As A Stranger Or A Friend?

Mariel - 5 Rain's Hand, 1245 A.D.

I wore a stupidly blissful smile on my face as I selfishly enjoyed the warmth of his body on my back. Had I not been in pain from my courses, I might have felt a little more shame about reveling in it, but I rarely, if ever, got the chance to nurse myself when I had them, so I decided I wouldn't fuss about it. The last few months had been brutally difficult for me, and I was tired of trying to keep up with my own life. I should let myself enjoy such a simple luxury as this. I could argue that most of the complication was Axtapor's doing, but dwelling on that didn't seem so important now. It felt unwise to start counting all my grievances against him, given he had rescued me and, up to this point, had been mostly accommodating and gentle with me.

"Should we not be riding faster?" I asked softly.

We had not gone faster than our horses' walking speed, so I wondered if we would cover enough ground.

"Nay. We be in plain wood now. We will hear 'em comin' as we did with that deer. We be worse off if'n the beast twists a leg." He explained.

I nodded.

"'Sides ye need rest. Ye been strained."

"O-Oh...that is very considerate of you." I said, feeling a blush on my cheeks, "Thank you."

"Nary a thin'."

I was pleasantly surprised at how much of a gentleman he was. He was still a pirate, and that side of him shone through plenty, but he was also somewhat reserved and thoughtful. How backward it was; this pirate was more well-mannered and tempered than a prince! I wasn't sure how old he was but surely no older than His Imperial Highness and certainly had less instruction on how to behave in society. Naturally, one might think that the odds would favor the aforementioned royal if one decided to gamble on who possessed the better character. Though I suppose only a fool would take that bet. I'd met many servants who were far better people than their masters. Fine breeding didn't mean much when people believed they were untouchable or when they thought no one of substance was watching. A troublesome thought in many ways, but I suppose it could be expected to a degree.

But it was too pleasant a day to be thinking about such things. The afternoon sun scattered its many beamed children across the ground and the foliage around us, making the forest appear like a coffer replete with gold. A gentle breeze stroked the branches of many trees and fallen leaves, making it sound like we were someplace that overlooked the sea where the waves could be heard pulling in and out. And the creatures that called this place home sang in pleasant harmony as if making certain that we felt welcome in their peaceful abode. It was tranquility at its finest. I wished then that we could stay in this forest forever. It would be so lovely to live surrounded by nothing but songbirds and other gentle creatures, unbothered by the world's chaos just beyond this bastion of serenity. But I supposed that was not to be... Were we really going to The Deadlands, as he said?

I directed my gaze away from the woods and looked down at his hands holding the reins. I had been so entranced by the beauty of the scene around us that I almost forgot he was here and of the circumstances I currently found myself in. This was not some holiday with a friend or anyone who I could claim was particularly close to me. We were fugitives, and he was still mostly a stranger even though we had already kissed. But one could gather a lot about someone just by looking at their hands; his were just here, mere inches from mine...

Hands, I believed, weaved a story out of memories that perhaps had been forgotten by the mind long ago. They ensured those fragments remained preserved somewhere should they serve some purpose later in life. Things like where that person had been, what they had seen, what they had done, what they touched in life, and by extension, what had touched them. If eyes were the window to the soul, then hands were glimpses into what forces weathered a person, not unlike looking at the rings within the stump of a fallen tree or the colorful layers of sandstone. So perhaps I should study his further and silently try to understand who he was.