On the fifteenth day in Loftland, just after their midday meal, the first hints of change tickled at the edges of Mara’s consciousness.

She’d been practicing her sensing exercises–as had become a habit during the long, calm afternoons. With Nick often groggy from his full belly and Eli dependably pensive in the silence Nick left, there was little to distract her. She often spent an hour or more in the pursuit of magical sensitivity, measuring her footsteps and her breaths, quieting her mind, and listening to the swells and eddies and undercurrents of the life around her.

The skill had returned to her more quickly than she expected–perhaps because she was able to dedicate herself so regularly to its cultivation, perhaps because Loftland was teeming with such potent magic. Whatever the reason, it often took her only five breaths to push her physical senses aside and listen with her spirit.

On that day, the fifteenth day, it took her only seven breaths to feel the change.

“We’re leaving Loftland soon?” she asked, letting the magic fade away as she turned to Eli, waiting for his response.

“We’re leaving Loftland now,” he said. “It’s a slow transition into the hills. You sensed it?” He lifted his brows at her, inviting her to share what she had sensed. He did that sometimes, when she finished her exercises. Asked her what she’d felt, encouraged her to describe it to him–a common pedantic technique for magic learners. Finding the exact language for magical sensation was impossible, but attempting to so made subsequent attempts at sensing more fluid.

“Barely,” she admitted, nonetheless proud of her own progress. “It feels like…like a distant smell. Like smoke, but you don’t know if it’s coming from inside the house or outside.”

He nodded, then winced, reaching up to pry Nick’s left hand from his hair. “Easy, man. I’ll be bald soon if you keep it up.”

“Sorry,” Mara said, wincing in sympathy.

“It’s no trouble. You said it’s like a smell?”

“Not exactly, but something like that. It’s as if the change is in the air, but only wisps of it. What does it feel like to you?”

He was silent for several steps, little more than a single breath cycle, and she envied the ease with which he accessed magic that, for her, was far away and hazy. “It’s more like a sound for me,” he finally answered. “Like a new voice just joined a chorus.”

“How soon before we leave Loftland for good?” She didn’t truly want the answer. Not unless that answer was ‘never.’ She’d found a cautious equilibrium in the safety of the woods and the monotony of their daily routine. In the promised return to Davy’s arms each night. Would he still come to her when they reached Ashfall, or was his presence a product of Loftland’s abundant magic?

“Two days, maybe three.”

Mara bit the inside of her cheek and forced herself to smile when Eli glanced at her to gauge her reaction.

Every night, when she returned to the four-poster bed in the mountains, Davy gave her some task to complete the next day. First, of course, they talked. Or simply held each other. Sometimes more. But before she left, when dusk had fallen in their mountain retreat and she knew she’d soon find herself back in her canvas shelter, he’d kiss her gently on the forehead and give her some silly, sweet little assignment.

Find happiness. Make Nick laugh. Be brave. Write in your Codex.

Though he never said as much, she treated the tasks like a challenge, like her price to return.

Last night, he had told her to smile.

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“Are you alright?”

Apparently, her smile was not convincing, because Eli was frowning at her in evident concern. She tried a little harder, deliberately crinkling up the corners of her eyes. “Of course!”

Eli reached up and tugged Nick’s hand from his hair again. “It’ll probably be three days. The ground’s already starting to slope, so we’ll be moving slower.” Trust Eli to invalidate her efforts with his irritating propensity to see her. Trust Eli to know, without her saying, that she didn’t want to make progress, not when each step left Davy–living, breathing, daylight Davy–further behind her.

“Oh. Okay. Good.” She tried on another smile, this one less ambitious. Smaller.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

Eli and Nick were both watching her now, the boy’s face marred by the same concerned lines as the man’s. For a second, they could have been father and son. Different hair color, different eyes. Same worried expression. Children did that–mirrored the adults they saw most often. By the end of this journey, Mara thought, Nick would resemble Eli more than he resembled his own father.

“I’m fine,” she said firmly. “I’ll carry Nick for a while.”

Trust Eli to recognize that now was not time to argue with her. Without speaking, he lifted her son–Davy’s son–from his shoulders. Mara stooped so he could set Nick on her own shoulders, relieved to feel the familiar weight of his body fidgeting around, finding a comfortable seat on the top of her pack. She’d wrangled her hair into two braids that morning, and Nick picked them both up and tugged absently at them as she walked.

~~~

That evening, after Nick was asleep, she joined Eli by the fire.

“I’m sorry.”

He drew his brows together and shook his head. “For what?”

“I was curt with you this afternoon. You were just trying to help.”

“You want some tea?”

“Sure.”

She watched in thoughtful silence as he prepared her a cup. They carried dried tea, but Mara had foraged more gods’ breath over the last few weeks, and just yesterday had found some whipwillow. It was the latter Eli brewed for her now. Whipwillow was a good evening drink–calming.

“Thank you,” she said when he passed the cup over. “You’re–” She looked down into the cup. “Thank you.”

“It’s no trouble.”

It was a little trouble, surely. She’d watched the whole process–stoking the fire, boiling fresh water, steeping the leaves. Preparing a cup of tea was a bit of trouble in civilized places, with stoves and pot-holders. In the wild, it was positively burdensome.

“So…” he trailed off, lifting his own cup for a sip. “Your sensing is coming along nicely.”

Unbidden, her posture straightened. “It is! Loftland makes it easy, I think.”

His smile was small–a slight twitch of the lips. “So does practicing every day.”

“That too. So what’s the next step? Or….” She frowned at his impassive expression. “Do you think I’m ready for the next step?”

“Do you think you’re ready for the next step?”

“Yes?”

He raised an eyebrow.

“I think?”

He raised his cup for another sip of tea.

She bit back a grown of frustration. “Do you have to be so…”

“So?”

He was being deliberately obtuse. Deliberately frustrating. She fought the grin that tugged at her lips and forced herself to glare at him. “You know how you’re being.”

“Are you ready or not, Mara?”

She narrowed her eyes, intensifying the force of her glare. “I am.”

“Good.” He set his empty cup aside and propped his elbows on his knees. “I agree.”

“You’re aggravating.”

“So I’ve been told. Unfortunately, I’m your only option for magical instruction at the moment.”

Glowering, she took another sip of tea. “My books were a better teacher.”

“Lucky for me, I’m less flammable. Shall we get started?”

Her false annoyance collapsed around her, fresh energy rushing in. “Now?”

“Unless you’re tired. We can start tomorrow.”

“No!” Unbidden, her cheeks pulled tight on a grin. “Now! Let’s start now!”