Dash

I spend most of the day buried in maps and plans, talking the scouts through patrol paths and posting extra guards. My voice is steady, my words brief. The scouts watch me with that wide-eyed focus, some of them nodding, a few others asking questions. I remind myself to listen, to take in their ideas, not just fall into giving orders.

During one of the scouting rotations, a thought crosses my mind, unexpected and practical. If I taught the men a bit of sign language, they’d be able to communicate in silence, even across distances, without alerting anyone else to their movements or intentions. It would be a tactical advantage, something that could change how we move and protect the camp, a way to send signals without even a sound. But almost as quickly as it comes, I push it aside, doubt settling in. Who’d want to take the time to learn? And even if they did, would they see the value in it, or would it just feel like another useless effort?

I shake it off, getting back to the task at hand, but the thought lingers, an idea that keeps nudging at me, even after we’re done and the patrols have dispersed for the night.

That night, I step into the lean-to, expecting to find Sage asleep, but she’s awake, bundled in a blanket by the stove. She glances up, offering me a faint, tired smile. “Long day?”

I nod, settling down next to her. “Yeah. More patrols, more fortifications. The usual,” I say, trying to brush off the weight of the day.

She studies me a moment, her gaze patient and a little too knowing. She’s gotten good at reading me, a skill I’m not sure how I feel about. I let out a slow breath, my mind tugging back to the thought I’d had earlier, a small flicker of an idea that refuses to disappear.

After a moment, I speak up, surprising myself. “I… had an idea today,” I begin, keeping my tone casual. “For the patrols. Thought maybe teaching some basic sign language could help. It’s… something I know.” I look away, shrugging a little, like it’s nothing. “My sister was deaf, so I picked it up. Thought it could give us a way to communicate silently, in case things ever got… tense.”

Sage’s eyes brighten with interest, a spark of encouragement in her expression. “Of course you know sign language and didn’t bother telling anyone,” she says, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

I huff out a laugh, feeling a bit of tension ease from my shoulders. “Didn’t think anyone needed to know. But I thought… maybe it’s worth a try.” I hesitate, unsure of her reaction, but she only looks thoughtful.

“It’s more than worth a try,” she says, leaning forward a little, her eyes fixed on me. “Dash, that’s a fantastic idea. Imagine how much smoother things would go if you all could communicate without needing to shout across camp.” She pauses, her smile softening. “And besides, it’s a skill that could save lives. I think it’s worth sharing.”

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Her words settle over me, grounding me in a way I hadn’t expected. “Alright. Maybe… maybe I will.”

Sage’s eyes don’t lose that spark of curiosity. She tilts her head slightly, a familiar smile hinting at the corners of her mouth. “Would you… teach me some signs?”

It catches me off guard, the question so direct. I nod, maybe a little too quickly, and she grins.

“What should we start with?” she asks, leaning forward, her full attention on me. “Something useful, maybe? Like… how to call for backup if we’re in a situation we need an excuse to get out of?” She raises an eyebrow, trying to keep a straight face.

I chuckle, rubbing the back of my neck. “Alright, I can think of a few.”

I lift my hand, forming the sign for “help”—a flat palm with my other hand as a fist on top. I look at her, showing her the motions. “This is ‘help.’”

She mimics the movement, her hand a little unsure, but she’s focused. “Help. Got it. So if I’m in a long conversation I can’t escape from, I’ll just flash ‘help’ across camp at you?” She raises her hand in an exaggerated plea.

“Exactly,” I say, amused. “But if you want to be subtle, there’s another one.” I bring my fingers together, thumb touching them lightly, and give a little twist at the wrist. “This means ‘save me’—a little less obvious.”

Her eyes widen with excitement as she mirrors the motion. “Oh, that’s perfect. Now I can have a secret way to bail.”

“Glad to be of service,” I reply, watching her practice the motion a couple of times, her movements growing steadier.

She catches me looking and grins. “Alright, last one—how do I say ‘I’m going to pretend to check the water barrels so I can leave now?’”

I laugh. “Pretty sure there isn’t a sign for that.”

Sage shrugs, an exaggerated sigh escaping her. “Guess I’ll stick with ‘save me,’ then.”

We both share a smile, and for a moment, I almost forget the weight we carry. Teaching her signs, even just a few, feels like a small piece of connection in a world that usually feels closed off.

We sit in quiet for a few moments before Sage offers quietly, “People are worried… a lot of stories going around about other camps.” Her words trail off, the worry clouding her gaze.

For a moment, neither of us speaks. Then, without really thinking, I reach out, just brushing her shoulder. “We’re doing everything we can here.”

She lets out a shaky breath, her shoulder relaxing under my hand. “I know. It’s just… hard to shake that feeling that it could all disappear.”

We sit in silence, the fire crackling softly, filling the space between us. Her head dips, leaning just slightly toward me, her auburn hair catching the light. I don’t pull my hand back, don’t break the quiet. Instead, I let it linger, feeling that pull to just be close to her.

Sage lets out a small laugh, rough with tiredness. “I keep thinking about the night you sat with me when I was sick. How easy it felt, just… talking.” Her voice is soft, almost like she’s talking to herself.

I glance down, a faint smile pulling at the corner of my mouth. “Yeah. I remember.”

She shifts, her shoulder pressing lightly against mine. “Maybe, as things settle, we can… I don’t know. Have more time like that?”

I nod, my voice low. “Maybe even before things settle.”

The silence that follows feels like its own kind of conversation. She doesn’t pull away, and neither do I. The fire’s warmth mingles with the quiet closeness between us, a wordless understanding that settles deeper than anything we’ve said out loud.

After a while, Sage’s breathing deepens, her head resting lightly against my shoulder. And for the first time in days, I let myself just be still, feeling the quiet, the warmth, and the weight of something I don’t quite have a name for.