She didn't answer. Instead, she shifted her legs slightly, exposing a deep bruise along her calf, the kind only a hard fall or rough hands could make. Elias didn't push for details. Pressing her now would only make her retreat further. Still, he needed to know enough to keep trouble off his land.
"If someone's looking for you, I need to be ready." Ayoka lowered her gaze. Her voice came thin, almost rasped. "I was sent away." "By your people?"
She nodded once, forcing the word out. "Exiled." Elias absorbed that quietly. He understood the weight of a home lost. What he didn't understand yet was why she had been sent out alone, injured and pursued, but she wasn't ready to share that.
He could see in the way she held her breath between sentences, as though every memory tightened something inside her chest. He stood and stepped back to give her space. "You can stay here until you can move. I won't ask anything more than that." Her eyes lifted to him again, searching for something.
False kindness, hidden motives, a price. She found none. Elias wasn't a man who played roles. He didn't know how. Ayoka's voice shook slightly.
"Why help me?" Elias answered honestly. "You look like someone who needed help." He said. "And I've seen too many people die alone."
The honesty softened something in her expression, even if only for a moment. He turned to leave, giving her room to breathe, but she called out, just one word, quiet and strange. "Wait." Elias stopped. Ayoka shifted uneasily on the blanket.
"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.
Hours passed. The lantern burned low. And then, sometime after midnight, Ayoka jerked upright with a sharp gasp, breath shaking, hands trembling violently. The nightmare left her disoriented. Shadows looked like figures.
The sound of the horse shifting in its stall sounded like pursuit. She pressed a hand against her chest, struggling to steady her breathing. Elias was at the door to the tack room before she could call out. His boot stopped just short of crossing the threshold. "You all right?" he asked, voice low, steady.
Ayoka tried to answer, but her throat tightened. She shut her eyes, forcing herself to breathe, but it only made the panic worse. Her hand shook hard enough that the blanket slipped from her shoulders. Elias stepped inside, slow and careful, making sure she saw every movement. "I'm not going to touch you unless you say so."
She swallowed, eyes darting to him. Her voice came out small, broken. "Stay." He didn't hesitate. He lowered himself to the ground beside the blanket, sitting close enough for her to feel someone near, far enough that she could move away if she needed.
He didn't reach for her, didn't put his arm around her. He simply sat, letting his steady presence fill the space. Ayoka leaned toward him on her own, inch by inch, until her shoulder brushed his. She clung to his sleeve, her breath gradually slowing. She didn't explain the nightmare, and Elias didn't ask.
The explanation would come later, when she could speak without shaking. When she finally fell asleep again, her head rested against his arm. Elias stayed awake, staring at the fire, thinking about the last time someone had leaned on him for comfort. It had been years, too many to count. By the second night, the pattern had become clear.
Ayoka fell asleep quickly. Exhaustion did that. But she woke in a panic several times, each time calling his name softly, barely above a whisper. She didn't ask for anything else, just his presence. She needed to know someone else was awake, watching the dark for her, making sure no one dragged her back into the desert.
He recognized trauma when he saw it. He knew how losing home, family, and safety could tear a person apart inside. And he saw that Ayoka wasn't clinging out of desire. She was clinging because she had lost every part of her world at once. Each time she woke, Elias moved to her side.
Sometimes she gripped his wrist. Sometimes she held onto the edge of his coat. Sometimes she didn't touch him at all, just watched him, trembling, until the panic passed. Elias began to feel the weight of it. His eyes grew rimmed with fatigue.
His movements were slower during the day. His horse noticed it first. Elias's usual firm, steady grooming became sluggish. He found himself staring at the fence line for long stretches, trying to chase away the tired fog in his mind. Ayoka saw it, too.