He could see it in the stillness that fell over her face. "I'm at sa, " she finally said. I was supposed to meet my family near the northern ridge. We were separated. I don't know where they went.
Elias nodded once then. That's where we'll head. If that's what you want. She looked down at her hands, weighing the decision. Every part of her screamed caution, but necessity pressed her forward.
After a long moment, she gave a small, reluctant nod. "I'll go with you, " she said quietly, but only until I'm close enough to find him on my own. That's enough, Elias replied. She gathered her things again, more slowly this time. When she bent down, she noticed Elias deliberately looking away, facing the window to avoid making her uncomfortable.
Her reaction wasn't spoken aloud, but for the first time since meeting him, she wasn't holding on a fear with both hands. When they stepped outside into the cool morning air, they walked side by side, but several steps apart. It wasn't trust, not yet. But it was movement. And for two people who had spent years protecting their wounds from strangers, it was more progress than either expected.
Elias led his horse out first, letting Adso walk beside him without feeling crowded. The morning air carried a faint chill, the kind that clung to the skin, but disappeared once the sun climbed higher. Ata adjusted the strap of her small bag across her shoulder, moving carefully, still conserving her strength. Elias noticed she avoided leaning on anything, even when she needed support out of stubborn pride or lingering distrust. Probably both.
He offered her the saddle. You should ride. Your legs aren't ready for long ground. She shook her head immediately. I'll walk.
Elias didn't argue. He simply nodded and kept his pace slow enough that she wouldn't fall behind. The silence between them wasn't comfortable, but it wasn't hostile either. It was the silence of two people who didn't know what to say yet. People who had lived through enough that words felt heavier than necessary.
The dirt path leading north was uneven and scattered with dry brush. Every so often, Elias glanced sideways, not to stare, but to check her balance. He remembered her collapsing at the well. He didn't want that happening again. "You slept sitting up last night, " he finally said.
Most folks would have taken a bed. She didn't look at him. "Most folks sleep fine around strangers. " He didn't push further. Her answer already revealed more than she intended.
She wasn't just cautious. She was used to danger, used to expecting the worst of anyone who offered help. It made him wonder what kind of road had led her here, but he didn't ask. Not yet. After an hour of walking, Elias stopped near a small ridge where the ground leveled out.
He lifted the saddle blanket so she could sit on the horse without slipping. "Try for a bit, " he said quietly. "You're pacing yourself too tight. " "Ata hesitated, uncertainty tightening her expression, but the fatigue in her legs was clear. " She finally let him help, not by touching her, but by holding the reins steady while she climbed up on her own.
She sat rigidly at first, keeping her back straight, her hands tight around the horn. Elias walked beside the horse, guiding it at a slow pace. The path widened as they climbed toward the ridge. From here, the land stretched out in long waves of dust, dry grass, and scattered mesquite trees. It was open country, beautiful from a distance, unforgiving up close.
"Were you traveling with many people? " Elias asked, keeping his tone calm, not demanding. For she answered, "My aunt, her two sons, and a woman I knew from childhood. We split when riders passed too close. I was supposed to meet them by the river's bend.
They weren't there. Could have moved north if they thought trouble was coming. " At's jaw tightened at the word trouble. She didn't respond. Elias considered the risks.
The northern ridge wasn't exactly safe. Bounty hunters, desperate ranchers, the occasional outlaw group. They all moved through these lands. In an isolated Apache family was easy prey for cruel men looking for power or payment. "You think they're still heading toward the ridge?
" Elias asked. Ata nodded once. "It's the last place we agreed on. " "Then we'll get you there? " Elias said.
His voice was steady, not warm, but solid. Ata noticed the certainty in it. She didn't show it outwardly, but it gave her a sense of direction she had been missing since she collapsed by the well. For the first time since leaving her family behind, she wasn't walking blind. They continued north.
The land grew harsher, the sun stronger. Elias stopped twice to let her drink water, and once more to check the horse's hooves. Each time, Ata kept a watchful distance, as if every second of rest risked something. She wasn't used to letting someone else take the lead. At midday, they reached a narrow canyon cut into the earth by years of wind.
Elias guided the horse inside for shade. The light dimmed, the air cooler, echoing softly against the rock walls. Ata slid down from the saddle, breathing heavily. Elias didn't miss how her hand pressed her ribs for a moment. Pain she didn't want him to see.
"You hurt there? " he asked. "It's nothing. It wasn't nothing. " Elias could read injuries the way others read maps, but he didn't force the issue.
He crouched near his pack, pulling out a water skin and a strip of dried meat. "You should eat. " She hesitated, then took it quietly. Her hand shook slightly, not from fear this time, but from hunger. As they rested, Elias addressed the question most listeners would ask.
"How could he be so willing to help a stranger after losing so much himself? " He answered it without being prompted. I used to walk alone because it felt easier. No one to disappoint, no one to lose, but it doesn't fix anything. He stared at the canyon floor, voice low and honest.