They walked down the road, her arm wrapped loosely about his. His stiffness suggested that, even before, this kind of contact was not usual between them, which confused her greatly. He claimed they were…together. Surely that implied contact? Surely that implied intimacy? Not for the first time, she found her heart pounding and her hands clenching into fists as she considered the logical possibility that he had lied to her…though to what end, she wondered.

He did not waver or look away from the road before them, so she tried to do the same. She wanted desperately to look back so she could immortalize in her mind the view of the place that had been her sanctuary these past months. Certainly Agatha’s little cabin had been more of a home than wherever it was this man was taking her. Her heart clenched with sorrow when she thought of that darling woman, and her son, alone again by the sea. For a moment she wanted to grab at his arm and beg him to take her back…she didn't care who he was or who she was…she had a home now, and it was safe and it was quiet and it was by the ocean where she always had a lullaby.

The wind changed direction suddenly, tugging a few rebellious strands of hair from where she had arranged them. She patted at her head irritably. When she opened her mouth to take a deeper breath, she could taste water on the tip of her tongue…just for an instant and it lacked the salt of her beloved ocean. She faltered in her step–he did not. She slowed and stopped so as not to trip, and grabbed at his sleeve, forcing him to turn about to face her. She did not even bother trying to speak; she pulled her arm from his and signed quickly.

Rain is coming.

For a moment, she thought he would question her. His eyes narrowed, and his mouth thinned. She did not let her eyes fall from his, though it was a challenge. He looked away first, eyes finding the horizon, where grey clouds gathered and grew, and slowly nodded.

“We will seek shelter when the time comes.”

She blinked. She did not think he would approve of cuddling under a rock or tree for warmth and dryness…and so she was (pleasantly?) surprised when that was exactly what they did.

Here, she thought, was that intimacy she felt they must have had, if his story was true. He sat with his back to the stone, and she sat between his legs, her back against his chest, and his knees kept her contained against him. His cloak was barely big enough to cover the both of them, and in this position they sat for a long while.

For the first few minutes, they were both stiff and uncomfortable. She thought dryly that it would have been more comfortable to cuddle with the very rock itself than with this strange man. After a little while, against her will, her body began to relax, exhausted from being so tense for so long. Being on guard was exhausting; even before, it must not have been natural for her. She did not outright lean into him, but she let her spine curl and her fists unclenched from the edge of the cloak.

She noticed, after an hour or so of sitting, that his hands began to twitch…as if he wanted desperately to reach for something and could not bring himself to do it. When she pulled her hands to her chest, the twitching ceased.

They walked as soon as the rain let up, and she convinced him to let them sleep at the first copse of trees they found. She surprised him, she thought, by making a fire easily, though when he asked how she knew how, she found she could not answer.

My hands know a lot my mind doesn’t. When he blinked at her, she shrugged one shoulder.

He left her with a crossbow and a knife to go find something to eat (or so he said…she found that even though he had proven trustworthy so far, there was still a kernel of suspicion in the forefront of her mind), and while she was alone with no one to witness her shame, she tried to speak.

She started small…one, small word that held no negative connotations and meant nothing to her personally. Tree. It was an easy word…babies could say it, if they tried hard enough. She was surrounded by them and they were safe and they were useful and…

She couldn’t. Her throat closed just as she reached for her voice, and she found she could not even remember how she was supposed to move her lips. Tears prickled the corners of her eyes and she sucked in a breath, attempting to steady herself. Her hands curled unconsciously to sign calm and she began to rock slowly. She shouldn’t get worked up. That just made it worse.

By the time he returned, she was on the verge of tears for the thirteenth time. He did not notice at first, too busy preparing the…rabbit? that he’d caught, but as soon as he turned to ask a question, he saw it. She wasn’t sure how; she knew she could hide her emotions if she wanted to, and she knew that she definitely wanted to now, but he took one look at her and crossed the clearing, kneeling just far enough away from her that she didn’t feel threatened. He stared at her a few minutes, his expression blank and his eyes lost, and then he held out his hand.

He didn’t ask what was wrong. He didn’t try and force an embrace on her, a comforting hand, anything anyone would have tried. It was so unlike anyone else…and also so unlike him. The gesture looked awkward and unpracticed, and the only reason she didn’t spurn him was because she saw in his eyes a strange earnestness. She took his hand and he relaxed the slightest bit…and that was it. He sat beside her, her hand in his, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb until the smell of…what had he spiced that rabbit with? Her eyes widened as the aroma began to fill the clearing, and she thought she saw the flicker of a smile on his face as he moved away to get their dinner.

When she laid down, he moved almost immediately to lie next to her. He realized his mistake only after he had half-lowered himself beside her, and he froze. Before he could pull all the way away, she put a hand on his arm and shook her head. She tried to smile for him, but it fell away quickly and was replaced with an expression of solemn acceptance.

It’s acceptable. Her hand twitched before she signed in a rush of fumbling fingers, I feel safer when you’re closer. She hoped that didn’t sound too…forward. He claimed to be her husband, but from her perspective, she had only met the man a few days before. He stared at her until…well, she didn’t know why he stopped, but he looked away slowly after a long while and lowered himself the rest of the way, though he kept his arms to himself. She saw how it seemed to pain him to do so, and guilt stabbed at her chest.

It was half a lie, what she told him; she felt safer with him close, yes, but his body on hers was an unfamiliar thing. She did not know how long it took him to sleep, but it felt like it took her hours. She watched the fire and she watched the sky and she watched the moss on the trees and when it grew particularly lonely, she tried to speak.