Could do it without smiling for the total of six seconds. An exhale turned to a laugh.

“ You should find my smile rather agreeable? “ He teased, letting it spread a little wider, crinkling the corners of the eyes. “ Anything else? “
 
The laugh. Like a warm crumble of sun baked earth come free from the stubborn rock it so oft clung to. Buoyed the feeling that sprung from her chest. Caused her to crack.

"The way you look," she said, leaning into her own stare, for emphasis. "At things with such intensity," eased back, rounds of her cheeks still warmed by the blush. Nod, and turned her eyes away. Stole a little truth for herself as the woods opened unto a sunbathed glade.

The bird song came clear across the grass, and the wildflowers danced their petaled dance against the breeze. She slowed Roci's trot to a walk. Then stilled. The horse's tail swished, and Helena hopped down from the saddle.

"A fine place for camp, aye, Syr Latva?" she teased. Already pulling free her pack, though the warmth she felt across her nose felt all the warmer for the day's light against the early spring chill.
 
Too much? He was left with his smiles and tease, properly deservedly, but hardly sorry for it. The trees gave way to something rather storybook and though a change in subject occurred, unbidden it was not. They’d earned a wealth of traveling for today and the dark here fell fast after the Sun was well past it’s zenith.

He made a show of stopping Svala, still for a spell wherein he regarded the glade at length. Not with doubt, but linger behind when another had already dismounted, allowing him listen to the sounds of her hassling the pack off Rocinante. Efficient, decisive. He’d not disagree.

“ Quite so, Captain. “ He affirmed finally, stroking Svala’s dappled neck afore dismounting himself. It felt good to stand and he shook the tension out of his shitty knee on his way leading Svala to the shade of the surrounding copse. A particularly large and burrladen linden tree loomed there amidst the other old things, perfect to rest one’s weary bones against.

Later. Once he’d stopped Svala and begun liberating it off it’s burdens, he glanced sidelong to whence he came — the sunbathe meadow with it’s flowers and the little rocks pocking the grass that waved in the breeze. A spot to dine at, for sure, but first—

“ I’ll forage for some tinder. “ he started, putting down his pack in a nook where the linden’s large roots vanished to the ground. The kettle tied to it’s side gave a pointed clatter.

“ Afternoon tea is way overdue, no? “
 
"Tea arrives precisely when it needs to, Syr Aarno," the Captain addressed as she set up her part of the camp. "Not a moment fore, or a moment there after," she spoke too seriously. Bundle of things there under her arm as she walked out to the sun poured meadow. "And it sounds lovely,"

Snapping a woolen blanket across a fair spot beside a mossy stone, sunbaked and flower laden there as it stood proud above the swaying grass. Smile in her voice.

"I would love a cup," she assured, as she crouched low, and bent to the work of smoothing the bit of comfort she hoped to share. "I even brought some nibblings for such an occasion," she looked over to the big man and his goings on. Eyes eager to take in the sight of him. "A family recipe in fact," she shared. "I would say I were nervous to let you try them, in that you might find them disagreeable to your pallet, but then, that would just mean more for me," a wolfish glee to the squint of her eyes and curl of her lips. She took from her pack a tin, flowers embossed there upon its silver skin. "You've not any nut allergies, do you, Aarno?"
 
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He huffed at what he had to figure was jest for how unserious it was. Lawless. Tea does not simply arrive. It needs making and won’t be done, precisely or otherwise, before one does so. These are the rules. Whether any which frivolity was needed at all, at any time, was another matter to itself. Who decides such things?

The bitten back retorts shone on his face, jaw working like that of a cow mulling on particularly tough grass. He bent to gather bits and pieces, the dry and dead of the bountiful canopies that’d reduce him to mere another shade beneath them. In the sun and glowing for it, she’d chatter on and he’d listen as he managed, stealing glances.

More for me— Got a smile out of him. It twisted a little, falling lopsided with a peculiar flavour of thought, like fascination or disbelief or other, as she continued to the inquiry. He straightened, stacking another stick underarm.

“ No. I’ve had plenty. “ He responded belatedly, the brighter tone of amusement upon him as he meandered back to the spot beneath the linden. “ Nuts, I mean. “ On a level, grassless spot of dirt he’d methodically lay what he’d gathered, making a little nest from fallen branches for all the yesteryears leaves.

