Lenaria had grown more affectionate over the days, touching him frequently, and easily. Maintaining prolonged physical contact. Once, when they had been talking, her hand had been on his face the entire conversation, her fingers caressing his cheek. When he had drawn her attention to it she’d simply shrugged but not taken it away.

“It still feels like a dream,” she’d said. “Any moment now I’ll wake up and you’d be lying lifeless in my arms. And I’ll be back in the forest… alone.”

“No dreams,” he murmured.

Lenaria looked back at him. “What?”

The wisps around her distorted as if disturbed and he shook his head. “It’s nothing.”

They sat, comfortable, taking in their surroundings. Before them the village bustled with life, the denizens fluttering around busily from one tent to another. More pots than there were tents rested above fires, no doubt put in place by the mothers, suffering the unrelenting pressure of flames molding ingredients of no great consequence into one purposeful creation with the power to fuel the human body as well as enough heat to burn.

Living within the forest afforded them the constant lullaby of the birds chirping and the croaking of toads. And every now and then a mysterious sound that promised the existence of creatures more a threat to man than anything else could be heard.

Ezril on more than one occasion found himself wondering how none of them had run into any of such creatures in the past. Over a year and nothing. A few days in the village and sounds made their presence known. Despite it all, more than the village before them or the sounds that crinkled their ears, they sat most aware of the almost infinite sea of trees behind them.

The children ran around like little urchins, kicking up leaves and falling to the ground with a reckless abandon amidst laughs. One, a child no more than her second year, stood in their midst scolding them, hands akimbo, in what could only be assumed as an attempt at their language, but sounding more like sweet nonsense to the ear. The pose she took was no doubt, like her words, an attempt at an imitation of perhaps one of the older ladies. And Ezril watched the spectacle with a smile, knowing life had not afforded him such joys growing up.

In the days they were guests they never lacked food, and the people themselves always seemed to have more than enough. The men were prone to make groups every now and again—three times since they’d been here—to embark on an expedition, returning at high noon. With game sufficient enough for the tribe, they would relinquish it to another group that would commence its butchering. Often times Ezril wondered how he had been fighting in the forest for so long and hadn’t come across prey of any kind. Because they run from danger, a voice in his head spoke. And you are too busy hunting fellow men.

When the men were done with the hunting and the butchering, the pieces of meat and hide fell into the hands of the females of the tribe who cooked and fashioned the coats the children wore. There was little doubt they had fashioned the one he had worn the first night Cyrinth came to him.

A movement catching his attention, Ezril’s gaze moved to his side. When it settled he caught sight of the women returning from their own escapade. While the men broke into groups and left every now and then, the women left every morning. Their return always heralded the arrival of fruits and berries of different kinds. Among the things they brought were often herbs the kinds of which Ezril couldn’t recognize. Not that he could recognize much herbs in the first place.

It would be a nice place to live, he thought.

“... It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Lenaria was saying.

Ezril shook himself to attention. “It is,” he answered. He knew he wasn’t the only one of them that wondered at the possibility. It was a nice tribe in the middle of the Arlyn forest that nobody within the realm knew of. A tribe he at least had never heard of just beyond the realm’s borders. They might not immediately accept outsiders, but with enough time he had no doubt they could learn their language and prove themselves.

“You know we could stay if we wanted,” Lenaria added as if reading his thoughts.

He nodded.

Apart from the woman that kept giving him suggestive looks anytime he passed her, he was certain he would have no problem living here. Even the woman would at some point prove ignorable. It would be peaceful… but they will find us.

“Should we?” Lenaria continued, “I want to. I mean, it’s a nice place, and it’s peaceful. And the tribe elder seems nice enough, at least she did everything in her power to ensure your survival even if she’s never met you before. We could just live here. Start afresh…”

Ezril’s hold on her grew lax. Her words were a temptation. An allure of a hope he had never known he had. Had he always wanted a way out of the life of priesthood? He didn’t think so. He had no memory of ever considering one, at least not the kind she was suggesting. It was true he didn’t like how the life promised a young death, and how it seemed determined to accomplish it. But he’d never considered leaving. Not even when Alanna had brought it up or when he’d brought it up with her.

He looked at Lenaria and caught her staring back at him, waiting. She had asked another question and he hadn’t heard it. It didn’t matter. He could see himself hoping for such a life if it was with her. With her, peace was something he could strive for.

