Page 43 of The Sun He Buried

Mine stay over his shoulders.

We’re very close.

Sweat shines along his collarbone. His breathing moves beneath my palms. He looks down at my mouth, then back at my eyes.

I know he did that.

He knows I know.

“Are you hurt?”

“No.”

“Certain?”

“I didn’t reach the dangerous part.”

“The ground?”

“Yes.”

“It remains a threat.”

“It has been there all day.”

“Waiting.”

I laugh. His hand moves across the back of my coat and stops above my hip.

He still doesn’t let go.

“I can’t in good conscience let you walk back alone.”

“Because of the ground.”

“I’ve seen what it can do.”

“You’re very brave.”

“I’ll manage.”

He bends and picks up my basket. The shirt remains over his shoulder.

I should tell him to put it on.

“Ready?”

“Yes.”

He puts his free hand at my waist.

We cross the yard slowly. I don’t trip once. This is partly because Baldr guides me around every stake, stone, and patch of uneven dirt.

It’s mostly because I’m watching his hand.

The warmth of it reaches through my coat. His thumb moves each time we turn. My room is inside the hall. We have walked there hundreds of times.

We reach the hall much too quickly.