“ I only brought the one kind of blend. “ He informed with an elevated voice past the clatter of metal come from untying the kettle from his pack. It was promptly set down by the firepit, to wait. “ But I felt it safe, since you’ve had it before. “

On that one particularly cold day that’d begun so wretched. Was a while ago now, wasn’t it. More metal clicked as he loosed the flint and steel from his belt, striking the latter against the former above a small bundle of old hay. For a spark that’d take, rather than just smoke before petering out.
 
Her eyes followed him a moment. Watched as he moved about. That uneven gait of his. How he favored one side, and yet, went on carrying on. Had set himself to that task before him. Simple as it was. But he would do it thoroughly. Proper. Not a measure missed as those big hands-

"No. I've had plenty."
​
She huffed a warm little laugh and smiled to herself.

"Nuts, I mean."​

"I guessed as much," she let him know. Eyes moving back to the tin she held there tween her hands, but no rush to them. Set that down. And went on setting the little patch they would share, there above the wool. Saw a moment how the grass swayed in the chill breeze of early spring. Felt the sun, pouring down its warm light unto her rich skin.

Chords of muscle starting to relax the more with each push and pull of breath. She set the tin down, and worked herself up. Prowled over to the shade, where in Aarno's eyes almost glowed with how bright their gold looked there in the shadow of that linden tree. Steps careful and quiet.


“ I only brought the one kind of blend... But I felt it safe, since you've had it before."
​
"Ah, when you had called my heart, hmm, what was it," she asked as she circled round the man. Slow and measured in her gait as she sized him up. "Stalwart, I believe?" She smiled for him. "I rather liked that, I must confess," She looked to the pile of tinder, and those burned bits still smoking. "As I did the tea," she added. Looked back to his measuring eyes. All play curling at her lips. And the look of you at work.
 
Whoever had said that the real slow living amongst the elements cradled one’s frayed nerves was full of shit. Suppose that was easy to think in some parlour out there, or even the monastery where so many things were provided. Fuck, he’d thought that earlier today, despite age old experience.

Come on, you piece of shit. He realized too late she’d come around to his shade, with those deft steps, too close for how his face had fallen into the concentrated frown. Annoyance too, which fueled the next strike of the flint. He glanced up from the task in passing, scraping some spirit into his expression.

“ I figured as much. “ He echoed, self-satisfaction twitching the lips. A brighter spark finally licked the straw to life, so he encouraged it with a breath before tugging the tiny flame into the shelter of the rest of the tinder. Thank fuck, it didn’t go out.

He sat back, inspecting the kettle for dirt before pouring water in it from his skin.

“ You figure there is a stream up here, somewhere? “ Put the cork back on, while glancing about the woods idly. Then back to her.

“ For the horses. And to top off, at least before we head out tomorrow. “
 
A flutter of laughter fell from Helena's breath. Low and thrumy against the air. There was the spark. The tender little thing. Glowing all the brighter for all the breath he gave it. Its gold glow burning red orange against the slate stone landscape of Aarno's features.

"I not only figure there is one," she said with dip and bounce. Grabbed up the water skins. "I know," she hefted it up, and slung it over her shoulder. Quiet as she had stepped toward him, she stepped away. "Even where we can find ourselves a hotspring," she said, eyeing him over her shoulder as she calmly made for the horses. Another little adjustment of the water bag, almost a dare in and of itself. And she turned to the yawning green tranquility before them.

Best to do what needed doing there and then, she figured. Before all their bones were good and settled, and rest weighed heavy on them with all its delight.
 
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The nigh empty skin left his hands before he could as much as realize what was happening and sooner yet she was promising so much — and leaving him behind. He finally closed his mouth and drew breath to speak, doing all of it at her distancing back.

“ I didn’t mean right now. Helena? “ He protested, submit to watching her go. It wasn’t a bad sight at all; dark cloud of coils, broad warrior’s shoulders, powerful legs that’d carry her away despite all that time in the saddle. Probably was a nice ass too, under the dust- and horsehair-marked back of her garb, not that he’d seen it — not like the wolfish smiles and that damn devilish glint in her eye when she meant to pry something out of another and knew she could. She knows exactly what she is doing.

Sooner the ten hells froze over than his old bones hiked after her like some overly eager spring colt. The fire has been started, to be tended, and there is tea for making, and yet— why remaining here was just about as stupid as not? Or so it felt.