He moved to rise and she got up.

Without an answer he made his way for the tent. He didn’t know much of it, but he knew enough to know that hope was a dangerous thing. It lured in the unsuspecting, those who craved for something. It promised possibilities, like a ripe fruit on the brink of falling, only to drop rotten.

Many had fallen prey to it. Divine, who had hoped the seminary would give him a better chance at life. Salem, who had hoped he would do better with Divine. And himself, who had hoped all those years ago that Tenari would believe him. Even now, he hoped he would see Cyrinth again. It was a truly dangerous thing.

And he would fall prey to it no longer.

“Ezril!” Lenaria snapped at him.

When he stopped, she continued, words laced with anger and confusion. “Is it too much to ask for? A life away from the blood and death. Away from the crazy rules of the church. A chance at peace without wondering when next they would send us to battle. Without worrying about you and wondering if each time we meet will be our last? Is it too difficult to hope for a life without Rin constantly in my head to tell me that the one person that wants me for me asked her to take me.” Her voice cracked here and he turned to look at her. But she continued without pause. “Is it so bad to want to run away with the person I love? I can give it all up, Ezril. I can give up the life the church has designed for me. I can turn my back and leave. But… but if that’s not what you want, I can understand.” She grew quiet now. “If you want to go back, then for you…” she flung her hands up in frustration, “for you I can give the chance of all this up just as easily. As long as it’s with you, I can return to the church, to the war, to the carnage… but that’s not what I want right now. What I want is to be free with you. If you are not in it, it’s not freedom…”

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Her words trailed off into a mere whisper in Ezril’s mind until it was unheard. Ezril studied her. All he knew was she stood before him a few strides away, ranting about unimportant things. Things he couldn’t so much debate on as he could dare the birds of the sky to a test of flight or Truth’s tear to a test of viscosity. All he knew in this moment was his only family stood before him imploring him to grant her one wish and he had almost refused her.

She looked amusing in her stance. She stood in her gown, hands flailing in frustration with each word. Her nose straight without any crookedness normal for those who fight. Her hair had been allowed its freedom and it hung over her shoulders in a furious cascade. He couldn’t help but smile. It was like watching snow burn bright. White as the shadow was dark. She was a little spitfire. She made him think of snow, if it could burn like shadows. Snowfire. He almost laughed at the thought.

And she loved him.

He crossed the distance in quick strides, took her face in his hands, and tilted it to meet his so he could look in those green eyes that spilled fury. She continued her speech but he took satisfaction in the mild confusion he saw, his smile widening to her greater confusion.

She still talks too much, he thought, and kissed her.

............

Lenaria stilled under Ezril’s touch, growing quiet. Her body rigid, as though mounted to the spot where she stood.

Ezril had had encounters with time. Perceptions warped with it seeming to go on forever. During Father Talod training it would seem to go on forever when he’d want only for it to end. Or during Priestess Ellenel’s private sessions, ending in a heartbeat when he would want nothing but for it to go on. Time had proved itself countless times capable of teasing his perspective. But never had it done what it did now.

Everything—past, future, present—all of it fell away, unimportant. What was, and what would be as compared to this moment became an easy category of then and now. All of time seemed to compress and exist in only one moment. It was beautiful. Silent as the raging fires of shadows. Loud as the thunders any maelstrom could conjure. Searing as the heat from a thousand forges. All-encompassing as the dark. It was his moment of truth.

And nothing else mattered.

Then her hand came up to his chest, taking handfuls of his shirt. She kissed him back. In all of his life she had kissed him twice, but this was nothing like them. It was as though all the fury he had seen in her eyes and heard spill from her words found a new outlet.

She kissed him with a hunger he hadn’t known she had and he pulled her closer to him in a need to satisfy it. Their cloths proved too large a distance between them and it took only a moment to realize she simply kissed him with equal passion as he kissed her.

His hands slid to her waist and she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. His grip tightened on her waist. He pushed against her and she let out a moan between kisses. What had begun as part of a means to silence and a simple need to appease her had long evolved into something else. Words forgotten, he could feel his hunger, his craving, and with it, he wanted all of her. He wanted to know the ten years of her he had missed. The ten years of her that couldn’t stand between them. He wanted to know every curve, every scar, every swell, every growth, every change. Tasting her was not enough.

He wanted more.

