Cheese and Fashionable Hats #2
The second and third days were easier than the first.
The trail widened as they descended; the sheer drops giving way to more forgiving slopes.
The goats seemed almost cheerful, picking up their pace as though eager to graze in the lowlands.
Even Noctis, who had been trotting ahead with his usual vigilance, allowed himself to fall back and walk beside Rion’s mount, his tongue lolling in what Lark could only describe as a wolfish grin.
“He’s glad to be going somewhere,” Rion said, reaching down to scratch behind the wolf’s ears. “He’s not built for mountains.”
“None of us are built for mountains.” Pippa was braiding her hair as she rode, a feat of coordination that Lark found both impressive and slightly alarming. “Except maybe Darian. He’s built for everything. It’s annoying.”
“I’m not annoying. I’m adaptable.”
“Same thing.”
The banter continued as they rode, a comfortable back-and-forth that required no thought and provided a pleasant accompaniment to the journey.
Lark found herself contributing more than she usually did, drawn out by the warmth of the group, by the absence of immediate threat, by the genuine pleasure of being with people who knew her and liked her anyway.
By mid-afternoon they had reached the treeline, leaving the bare rock and scrub of the tall peaks behind for the embrace of the forest. The air was warmer here, thick with the scent of resin and growing things.
Birds called from the branches overhead, and small animals rustled in the undergrowth, fleeing the approach of the goats.
“We should reach the foothills by tomorrow,” Darian said, consulting a map he had acquired in Springhope. “Then it’s onto the Trader’s Way. More traffic, more settlements, more chances to resupply.”
“And more chances to be recognized,” Lark said.
“You’re not recognizable. Not yet. The guilds operate in Summerbright and its immediate surroundings. Out here, you’re just another traveler.”
“A traveler with silver hair and pale skin. I’m not exactly forgettable.”
“Then we’ll get you a hat.”
“A hat.”
“An enormous hat. With a brim. Very fashionable.” Darian’s expression remained perfectly serious. “No one questions a woman in a fashionable hat.”
Lark stared at him, trying to determine if he was joking. With Darian, it was often impossible to tell.
“He’s not wrong,” Pippa offered. “Fashion is excellent camouflage. I once infiltrated a merchant's ball by wearing an exceptionally ugly dress. Everyone was so busy being horrified by my taste that they forgot to check my invitation.”
“Did that actually happen?” Rion asked.
“It might have happened. The details are fuzzy. But my point stands.”
They made camp that night in a small clearing beside a stream, the water icy cold from the mountain runoff but clean enough to refill their waterskins.
Pippa declared she was going to bathe, and despite the temperature, she stripped to her underclothes and waded in, shrieking at the cold but refusing to get out.
“She’s going to freeze to death,” Darian observed.
“She’s making a point,” Lark said. “About what, I’m not sure.”
Pippa emerged from the stream shivering but triumphant, her curls plastered to her head, her lips slightly blue. “Invigorating,” she declared to Lark through chattering teeth. “You should try it.”
“I will not be trying it.”
“Coward.”
“Survivor.”
Darian wrapped his cloak around Pippa’s shoulders and guided her toward the fire with the long-suffering patience of a man who had learned to pick his battles.
They settled together on one of the logs Rion had dragged over for seating, Pippa curled against Darian’s side as the heat of the flames chased away her chill.
Lark watched them, struck by the easy intimacy of the gesture. They had been dancing around each other for years, but now, finally, they had stopped dancing and simply settled into each other. It looked comfortable. Natural. Like they had always fit together and had only just realized it.
“They’re good together,” Rion said quietly, coming to stand beside her.
“They are.”
“We could be good together. If you wanted.”
Lark looked at him. The firelight caught the angles of his face, gilded the edges of his ginger hair, and made his single eye gleam with reflected flames. He was watching her with an expression she was learning to read, tentative hope layered over deeper wanting.
“I want,” she said. The words came easier than she had expected. “I’m just not very good at saying it.”
“Neither am I. We can figure it out together.”
Together. The word kept coming up. She was starting to understand why.
That night, they slept pressed close, her head on his chest, his arm around her waist. The fire burned low, and the stars wheeled overhead.
Ahead, Summerbright. Two weeks of travel, uncertainty, and the constant threat of what awaited them at the end.
But here, in this moment, she was warm and safe in Rion's arms.
On the fourth day, they reached the top of the foothills.
The goats had served them well, carrying them down from the heights with patient competence, and when the trail finally leveled out onto a proper road, Lark found herself almost sorry to see them go.
They stood at the edge of the Trader’s Way and watched as the animals turned and began their journey back up into the mountains, following some instinct that would lead them home.
“Do you think they’ll make it?” Pippa asked.
“They made it down with us on their backs,” Darian said. “They’ll make it back up without us.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
“It’s not meant to be reassuring. It’s meant to be accurate.”
The Trader’s Way stretched before them, a wide dirt road that wound through rolling hills dotted with farms and small villages.
After the isolation of the mountains, it felt almost crowded.
Carts rumbled past, their drivers nodding in greeting.
Farmers worked in the nearby fields. A group of children chased each other along the roadside, shrieking with laughter.
Normal life. Lark had almost forgotten what it looked like.
“Two weeks to Summerbright,” Darian said, settling his pack more comfortably on his shoulders. “Assuming we maintain a reasonable pace and don’t run into trouble.”
“When do we ever not run into trouble?” Pippa asked.
“I’m choosing to remain optimistic.”
They set off down the road, four travelers and a wolf, heading toward whatever awaited them at the end.
The sun was warm on Lark’s face; the breeze carried the scent of growing things, and beside her Rion walked with a steadiness that had been absent for so long she had almost forgotten what it looked like.
He caught her watching him and smiled.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing. It's just …” She searched for the right words. “You look better. Stronger.”
“I feel better. Stronger.” He reached out and took her hand, an easy gesture that would have been unthinkable a few weeks ago. “I think it’s the company.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere.”
“That’s what I’m counting on.”
Behind them, Pippa made a gagging noise. “If you two are going to be adorable the entire way to Summerbright, I’m going to need significantly more wine.”
“There’s no wine,” Darian said.
“Then I’m going to need you to find some.”
“I’ll add it to the list.”
Lark laughed, the sound surprising her. When was the last time she had laughed like that, freely and without thought? She couldn’t remember.
The road stretched ahead, long and winding. But for now, she was walking in sunlight with people she trusted, heading toward whatever came next.
It was, she was learning, the only way she wanted to travel anymore.