“Left," Sepharine said, scanning the horizon. “Rogue traps litter the ridge trail."
Draven adjusted the pack on his shoulders. “How can you tell?"
She pointed. “Crows always linger near carrion."
He followed her wordlessly.
Their journey south had been silent at first—awkward, brittle. But with each mile, something changed. The silence no longer ached. It breathed.
They moved like wolves learning to share ground again.
---
That night, campfire crackling low, Sepharine broke the quiet.
“I used to hate silence."
Draven looked up. “Because of me?"
“Yes. You'd go days without speaking. It felt like… punishment."
He nodded slowly. “I thought silence was control. Turns out, it was just fear."
She didn't reply.
He added, “I was afraid if I spoke, I'd admit I needed you."
She stirred