He glared at the kettle he’d been deserted with. One of the horses gave a nicker — sounded weirdly like laughter, when one was in the mood to be mocked.

“ No need to be so coarse. “ He huffed back at it, low enough that perchance whom left for the woods would no longer hear. “ I know she is clever. And pretty. “

And the Captain. Of Dawn.

Saying nothing more, for neither horse argued back, he added tinder to the flame and dug in his pack for the tea. A squat rectangular tin with a pewter spoon and neatly folded paper bag inside, plenty crinkled where it had been opened and closed multiple times. He undid the tie and sniffed the contents.

The smell of a winter morning. And all the afternoons at the workshop, no matter the season. Faces of different apprentices, most of which didn’t stick. They hated the dust and how the stone was heavy and yielded to hammer in unforgiving ways, differently from metal. Chips, cracks, not forged, but shaped.

It was for the youth to care for the sword, not the bricks around them. This much made sense.

He closed the bag, leaving it by the pot that would yet wait for a proper ember, and got up from where he sat, grunting as an old man did now that he was alone. Restfully, he eyed the surrounding again and took a breath to just enjoy the quiet, wherein birds chirped and wood crackled as immense heat tore at it. Wind was in the branches, prying dry croaks out of them, and the young grass whispered so much blissful nothing. In the brightness of the meadow, lay what she’d built in turn.

A spot in the Sun, from softer things. Curiousity bid that he stray and explore beforehand, but wouldn’t that just spoil it all? He looked again to the fire, a little reluctantly, and adjusted it with a long stick. Poke poke.

Suppose hot springs sounded plenty nice, right about now that the day's travel had begun descending on the entire length of his spine. Wonder how far they are from here?

More tinder, a branch snapped in half. Soon he’d put the kettle on.
 
Knelt by the river, Helena uncorked the waterskins. Felt the cool run rush there against her bones. How its kiss, like another layer of her that soothed the hot work of life, flowed about her. Where it began and she ended. As it went on running. Off into the distant Sea of Glass. Glimmered along its surface, a thing near unseeable, save the shadows it painted upon the round stones there beneath its lucent veil.

Glug went the mouths of those bladders that would hold their water, that still need be boiled.

"What am I doing?" she asked herself. Eyes upon the minnows that flit like little darts about bits of stream grass protruding from the mud. "Does he think me wrong?" she went on. "Abusing my station, surely,"

A clatter on high. Too bright. Too practiced. She needn't see to whom it belonged to know. "Why worry, why?" came the voice of one dark winged flyer. Mover and shaker. They hopped on their branch, just a bit more toward the woman, so bundled in leathers, layered with woolen knit. The collar of her jacket, lined with caribou fur.

She peeled out of that shell. Already feeling hot from their ride. Sets it neatly there beside. Rolls up the sleeves of her good cotton shirt. Gathers water up in one palm. Pours it over one arm. Then the other. "It is foolish to do so," she admits. Splashes some water there behind her neck. So craned to let the kinks of long muscle stretch. "Yet here I am, being so foolish," she laughs.

"Such is mortal," the black feathered bird calls back. Clatters their beak, like a laugh. "Such is mortal,"

She shakes her head. "Would that I could be just a touch less," taking the water skins out.

"Mortal?" the curious bird asks with a cock of its head. "Mortal?"

"Foolish," Helena gives. "You nosy bird," she spies the raven there, high and massive on its branch. Smile there for it to see, bright with a playful heat.

The raven ticks its head. Long beak like a scythe in profile. "Beaky bird," it corrects, eyes tick forward, long hooked beak pointing down at her. "Beaky." Hops off its branch, and takes to the wind with beat and snap of its great midnight wings.

A smile there, lingers, upon Helena's face. She grabs up her things, and begins the march back. Easy steps taken by her long powerful stride. Glad to feel the wind against her skin. Gladder still to smell the smoke, carried there upon the breeze.

"Syr Aarno, I forget," she calls out to him as she sees his great mass come into view. A snow capped peak, there beneath the bough of a great tree. Like something from a fable, and some hidden part of her, well, it likes that too much. "When you were off in your stately towers, what did you study?" she asked as she closed, and let the skins down by his building fire. So sweet smelling, for all its white smoke, and oily needles catching light. "Or have I already asked that of you, and simply find myself wanting to know more?" she smiled soft as her eyes lingered on him and his stare and all its quiet brilliance.
 
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