We camped that night beside a ridge of old trees.
Rowan set up camp with the same quiet efficiency he seemed to bring to everything. A fire that was small enough not to draw attention but large enough to be useful. Bedrolls on opposite sides of it. Food from the packs on the horses that was plain and filling. He did not make a production of any of it and I did not offer help I had not been asked for and we moved around each other in that small space without getting in each other's way.
I was beginning to understand that this was how he was. Economical. Precise. He did not waste movement or words or energy on things that did not need them. It should have felt cold. Somehow it did not.
We ate without much conversation and then sat for a while with the fire between us and the night sounds
