She didn't talk much, but she worked without complaint, and the cabin no longer felt like a place built only for one person to disappear in. That day they rode out to the small corn patch behind the ridge. The soil was cracked, still damp from the storm, but the seedlings that survived looked weak. Elias knelt beside one, checking the roots. Too dry under, he said.
She crouched beside him, pressing her palm to the ground. We dig a channel from the stream, she suggested. It's half a mile out. She met his eyes, then we dig half a mile. They worked until their hands blistered.
He used a shovel. She followed behind, clearing the rocks and setting stones to guide the water. It was the first time he'd seen her sweat or laugh. A short, quiet laugh when a shovel stuck in clay, and he swore under his breath. It wasn't much, but it broke the wall between them.
By late afternoon, they had carved a narrow line from the stream back to the cornrowse. When the first trickle of water began to run, she crouched to touch it, her fingers tracing its path. Her face changed softer, almost relieved. Elias stood behind her, watching. You've done this before, he said.
My people always followed water, she replied. Without it, everything dies. He studied her face in the low light, realizing how little he actually knew about her life before. "And what did you do before all that? " he asked. She hesitated as if deciding how much to reveal.
"I was promised once," she said quietly. "But I didn't marry him. He died before the harvest. Elias looked away. He didn't ask how.
He didn't need to. He knew what soldiers and settlers had done to people like her. "You don't have to talk about it," he said. "I already did," she answered, almost a whisper. They walked back at dusk, the desert glowing orange beneath a wide sky.
"At the cabin, he started a fire while she prepared dinner. When she handed him a bowl of stew, he noticed her wrist again. The rope scar standing out pale against her brown skin. He almost asked who had tied it, but she caught his glance and spoke first. "I took something that wasn't mine," she said.
"A horse. " "They tied me for it. I ran before morning. " Elias nodded, setting his bowl down. "Guess we both did things to keep breathing for the first time. " Her eyes softened toward him. "You regret yours? " she asked. Everyone," he said simply.
"But I keep waking up, so maybe that counts for something. " That night, wind rose again, dragging dust against the windows. Naira slept near the hearth, her face calm in the firelight. Elias couldn't rest. He sat at the table, sharpening his knife as always, but his thoughts wouldn't quiet. He remembered the faces of men he'd scouted with, the raids on camps that weren't supposed to happen, the screams in the dark.