I hadn’t understood what the stormy season really meant until the morning. Even after starting in the afternoon and going all through the night, it still drizzled in the morning, ground marshy. With the building heat, I couldn’t imagine how unbearable the humidity would soon be. No vest today.

Watching the drops falling down between the trees, I asked, “Will we wait for rain to stop?”

She didn’t answer immediately. “We would rather walk through this than a downpour if we do not find somewhere to stay before the next rain,” she said, no worry in her voice despite what she’d said. Always unhurried, always calm—except when there was reason not to be.

“That is it,” I said. A habit I had started because I found it quite cute whenever she said it. As common as it was in her language, to me, thinking of it in English, it sounded childish. Like intentionally saying a phrase wrong.

Of course, she didn’t care. It was a normal thing for her to hear. So it was a secret “joke”, just for me.

Nothing else to say on the matter, she put out the fire, then readied to leave. I sighed, staring at the ashes for a moment. Our wheat had finally run out. I had rationed the last of it to make hichkle mash for breakfast, more sense to have carbs in the morning, but that was over. Didn’t want to have garlic in it, so it was completely plain hichkle mash from now on.

Picking up my backpack basket, I followed her, heart heavy. The wheat hadn’t really added much to the mash, but, when I had tried plain mash before, it ended up thin, which felt wrong to me. Although I was sure I would get used to it, it was hard to not put my old expectations of food onto the stuff in this world.

Finally clearing the silly thoughts, I focused on walking, the sounds loud today as we squelched and the rain dripped into puddles, insects noisier too, maybe safe from birds for now.

A gentle slope, but that didn’t mean it was easy, my foot often trying to slip out from under me. After struggling with that, I watched how Hyraj walked with shorter steps, her posture more relaxed than usual, and tried to copy. The shorter steps obviously helped a lot, making me feel stupid for not realising sooner. As for posture… it took me a while to feel the difference, sort of keeping my arms low, but not slouching.

I wondered where she’d learned this—if she had learned this. For all I knew, it came naturally to her, gifted at these subtle kinds of sporty things. Maybe athletic fit better? If she had proper shoes, I was sure she could be a cross-country runner.

So my thoughts drifted, not needing to focus as much, and the morning passed. After a short break to eat some fruit and drink water and do what needed to be done after drinking a lot of water, we set off again.

Oh we stopped a lot to drink water these hot, muggy days.

The drizzle didn’t quite want to give up until the afternoon, almost a full day, clouds finally breaking, sunshine trickling through. If this was only the start of the stormy season, I understood why she didn’t want to wait. But then… we had spent so long walking across—couldn’t we have come down sooner?

A question I didn’t want to ask her, either the answer obvious or maybe the question would come off as judging or rude. Not every question needed to be asked.

Finding firewood was tricky, everything on the floor soaked, but there were enough dead branches on trees to grill some beans, stuffing the garlic nuts in for flavour. A small dinner compared to what I’d eaten back at my camp, but it was enough. Or rather, like potatoes, hichkle seemed full of calories, a good portion in the morning keeping me going the whole day.

So we had a small dinner, settled down on the dry spot under the tree, and slept. Who knew how many more nights we would sleep like that.

Another day, the same routine, ground still muddy and air still muggy. As much as a “rush” as we were in, I was glad she still gave me time to wash. If not, well, she was the one who would have to suffer the sweaty stink….

Maybe not entirely selfless of her to let me bathe.

Anyway, we walked and walked, then walked some more. After lunch, we were ready to walk the rest of the day. So we set off, walking and walking, not much talking, quieter since the rain fell. The ground wasn’t too muddy by now, but there were patches and—

“Stop.”

I tried, but my heart pounded, her sudden command bringing me back to when the weird horse-beast stalked us. She hadn’t told me to run this time….

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Listening, it wasn’t unnaturally quiet either. Distant birds still twittered. She didn’t reach for her wand, instead standing still. Standing and looking.

I followed where, not seeing anything at first, taking a good few seconds to realise sticks didn’t pile themselves up like that.

“We should be close to somewhere,” she said and carried on.

Part of me felt drawn to investigate the camp, but it wasn’t like we were hunting down criminals or anything like that, just travellers. No reason to think whoever had made that fire was a criminal either.

So we carried on walking, but there was more weight to every step now. My heart thumped with thoughts of being separated and hopes of being together. It wasn’t just that she was the only person I knew here, or that she’d shown me a lot of kindness, but that I liked her.

It felt awkward to put it so bluntly, but it was true. She put up with me and all my weird quirks and not because she had to rely on me. Like, it wasn’t a coincidence I had no friends. That I spent my free time at school alone and at the orphanage looking after the little ones.

