"Without your name," she said, her voice quiet, almost swallowed by the wind. "Without your name, they would hunt me. They would drag me back. If I am your wife, I am invisible to them. That is enough."
It was a bargain, a transaction. There was no romance in it, only the brutal arithmetic of survival. They rode until the moon was high and white, a polished bone in the black sky. The temperature dropped rapidly, the desert shedding its heat like a snake shedding skin. Elias found a sheltered spot in the lee of a rocky outcrop, a place where the wind would blow over them rather than through them.
"We will camp here," he said, reining the horse in. Naya slid off the horse before he could offer help. She landed lightly on her feet, while Elias unsaddled the bay and rubbed him down with a handful of dry grass. Naya moved into the darkness. She returned a few minutes later with an armful of dried sage and mesquite root.
She knelt and arranged the wood with practiced efficiency, shielding the spark with her body until a small, smokeless fire crackled to life. Elias watched her. She moved with an economy of motion that he admired. She knew this land better than he ever would. She knew how to find the dry wood that would not smoke and reveal their position.
She knew how to read the wind. He took his canteen and offered it to her. She took it, drinking sparingly, three swallows and then stopping, though he knew she must be parched, she handed it back, wiping the rim with her thumb. Elias set his coffee pot on the stones near the fire. They sat in silence as the water boiled.
He poured a tin cup for her and one for himself. The coffee was bitter and black, but it was hot. "Thank you," she said. Elias nodded. He unrolled his bedroll, spreading the canvas and the wool blanket on the hard ground.
He looked at it, then at her. She had nothing, no blanket, no coat, only the thin dress. He took the blanket and tore it in half. No, he could not do that. He sighed and laid the blanket out fully.
"You take the blanket," he said. "I have my coat." "No," Naya said. "It is your blanket. I am used to the cold."
"Take the damn blanket," Elias said, his voice sharper than he intended. She looked at him, surprised by the flash of temper. She moved to the blanket and sat on one edge of it, pulling the corner over her shoulders. She did not lie down. She sat upright, watching the fire.
Elias put on his heavy canvas coat and buttoned it to the chin. He sat on his saddle, leaning back against the rock, his hat pulled down over his eyes. He was not going to sleep. He could not sleep with a stranger 5 ft away, a stranger who had every reason to hate his kind. Naya watched him from beneath her lashes.
She saw the way his hand rested near his gun even in repose. She saw the lines of pain around his mouth. He was a broken man, she decided, like a pot that has been cracked and glued back together, holding water but always in danger of shattering again. The wind whistled through the rocks above them. A coyote howled in the distance, a lonely, shivering sound.