"Can you two please stop?" Kestria's voice cuts between us. "I will push this cart off a cliff."
Silence. He pulls the cart over a root without breaking stride. His forearm flexes and I look at the canopy.
"Better. Much better."
An hour passes. Maybe more. Keer stays ahead—steady, relentless, pulling the cart over every obstacle without slowing. Kestria fills what gaps she can.
"How many hens are you thinking?"
"Eight. Maybe ten. Depends on what she has."
"That's a lot of chickens."
"That's barely enough chickens. Egg production drops in winter. You need surplus to compensate."
"You've done the math."
"I always do the math."
A branch catches the side of the cart. Keer reaches back to free it—one hand on the branch, one on the frame—and the motion twists his shirt across his back.
I look at the ground.
Root. Another root. Very interesting roots on this trail.
"What about the goat situation? How many?"
"Three females for milking, one male for breeding. Four total."
"Four goats, ten chickens, a rooster, and baskets of poisonous flowers."
"No."
From ahead. He doesn't turn.
"No what?"
"Four goats. No."
"We're discussing this."
"We're not."
My boot catches a root and I stumble. Keer's hand closes around my arm before I've finished falling—fast, instinctive, grip firm on my elbow. He steadies me and lets go in the same motion. Doesn't look back. Doesn't say anything. Just the brief press of his fingers and then nothing, and my arm is burning and I want to scream.
His hand was warm. That's not—the trail. Where was I stepping. What was I doing before I had hands on me. Not hands on me. A hand. One hand. On my elbow. Which is a normal place to grab someone who's falling and I need to stop thinking about his hands.
"Mel?"
"Fine. I'm fine. Roots."
Kestria's watching me with an expression I'm choosing not to interpret.
The trees thin eventually. Stumps, cleared patches, worn paths that widen the way paths do when regular feet use them. Human territory. My throat tightens.
"Market's just ahead. Through those birches."
Keer stops.