A shrill whistle filled the air and their lips broke apart. But their foreheads stayed, Ezril’s resting upon hers as they gasped for air. When his eyes opened they met with hers looking at him with so much intent that he smiled at her.

“Crazy tribe people,” she muttered between gasps, “couldn’t they have been silent for a while longer?”

Ezril’s smile deepened. His hands had slid to her hips at some point and he held a large portion of her gown in them. He noted how the hem of the gown which had once threatened to sweep the ground now stood high above her knees, its fabric bunched in his hands. He released it and it dropped to rest just below her ankles. She took her hand from his waist reluctantly where his belt laid unbuckled. He looked from it to her, cocking a questioning brow, wondering when it had gone there. She shrugged but didn’t move. The whistling had long transformed into hoots from the audience they had unknowingly racked up and Ezril was forced to take a step away from her. She stuck out her bottom lip in a pout but said nothing.

“Are we staying?” she finally whispered.

He heard the hope in her voice. It would have hurt him to dash those hopes, but he knew better; it was a choice no longer.

“Yes…” he answered… Until they come for us.

And they would. This he knew with childlike certainty.

Before long she spoke again. “Nurala asked me about us,” she said.

“Nurala?” he asked, curious.

“Mm-hm.” Lenaria nodded. When he said nothing she added, “The girl that keeps looking at you.”

“She speaks the realm tongue?”

Lenaria nodded.

“And what did she want to know?”

Lenaria shrugged. “If there is anything between us.”

“And what did you tell her?”

“The truth,” she grinned. “I told her there was nothing between us.” Now she stepped away from him, hands clasped behind her. She leaned forward as one would when regarding a child, but her eyes never left his.

“Aria,” he called after her, suspicious.

“Ezril,” she replied with coy innocence, still retreating. She brought a hand forward. “This,” she motioned between them, “is inevitable.” She took another literal step back. Passed another tree. It was the fourth she had slipped passed.

“Aria…” he choked on his words as she beckoned him to her with a finger, continuing on her path deeper into the trees, away from inquisitive eyes. And in a moment, he caught the glint in her eye and saw the mischief. The hunger.

“I have… I have to…” he stammered.

Lenaria smirked and he coughed, choking and silently cursing the saliva that had chosen to go down the wrong path.

“You have to what, Ezril?” she asked; she teased.

“I… I have to take my meal,” he finished, poorly.

Lenaria grinned. “I thought you weren’t hungry.”

“I am now.”

“Lunch hasn’t been served.”

“I’ll eat what they served for breakfast.”

“It would be cold by now.” She had stopped moving now. A brief pause on her retreat. Ezril couldn’t believe her boldness.

“I don’t mind cold meals,” he blurted.

“Yes, you do,” she countered. “You hate them very much.”

It was true. He’d always hated having to eat cold meals. It had been the major problem he’d had with food Olnic gave in the Underbelly. It was the only thing that irked him enough to make him complain. And he had complained to Lenaria.

He took a step back and she stood straight.

“Really?” she demanded, hands flying up in resigned frustration. “You are really going to leave, Ezril? Now?”

He took another step back. The woman before him looked as though she would pounce at any moment and he knew for all his self-control the moment she did, he would lose. He nodded once, turned on his heels, and beat a hasty exit in what he hoped were calm, controlled steps.

Lenaria sighed behind him. But the sound did nothing to ease the discomfort brought upon by the smirk he had seen in the last moment.

When he arrived at their tent, no intentions of eating the mashed rice that sat at his side stool in a bowl grown cold overtime, he was met with a surprising sight.

At one end of the room where his Sunders and bow rested untouched in over a week stood a hunched woman. She stood, her back against him, wearing a mud brown gown, with greying hair braided at different sides with no defined pattern, decorated with beads of different colors. Everything about her screamed age, but the shadows that clung to her was the least translucent of the elders he had come across. They were more like that of the young adults. She turned her head slightly, regarding something in her hands and the beads in her hair sang a note in response. When her shoulders heaved Ezril thought something was to be expected, but her shoulders drooped again and the wisps clinging to her remained undisturbed.

“Cursed things,” she muttered to herself, and Ezril wondered if she was even aware of his presence.

She turned her object of focus in her hands then, returning it to its place, she turned. His eyes following her hand Ezril was surprised to find his Sunder, and more so at how easily she had handled it. Then she spoke.

“We finally meet, young Antari.”