Then faster once she realized he wasn't going to take it away. When she finished, she pushed the bowl back toward him and said quietly, "Naya." Calder looked at her. "My name," she added, touching her chest.
He nodded once. "Calder." She repeated it under her breath, like she was testing the sound. The rest of the day passed in uneasy quiet. Calder went outside to check the stock, hammered loose boards back into place on the barn door, and cut more wood.
Each time he came back, she was there. First sitting near the fire, later crouched on the floor with his mending kit. She had found a tear in her dress and was sewing it shut with careful, clumsy stitches. Calder leaned against the doorframe for a moment, watching.
The split bodice was closed now, though it still gaped low enough to show the edge of her collarbone. Mud had flaked off her skin, leaving faint streaks like war paint on her arms. "Where did you come from?" he asked finally. She didn't look up.
"South," she said after a long pause. The word was careful, accented but clear.
"Anyone following you?"
Her needle stopped midair. She gave one small nod. Calder felt the tightness in his gut settle deeper. Trouble, just like he thought.
"You can stay for now," he said slowly. "But if they come, you do what I tell you. Understand?" She looked at him for a long moment, then nodded once. That night, Calder left the cot to her and made himself a place on the floor near the door, rifle within arm's reach.
He didn't trust her yet, not fully, but he couldn't put her back out in the cold either. Not with feet that raw and men possibly behind her. When he lay down, he could hear her breathing steady and even under the blanket. Against his better judgment, he felt some of the tension in his chest ease.
For the first time since the war, the cabin didn't feel quite as empty. The wind eased overnight, leaving behind a hard chill and a pale sky when Calder rose the next morning. He moved quietly so as not to wake her, stoked the stove, and stepped outside with his coffee to scan the horizon. The yard was empty except for the cattle huddled near the fence line.
No dust trails. No riders. For now, it was just them. When he came back in, Naya was sitting up on the cot, the blanket around her shoulders.
She had gathered her hair into a rough braid and looked a little less like a shadow this morning. Her feet were still bandaged, but she had managed to wash the worst of the dirt from her arms and face using the basin near the door. "You can use more water if you need it," Calder said, nodding toward the bucket. She glanced at him, then poured a little into her hands and rubbed at her neck and collarbone.
Her skin was tanned and marked with faint bruises that were beginning to yellow. He looked away, busying himself with the pot of beans left from last night, but the image stayed with him. After breakfast, he checked her feet again. The cuts were closing, but still raw.
"You can walk short," he said. "Not far." She nodded and, to his surprise, started helping him with the day's chores. At first, she limped heavily, but she refused to sit down.
She carried kindling to the stove, swept the floor with a short broom she found by the wall, and stacked the few clean dishes neatly by the basin. Calder watched her for a while, hammer still in his hand from fixing the loose hinge on the door. "You've done this before," he said finally. She looked at him.
"Work?"