Chapter 114 Moving

Chapter 114 Moving
Lyanna

We left before sunrise, while the valley was still dark enough that the trees beyond the road blurred together.
Asha rode ahead because she knew where the track divided beyond the ridge. Elias walked beside our horse, keeping us far enough behind her that the wet earth would not throw mud onto his boots with every step.
Rain had stopped sometime during the night, but the pines continued shedding water whenever the wind disturbed them. Droplets struck my cloak and gathered along the horse's mane.
The road descended steadily from the ridge.
Elias glanced back at me and held out his hand.
I passed him the water skin.
He drank before returning it, and when I hooked it onto the saddle again, I caught Asha looking over her shoulder.
She turned forward without saying anything.
The track narrowed between steep banks where rain had exposed roots and loosened stones. When Elias raised his hand, I drew the reins in and waited while he examined the ground ahead.
A section of the path had partially collapsed down the slope.
Asha had already crossed it.
Elias stepped onto the remaining ground and pressed his weight against it before taking the horse by the bridle. I shifted toward the higher side of the saddle while he led us across.
Once we reached firm ground, Asha looked back at us.
“You two always do that?”
Elias glanced at her.
“Do what?”
Asha gestured between us before apparently deciding against whatever she had intended to say.
“Never mind.”
We continued down the ridge.
By late morning, the pines had begun to thin enough for fields to appear between them.
The first farm we passed stood empty.
One shutter hung crooked beside an upstairs window, and the front door had been left open. Weeds had begun to grow across the path leading to it. Near the fence, a wooden bowl lay upside down in the mud.
Asha slowed her horse.
“People were still living here when I came through last.”
Elias looked toward the open doorway.
“How long ago?”
“Three weeks.”
He examined the windows before turning his attention toward the barn.
I followed his gaze.
The barn doors stood open as well.
There were no animals inside.
We continued along the road.
A child's shoe lay near the broken fence.
Asha looked at it as she passed.
She did not turn around.
The next farm had burned.
Most of the roof had collapsed into the house, leaving blackened beams jutting above the stone walls. Rain had washed ash into the yard and carried it in dark streaks toward the road.
Asha drew her horse to a slower walk.
Her fingers tightened around the reins.
Elias moved closer to our horse until his shoulder nearly brushed my knee.
No one suggested stopping.
Near midday, Elias led us away from the road to a shelf of stone hidden behind thick brush.
He checked the slope below us before returning.
Asha unwrapped the bread she had packed that morning and handed me a piece. Elias reached toward the food beside my knee, so I picked up the packet of dried fruit and passed it to him.
Asha watched us.
I looked at her.
“What?”
“I didn't say anything.”
“You were going to.”
Asha considered denying it, but her attention shifted to my hands instead.
“Teach me more.”
Elias looked up from the packet.
“No.”
Asha ignored him.
“I know a few signs now, but not enough to understand you without him.”
I showed her the sign for danger.
She copied the movement incorrectly, so I reached over and adjusted the position of her hand.
Elias lowered the fruit.
“Asha.”
She tried the sign again.
I shook my head and corrected her wrist.
When she repeated it properly, I nodded.
I showed her soldiers next.
Elias watched me demonstrate the movement.
“You are encouraging her.”
Asha repeated the sign.
I corrected two of her fingers.
“She may need it.”
“She has a voice.”
Asha looked at him.
So did I.
His jaw tightened.
“That came out wrong.”
I turned back to Asha and showed her the sign for hide.
She learned that one more quickly.
After that came wait and quiet.
Asha repeated each until I was satisfied.
When she attempted the sign for road, I caught her wrist before she finished.
“Again,” she said.
I demonstrated more slowly.
She copied me.
Elias leaned back against the rock.
“This is getting out of hand.”
Asha looked at him.
“Eli, if something happens and she needs to tell me something without calling across the trees, I would rather understand her.”
The name caught my attention despite myself.
I lowered my eyes to the bread in my hand.
When I looked up, Elias was watching me.
His expression did not change, but he waited.
I knew exactly what he was waiting for.
I signed don't.
His eyes remained on mine.
I repeated the sign with greater emphasis.
He turned his attention back toward the road.
I finished my bread while Asha practised what I had taught her.
We returned to the road before the afternoon grew late.
The fields disappeared behind us as the trees thickened again. Elias walked ahead for a while, occasionally moving toward the edge of the road to see farther between the trunks.
He stopped beside a patch of mud.
I pulled the horse to a halt.
Asha came alongside him as he crouched.
The print in the mud was clear enough for me to see from the saddle.
Asha dismounted and approached it.
“One horse?”
Elias studied the ground around it.
“One.”
“Which direction?”
He pointed south.
Asha looked along the road.
“There are still travellers using this route.”
“Some.”
Elias stood and examined the trees before we continued.
Another hoofprint appeared beside a puddle farther ahead.
The indentation was deep, and water had only begun gathering inside it.
Elias stopped again.
This time, Asha remained on her horse.
A branch had been pushed aside near the road. Several leaves had been torn from it, and one still hung from a strip of green stem.
Elias touched neither the branch nor the hoofprint.
He listened instead.
I found myself doing the same.
Water continued dripping from the trees. Somewhere farther down the slope, a bird called once before another answered it.
Elias lowered his hand.
We moved on.
Half an hour later, smoke stains on a low overhang drew Asha's attention.
Someone had made a small fire beneath it.
The stones surrounding the ashes were still damp from being extinguished, although no warmth remained when Elias held his hand above them.
A patch of pine needles beside the fire had been flattened.
There was only enough disturbed ground for one person.
Asha stayed near her horse while Elias examined the site.
“How long ago?” she asked.
“Last night, unless they left before dawn.”
Asha looked toward the southern road.
“Could have been a messenger.”
“It could have.”
Elias rose and wiped his palm against his trousers.
He did not return to the middle of the road after that.
He kept near the tree line instead.
Asha rode closer to me, and her hand remained within easy reach of the knife at her belt.
We travelled without speaking.
The light weakened beneath the trees as the afternoon passed.
When the road curved west, Asha led us onto a narrower track that continued south through the pines.
Elias stopped several minutes later.
I drew the reins in before the horse could reach him.
His head turned slightly toward the trees.
Asha's fingers closed around the hilt of her knife.
A branch moved beyond the road.
The movement stopped before I could see what had caused it.
Elias lifted two fingers and kept them raised.
Neither Asha nor I moved.
The horses shifted restlessly beneath us.
The wind passed through the upper branches, but the lower brush remained still.
After several moments, Elias lowered his hand.
He continued down the track more slowly than before.
I watched the spaces between the trees as we followed him.
We had nearly reached another bend when he stopped again.
I saw the movement at the same time he did.
Someone passed between two pines ahead of us.
The trees concealed most of the figure, but I saw the dark shape of a cloak and the unmistakable movement of a person stepping off the path.
Asha drew her knife.
Elias moved immediately in front of our horse and reached for his sword.
The figure appeared again through the trees several yards farther ahead.
This time, whoever it was had turned toward us.