Ata didn't offer sympathy. She simply acknowledged the truth in a grounded way. You think helping me balances that? He shook his head. It doesn't balance anything.
It just keeps me from walking past another person in trouble. That answer seemed to settle something inside her. She didn't say it aloud, but her shoulders loosened. She trusted his motive more clearly now. Not out of obligation or hidden interests, but out of a man trying not to repeat a painful mistake.
When they packed up to leave, Ata mounted the horse with less hesitation. The canyon opened into a long trail that hugged the ridge, uneven but manageable. Elias led the way on foot, keeping a pace slow enough for her to stay steady, but fast enough to cover round before midday. As they traveled, Ata began revealing parts of her own past. Small pieces controlled and direct.
The kind of pieces listeners would wonder about if left unspoken. I wasn't always traveling with my aunt, she said. Before this, I live with a man from our group. He promised safety. He promised we'd make a home.
Elias didn't interrupt. He let her continue at her own rhythm. It changed quickly. The moment I depended on him, he stopped respecting me. Took what he wanted, decided what I should do, where I should go.
Leaving him caused trouble in the group. Some blamed me, some blamed him, so I left. Or I was pushed to leave. Elias looked ahead, scanning the trail, his jaw tightened. Not because he was surprised, but because he had suspected something like this.
He kept his voice controlled. That why you don't trust riders like me. It's why I don't trust anyone. They fell into a quiet stretch of writing after that conversation. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence.
It was the kind that follows honesty too heavy to fill with small talk. Around midday, Elias slowed near a cluster of old cottonwood trees where shade stretched far enough to make a break worthwhile. He lifted a hand to stop the horse. We rest here. You need food and the horse needs water.
Ata slid down carefully, no longer trying to hide the slight limp that came from soreness deep in her muscles. While Elias refilled their canteens from a shallow stream, Ata sat under the tree and watched him work. She noticed how he always positioned himself with his back, neither fully turned to her nor fully facing her. An unconscious habit of giving her space while staying aware of her condition. When he returned, he handed her a small portion of food.
She ate slowly, then spoke in a quiet voice. Did you ever have a family of your own? Wife, children? Listeners would likely wonder this too. So Elias answered without hesitation.
No, he said, "I never stayed in one place long enough. " And anyone I cared for left before things got serious. I guess I wasn't steady back then. Ata considered that. You're steady now.