The traveler returned to find the girl sitting where he left her, still soaked but not showing sign that she was cold despite the light winter breeze. And now her bear was by her side.
He tossed her bag at her feet and told her he would give her privacy to change. She did not stop him this time and he moved stiffly as he turned, a trace of disappointment surfacing. He leaned against the nearby boulder and watched the road as he heard her rustling behind him, which conjured up images from the shore of the Brandywine river days ago. The traveler held out one of his worn knives and counted the knicks along its edge to refocus his mind's wandering.
Kitten appeared from behind him when she was once again decent, and they both retrieved their bags. As he slung his rucksack around his shoulder, the traveler looked over to the ivory-coloured bear catching fish in the stream. He commented that the beast looked recovered from its grievous injury, and then softly added that Kitten had paid the higher price for its folly. She seemed to struggle with an explanation, so he redirected his attention back to the road and asked where she wanted to go next.
The bear lumbered up to them now, a large fish in its mouth. The beast let the pink salmon flop down to the grass which revealed large, gaping wounds in the scaled flesh where ursine fangs had pierced. That did nothing to endear the brute to him and the traveler backed away from predator and prey alike.
The girl timidly asked him if he still wanted to travel with her, her eyes downcast as she spoke. He asked her if she was going to continue to run off, which only made her apologize softly.
He could not describe what he felt then. A certain strong sense of frustration at the girl's unexpected recklessness coupled with a realization of his own failure to predict, let alone protect, her from her absurdities.
Protect. Why did he think he was honour-bound to do that? She was an utter stranger to him only weeks before, and he certainly owed her no allegiance. She had been one giant source of chagrin in the time he knew her, yet somehow he had grown... close... to her. Here he was, leagues away from whence he met her, on a fool's errand picking apples in a land of half-men.
He had only ever done such things with one other person. One he loved and desperately wished he had lain his life down for. The world surely lost the brightest light to have shined on its humble ground when it was unfairly extinguished, and evermore his days lost their meaning.
His hands had begun fumbling with his rucksack ties, subconsciously seeking temporary relief in his smoking weed. He caught himself and sought Kitten's wide-eyed face, which now looked back upon him with confusion and bashfulness. She earnestly apologized and asked him if he were mad at her, which only served to make him feel like a cad in some way for upsetting the poor girl. He gave in to his cravings and withdrew his smokes.
After a few draws, he told her plainly that he did not understand this. Any of this. Nothing she ever did made sense to him and now that frustration had peaked. She stuttered again, trying to find words. After a few starts she finally muttered that she could tell him about her dream. The traveler was not sure how the dream would explain any of her odd behaviours, and the offer annoyed him somewhat.
There was a moment of awkwardness between man and girl, standing by the road's edge, until he decisively moved back to the rock, chucked down his battered bag, and plopped down on the soft grass beside it.
He told her to tell him about it, and leaned back against the cold stone, stretching his spindly legs out before him, settling in. Kitten was unsure at first, and he told her to sit and speak. He had nowhere else to go and he had committed himself to this journey with her, so he would listen. He only had to prod her a small bit before she spilled her... stories.
She seemed taken to fancy with some of the more incredulous details of fire and raging anger, but one single thing stood out more than the rest: that she killed a man. This dainty, trusting slip of a young woman had taken the life of someone cruel. He gained a newfound sense of respect for her - assuming what she said was true. But in this world of lies and half-truths, he found that intention was often far more a stronger gauge of a person than factuality. He thanked her for telling him, and privately knew her words would be mulled over at length late at night when all was silent save his mind.
Her mood lightened with her secret-sharing, a smile on her face once again. She was a pretty girl in an unconventional way, but with a smile on her face the traveler thought her incredibly alluring. She would make some better man a fine wife, one day. Perhaps once she worn the wanderlust of youth out and thoughts of settling down came to her.
Appeased now that her weight was lifted, Kitten turned her attention to her bear like one would a yapping companion purse-dog, fawning over the large carnivore. The traveler was still unsettled by the nearness of the thing, but it made her happy and so he barely tolerated it for her sake. Sometimes people defeated their loneliness not with other people, but animals, and he had accepted that trait of hers earlier in their journey. He was just beginning to relax again, now that the tension from the nighttime incident had been dealt with.
And then Kitten slayed him anew with a different question. Of all the trinkets and necessities he carried within his rucksack, why did she center on that one?
Near the start of their travels, she had discovered his singular possession that was used for naught but memorializing the past. It was a small porcelain shard, jagged edges now rounded with wear, an ornately painted pattern still visible in the brightest sunlight but faded from many idle thumb-strokes across its surface. It was all that was left to him from long ago – and would most likely be buried with him, should he actually warrant a burial when his time on earth was done.
Now she asked him about it. It took him an immense amount of stoicism to maintain his blank look and neutral tone, and he knew he was struggling visibly. Still, he answered her with short utterances.
It was all that was left of a gift given him once, long ago, by someone he cared deeply for. Once, it had been a tea cup. Once, it held a certain tea, made for him by the giver out of love and devotion. But those things were now dust scattered in the winds of time.
With that, he laid his head back against the rock and watched the clouds slowly drift across the bright sky to collect himself. He would not answer anything further, and abruptly asked Kitten to choose a new destination for them. She appeared taken aback, but pulled out her map and studied it a time before selecting a name from it.
Frogmorton.
