Page 57 of Winter's Echo
I watched them work from just outside the firelight's reach, my back against the cold rock. Again, I took note of who complained and who didn't.
Most of them complained.
I kept my distance from the fire. Close enough to feel the edge of its warmth, but far enough that leaving wouldn't need explanation. It was a habit I'd kept so long I barely noticed it anymore, the precise balance between being near enough and far enough. Near enough to be present. Far enough to be gone.
I knew Baxley was on watch, but I faced outward. My trust in my own sight was greater than I trusted his.
The soldiers spoke loud enough that I could hear them clearly, no matter how softly they spoke.
“How do we know we aren’t moving in circles?” one muttered, somewhere to my left.
“What if she slips away in the night?” asked another.
I almost smiled. If I'd wanted to leave, I could have. They were still learning what it meant to travel with someone who knew this terrain. The understanding would come, or it wouldn't. Either way, we'd keep heading north.
“You don't trust us much, do you?”
I turned my head. One of the younger soldiers had moved to the edge of the group, close enough that the question was clearly meant for me. His face was open, genuinely curious rather than accusatory. I recognized him; he'd been the one to hold his companion down when I used my dagger to stop the bleeding. He'd listened when I told him what to do and never questioned me. His leather breastplate sat beside him. There seemed to be an unspoken agreement among the soldiers, but after Skallfen, they’d all taken out their leather breastplates.
I didn’t want to remind them that the Frosttaken didn’t need to break through their leather. It simply drained your warmth and, therefore, your life. The warmer you were, the more likely you were to attract its attention.
“Trailfinder?” he prompted.
I met his eyes. “About as much as you trust me.”
He considered that, then unexpectedly nodded, as if my answer was a fair one. Which it was. He'd been hoping for honesty, and he got it.
I looked back toward the darkness. My conversation was over.
Only the gods were not that kind. Frightened soldiers meant they wanted to talk. They wanted comfort, and tonight, it came from talking too much.
“Why do you do it?” one of them asked.
“Do what?” I knew without looking that the question was for me.
“It’s such a…barrenplace.”
“Barren?” I thought about it. “Barren means empty. Does it seem empty to you?”
An uneasy silence followed as they considered the past few days, and I thought that I had finally silenced their conversation.
Again, I was wrong.
“Why aren’t you married?” I turned at that one, my gaze fierce. I saw a soldier blush as my eyes landed on him. He sat beside the one who’d spoken to begin with.
“Why aren’t you?” I shot back.
He looked flustered. “I am.”
He was? He looked too young to be married.
“Why don’t you talk to your companions?” I said without addressing his earlier question. My gaze swept over them. They were gathered around the campfire, looking beat and lost.
I almost felt sorry for them, but they knew what they had signed up for. I hoped.
Nicco sat on a flat rock across from the fire, elbows resting on his knees, staring at nothing in particular, or maybe at everything. With him, it was impossible to tell the difference. Larana sat nearby, sharpening her blade with focused patience that suggested she had been doing it for years and found it almost meditative. Neither of them said a word, though I caught a gleam of amusement in Nicco’s eyes when he looked up and met my gaze.
Baxley appeared from the dark and dropped down beside me without invitation, his shoulder almost touching mine.
