Prickly thorns, tender roses

Choice

The man called Faur spoke little, as she came to find. But he led them through the dark with enviable skill, and having no choice Ravenna did her utmost in keeping to his lively pace. They couldn't linger and so they did not, and a predawn twilight draped the world by the time they reached a lonely murmuring stream in the woods, set in their way.

Ravenna rushed by the bank and knelt, allowing her belongings to fall at her side. She cupped her hands and proceeded to wash her face.

The icy water was invigorating to her tired skin, and it was much needed after yet another sleepless night. All that happened left her drained, both of body and mind. Ravenna felt depleted, and aching in more ways than one: it was astonishing to find how many tints and shades of pain existed, from pangs of discomfort to downright misery. Until recently, she'd only known the physical kind. Even now, her head and feet complained the more she pushed herself, but she steeled her shaky resolve and walked on.

And the stranger would not wait. He appeared to be in haste, which she attributed to his outspoken wish of reaching his home sooner than later. Yes, physical pain she could weather. But then there was the other shade, the one clouding the spirit, that turned the soul into a murky basin of regret and bitterness. That which came of need and remembrance. She missed him.

Just as Ravenna was foolishly dwelling on the memory of summer scents and skin, she felt Faur's presence beside her. Looking to her left, she saw his gaze cast ahead of them.

"You are weary," he stated. "We're not far off now."

He'd revealed that his hut was located near the main road she'd need to take to eventually reach the northern border of Wallachia. Ravenna recalled that path through the mountains, and decided that would be her goal. For better or worse, she was yet alive and in good strength, though the dent in her chest remained and the storm clouds over her mood persisted. She loathed how images flitted before her mind's eye and refused to disperse. Most involved him, in moments she both wanted to relive and forget. Ravenna wondered how he was faring, and ached all the more thinking of the emptiness he dwelt in and what brought him there.

"Here," she heard, then saw Faur's outstretched hand, presenting her something. "Dried bread husk. Not the most sought for delicacy, but it goes on the road. You must be famished, you look it."

Ravenna eyed the offering with unveiled suspicion, and Faur sighed tiredly. "Why would I spare you, only to poison you later?" His crooked smile revealed straight, even teeth.

She thought there was something wolfish about his appearance, as though he was ever on edge and scouring his surroundings for unseen foes. Still Ravenna conceded and reached for the piece of dried food. She was so weak her head had begun a light spin. "Thank you." As she revealed her palm to receive the food, her naked wrist was exposed, along with the two bite marks still marring her skin.

His gaze lingered for mere moments before his eyes slowly trailed up to hers. Ravenna took the bread from him and hastily retrieved her wrist. "It is not what you think."

"And how would you know what I think?" Faur sat down, crossing his legs, unaffected by what he'd seen and apparently uncaring of her unease.

Ravenna lowered her eyes to the flowing waters. The growing variations of birdsong heralded an early dawn in the forest. "I was attacked."

"And your other wrist?" Faur asked then, his tone unchanged, and Ravenna felt compelled to tell him it was none of his business; then again, she did owe him civility for the essential aid he provided, if nothing else.

"That is too long a story to tell," Ravenna settled, and to her relief there was no prodding from his side. She saw him shrug from the corner of her eye as Faur rose to his feet.