Maybe she had her own reasons, maybe she didn’t like me, but it was nice being around someone who politely tolerated me.

So I walked with that weight in every step. We walked, no other real signs of people as went. There were snapped sticks and sort of foraged bushes, but nothing as blatant as the fire, no footprints either. Must have camped there before the rain.

Evening came, our travelling stopped. I half-heartedly stared at my hands while I cooked, not trying to do magic—had to keep turning the beans so they wouldn’t burn over the fire—but thinking I wouldn’t be able to concentrate at all when I did try.

If she noticed I was distracted, she didn’t mention it. Why would she? This wasn’t the kind of thing we talked about, more like student and teacher than friends. Her interest only started after seeing I could do maths.

Ah, maybe that was what this was all about. If she was going to start a business, she needed someone who could do the accounting, and I was so indebted to her, of course I would do it for free as long as I had a bed and food.

She wouldn’t be wrong thinking that. I was used to paying for kindness with usefulness.

“Louise.”

A single word, stern, and I snapped out of the state I was working myself into. In front of me, the pods were brown with the smell of burning in the air. I jerked them away, one falling off the fork, landing in the fire. Not thinking, I reached out and—

She grabbed my hand, held it tight, painful. But that pain cut through the haze and calmed me. We stayed like that for a while; I was in no rush to ask her to let go, something comforting about having my hand squeezed like that. No wonder the kids liked it.

“Are you that excited to find a village?” she asked, no humour in her voice or blame. Level as always, unhurried.

But I wanted to laugh at how badly she had misunderstood my mood. Couldn’t, though. As funny as it was, it only brought out a smile, my mood apparently much darker than I’d realised.

“Is it that?” I muttered. Her hand let go of me and it was all I could do to not grab it right back. I swallowed the urge, breathed out. “There are many things I don’t know and it is lots to think about.”

“Then do not think about them,” she said. No humour in her voice, no blame, just her unhurried sincerity for her genuine advice.

A single laugh slipped out, then the wave of humour was swallowed by the darkness. “I wished it was simple that.” Even before I finished, I cringed at how I’d mangled the sentence.

“It is that simple. What is not known may be learned, what good happens may be cherished, what bad happens may be reacted to with grace and dignity,” she said.

“Is that… something your family saying?” I said, ill-equipped to ask the question I wanted to.

She shooed with her hand. “Have you truly come from such a distant place that you do not even know the Jichin Canon?” she asked, and I wasn’t entirely sure if I was supposed to answer.

But I did. “Yes,” I said, clapping my hand.

Silence followed. She reached over and took a fork from me, a silent signal to eat, so I did. One pod had fallen, but I cooked four at a time. While she ate her second one, I cooked more, careful to only lightly char them this time. Needed to steam the peas a bit and soften the garlic nuts.

After we finished eating, not much to wash up, she sat with me by the fire. I pretended to try and do magic, too out of it to actually try. Nothing happened and yet I felt so tired. Drained.

“What is not known may be learned,” she said. I froze up, confused, but she carried on with the other two lines, then said, “Repeat them after me. What is….”

I lowered my hands and dutifully did as told, the lines simple enough to remember. “… with grace and dignity.”

“Very good. Try and memorise them,” she said, giving my hand a pat, then she stood up to make our bed.

I sat there and dutifully repeated the sentences to myself, over and over, ignoring the rustling of her movements, the crackle of the fire, the smell of smoke in the air. Memorising wasn’t easy for me, but I could easily try until I burned the words into my head.

Over and over as I lay beside her, hot, but unwilling to sleep farther away, knowing we might soon be apart. Cherishing the good, reacting to the bad with grace and dignity.

Who knew how many times I repeated those sentences before I fell asleep, but I slept well once I did, comforted.

In the morning, it was just another day. The same routine. Walking, walking on and on, down the slope. The scenery always changed, always looked the same. At the least, it wasn’t muddy now, easy to walk. Still muggy, though. We drank a lot more water than we did before.

One hour, two, who knew, time all about glimpses through the canopy to see if the sun was above us or if it grew dark with sunset. We walked and walked through the trees.

Until the trees finally broke, a field and a road in front of us.

It took me a long moment to realise, not like we hadn’t come across clearing before or rocky patches where trees struggled to grow. A field, hoed or tilled or whatever it was called, lines of dirt where something had been planted. Reddish dirt, something I hadn’t thought about since back at the camp. The top layer might have looked brown, maybe from dead leaves and stuff, but it had a rusty look underneath.

“We should be close,” Hyraj said and started walking.

I followed.