Nix scoffs, and turns her back to Midnight. “You deal with your horse. I’m going to get water.”
She grabs our leather flask pouches and darts into the bushes, leaving me alone with the horses.
Gently, I unhook the straps around Midnight’s saddle and remove it. My new buddy blows air through his nostrils and I pat him on his sturdy neck. “Don’t take it personally, buddy. She’s rude to me, too.”
Midnight shakes his head, as if he can’t believe someone could be rude to me.
“I know,” I say with a sigh.
As I go about checking that the horses are tied loosely to the trees so they can graze around our camp, I keep mental tabs on Nix’s proximity.
I know she’s a capable soldier, more so than me, but my instinct to protect has grown even stronger since we left the safety and comfort of the monastery behind.
She pretends she doesn’t need anyone.
She refuses to.
I tighten Midnight’s strap around the tree.
We’ll see about that.
We’re bound for life, after all.
Through our bond, I sense she’s simmering in her anger, at a close distance. Maybe some alone time by the water will do her good.
As long as she doesn’t jump into the freezing cold water like last time, by the waterfall.
I push that thought aside and get busy.
From around the clearing, I gather dried wood and some dry twigs. I bring it back to the campsite and go fetch some rocks.
Just as I come back to start setting up our small, private fire ring, Nix returns with our skins, full of fresh river water.
“It’s getting dark quickly,” she says, looking up.
“Yeah, the foliage is thick here,” I say.
Using the stones I gathered, I build a small ring of rocks and stack the logs in the center of it. From one of my bags, I get the flint and steel the monks shared with me and kneel next to the wood.
Nix brings our fur sleeping rolls into the camp and sets them next to the boulders.
I strike flint and steel. A spark appears. It’s not enough to light the fire.
Nix’s eyes are on me. Silently, she watches me work.
I strike it again. This time, the spark gives, and the dry twigs catch fire. Soon, the logs are burning, too.
“It won’t attract attention?” Nix asks.
“It’ll help keep us warm for now,” I say. “Once we have dinner, I’m gonna let it die.”
She nods and unfolds the fur rolls. A makeshift bed for the night.
We eat dinner in silence. Some sourdough bread, and three kinds of hard cheese. The monks even packed us some candied dried plums as a dessert.
Many words dance at the tip of my tongue. But I stop myself.
Nix is tired, frustrated, and anxious. Something tells me she would rather not have me running my mouth tonight.
