Part Eleven — Three Sets of Footprints

　We left town a little after sunrise, which turned out to be Doran's preference and nobody else's, given that Fenrik nearly walked into a fence post twenty minutes in, still half-asleep on his feet.

"You're worse at mornings than I am," I told him, not bothering to hide how much that pleased me.

"I'm worse at mornings than anyone alive," Fenrik muttered.

"It's a point of pride."

I like him.

Good.

That makes this easier.

The first real friction of the trip showed up by midday.

And it wasn't a monster.

Or a bandit.

Or anything worth writing home about.

It was rations.

"You've been eating my dried strips," Doran said, flat, holding up a pouch that was noticeably lighter than it had been that morning.

"I was hungry," Fenrik said, entirely unbothered.

"You weren't using them."

"They were for later."

"It is later."

A pause.

"It's been three hours."

I watched this exchange with the specific enjoyment of someone who had absolutely nothing useful to contribute and no intention of getting involved.

"Don't look at me," I said, when Doran's eyes flicked toward me for backup.

"I've been rationing my own food since I was eight. Actual eight, not book-smart-adult-in-a-kid's-body eight."

I shrugged.

"I've earned the right to stay out of this one."

"That's not a real excuse."

"It's the only one I've got, and I'm using it."

Doran sighed.

The particular sigh of a man who had apparently signed up for more than he'd bargained for.

He split what remained of the dried strips three ways without further comment.

Fenrik looked entirely too pleased with himself about it.

This is what having people around is actually like, isn't it.

Not grand gestures.

Just somebody stealing your jerky and you deciding it's not worth the argument.

We made camp early that first night, mostly because Fenrik's morning exhaustion had apparently been a preview of a general pattern, and Doran didn't see the point in pushing past dusk with someone half-asleep on his feet.

Fire started.

Dinner sorted.

The three of us settled into the kind of quiet that comes after a full day of walking and not much else.

I pulled out my usual control exercises out of habit — a small, contained flame balanced on my palm, purple bleeding faint at its edge.

Fenrik watched it for a while.

Saying nothing.

Before he finally spoke.

"That's the aura the shopkeeper looked at."

A pause.

"Before he backed off."

"Yeah."

"What is it?"

Here we go.

Fair question, honestly.

"Honestly?" I said.

"I don't fully know."

"I know it's mixed — two things that aren't supposed to mix, according to basically everyone who's ever looked at it."

"I know some very old, very powerful people didn't like that mixing enough to want me dead over it."

I let the flame die out, closing my hand.

"Past that, I'm still working it out myself."

Fenrik didn't push further, which I appreciated.

He just nodded.

Slow.

Filing it away the same unhurried way he seemed to file everything.

"Guess we've both got people who decided what we were before we got a say in it," he said.

Huh.

Yeah.

Guess we do.

"Guess so," I said.

"Different reasons."

A small pause.

"Same shape, maybe."

Doran, for his part, didn't ask anything at all — just kept sharpening a blade that was already sharp, the same habitual motion I'd noticed back at the inn.

But I caught him listening all the same.

Filing it away in whatever quiet ledger he kept on the two of us.

"You planning on telling us the whole story eventually?" he asked, not looking up.

"Eventually," I said.

"Not because I don't trust you."

I paused.

"Just because some of it's still — "

I searched for the word.

"Heavy."

"I'd rather hand it over in pieces than dump the whole thing on two people I've known a week and a half."

"Fair," Doran said, and left it there, easy as anything.

That's the nice thing about people who've earned some trust of their own.

They don't need the whole story today to decide you're worth traveling with.

I lay back against my pack that night, watching the fire burn low.

Fenrik's quiet snoring was already starting up beside me.

Doran's watchful stillness remained on the other side of the flames.

Three people.

Three sets of footprints.

Tomorrow.

Three sets of footprints tomorrow, instead of two.

Small thing.

Doesn't feel small, though.