"If I stay, no one else comes here?" "No." Elias replied. "Not unless I want them to." She let out a small breath, almost relief.
Elias understood. Whoever forced her into the desert wasn't just sending her away. They wanted her out of sight, maybe worse. He spoke again, voice calm. "You're safe.
I won't let anyone in without you knowing first." Ayoka nodded, gripping the blanket as if anchoring herself. Elias spent the next hour checking her injuries. He wrapped the deeper cuts with clean cloth and made a paste from dried herbs he kept in a tin. She watched each step carefully, not because she doubted him anymore, but because she seemed unfamiliar with being cared for.
Every time he brushed against her skin, even lightly, she stiffened first, then slowly relaxed. When he finished, she whispered, "Thank you." The words sounded like they hadn't been spoken in a long time. He didn't respond with anything sentimental, just gave a slight nod and stood. "Rest.
I'll be outside if you need anything." Before he left, she spoke again. "You live alone?" "6 years now." She studied him for a few seconds.
"What?" Elias hesitated. The question was simple, but the answer wasn't. "Because I'm better at being alone than being around people," he said, "and because I've lost enough already." Ayoka didn't push further.
She didn't need the details yet. Elias stepped outside and closed the barn door gently. Ayoka leaned back against the wall, breathing slowly, trying to understand if this place, this ranch, this man, was a temporary shelter or the first safe ground she'd stood on in years. For now, she stayed. Elias listened from outside, hearing her settle under the blanket, hearing her small sigh of relief, and made a quiet decision he hadn't planned to make.
Until she could walk, he would keep watch. Until she trusted him, he wouldn't move his bed back into the house. And until she spoke the rest of her story, he wouldn't ask another question. The fragile truce had begun, and neither of them knew yet how much it would change. The first night after Ayoka spoke her name passed in uneasy quiet.
Elias settled just outside the tack room, leaning against the barn wall with his hat pulled low, his rifle beside him, and a blanket draped loosely across his legs. He tried to rest, but every half hour he found himself listening for her breathing, checking for movement, waiting for the sound of distress. He told himself he was only being cautious. After all, someone exiled in her condition might have enemies close behind, but the truth was simpler. He didn't want her to panic alone.
Inside, Ayoka lay awake far longer than she let on. She stared at the barn rafters, her fingers gripping the edge of the blanket. The warmth of the fire and the quiet around her should have eased her mind, but her body stayed rigid with the familiar sense that rest was dangerous. Her exile was still fresh, and the memory of being driven out, accusations she never had the chance to answer, hands pushing her away from the fire circle, the threat in their eyes, would not leave her. She kept listening for footsteps from outside, certain someone would come looking for her.