"My village burned two summers ago. Cavalry came, said it was orders, too. I was taken to the reservation. I left when my brother died there. No one stopped me.
There was no one left to stop me. Elias looked away. He had no words for that. Only the weight of shame pressing behind his ribs. He wanted to say he was sorry, but it sounded too small for what she'd lost.
She poured more coffee, her hand steady. You think I came here because I was lost, she said. I came because I didn't want to die alone. The word stayed with him the rest of the day. He worked outside longer than usual, mending the fence again, chopping wood until the sweat blurred his vision.
The truth was, he understood her better than he wanted to admit. He too had walked away from the world, convinced solitude was safer than trust. Now her presence forced him to look at the man he'd become. That evening, when the sun dropped behind the canyon, they shared dinner again. Beans, bread, and a slice of dried venison.
Naira ate slowly, her gaze distant. Elias noticed the scar on her wrist more clearly this time. A thin line of old pain. "You got that from a fire? " he asked. She shook her head from a rope.
He didn't push further. Some things didn't need explaining, but he remembered the way she had said, "Alone is safer and realized it wasn't fear that drove her. It was exhaustion. " Later that night, lightning flickered far off in the mountains and thunder rolled low across the valley. Naira stood by the door, tense, her breathing shallow. Elias saw it.
The stiffness in her shoulders, the way her fingers dug into her blanket. Without a word, he moved to the stove, threw another log in, and sat nearby. He didn't tell her it was nothing. Didn't pretend comfort. He just stayed where she could see him.
Slowly, her breathing evened out. "Storm won't reach us," he said quietly. "I know," she replied. "But sometimes it still feels close. " "He understood exactly what she meant. Some storms never really leave.
They just move farther out of sight. " She sat across from him, both of them facing the fire. The flicker of the flames showed the hard lines of their faces, worn down by too many nights alone. After a while, she asked, "Why do you stay here? " "There's nothing. " He leaned back, eyes on the fire. "Because there's nothing. I tried towns, mining work, army life.
Every place had its noise, its people, its rules. Out here, I can breathe. " She nodded slowly. "And if I stay," he looked at her. Then really looked, the fire light catching the reflection in her eyes. "Then we both try to breathe," he said.