Fire, Stories, and a Gentle Pat

They left Mokhaven behind. The path led them into a land of rolling hills and tall, thin trees with silvery bark. They walked all day. The two suns moved across the sky, and the shadows grew long.

When the sky began to turn orange, Traveller stopped. "We'll camp here for the night."

The spot was a small clearing, protected by the silver trees. Traveller moved with a practiced ease. They cleared a space for a fire, laid out two bedrolls, and started to unpack their bag.

"Bob. Get firewood," Traveller said, pointing to the forest floor. "Dry sticks. Brown ones. Not the green ones."

Bob nodded seriously. His job was important.

He held his stick-sword in one hand and marched into the trees. The world under the silver bark was dim and quiet.

He saw a brown stick on the ground. It was dry. Good. He picked it up.

A little farther, he saw a big branch. It was green and covered in soft moss. He remembered Traveller's words, but the branch looked strong and important. He decided it was also good. He picked it up with both arms.

As he turned, he saw something else. A mushroom, glowing with a soft blue light. It looked like the lights in Mokhaven. A light for their camp! Very good. He carefully plucked it and added it to his collection.

He came back to the clearing, his arms full. He proudly dropped his collection near the fire pit. In the pile were two dry, brown sticks, one large, wet, green branch, and a glowing blue mushroom.

Traveller looked at the pile. The mouth under the hood twitched. "Good effort. We will use the brown ones."

Traveller took the two dry sticks and broke them into smaller pieces. They pulled a small, smooth black stone and a piece of metal from their pouch. Bob watched, fascinated.

Traveller struck the stone against the metal. A single, bright spark flew out. It landed on a pile of dry leaves.

A tiny wisp of smoke appeared, then a small, orange flame. Traveller gently blew on it, and the flame grew, catching onto the small sticks.

Soon, a small, crackling fire was alive. It pushed back the darkness and the cool night air. The warmth felt good on Bob's face. They sat by the fire, and Traveller handed him a piece of bread and some dried meat. The firelight made Traveller's hood cast a deep, dancing shadow. It was quiet. The only sounds were the fire and the chirping of night insects.

"It's been a long time since I've shared a fire with someone," Traveller said suddenly. Their voice was soft, directed at the dancing flames. "You get used to the silence. You start talking to yourself, you know. You tell yourself jokes. Sometimes you even laugh."

Bob listened, chewing his bread. He did not understand all the words, but he understood the tone. It was the sound of 'alone'.

"I once spent three weeks in the Crystal Mountains," Traveller continued, their voice a low murmur. "The only thing to eat was dried moss. Tasted like dirt. At night, the stars there... they're a different color. Cold and sharp. Beautiful, but... empty. There was no one to turn to and say, 'Look at that'."

They poked the fire with a stick, sending a shower of sparks into the air. "It's a funny thing, being alone. You become your own world. Your own company. Your own quiet."

Traveller fell silent again, just staring into the fire. Bob saw it then. It was not the same as the sad man or the sad musician. It was a different kind of quiet sadness. A deeper one.

He remembered the woman from his dream. Veilon. He remembered her warm hand on his head.

He stood up. He walked over to Traveller, who was still looking at the fire. Traveller was sitting, and Bob was short. He had to stand on his tiptoes.

He reached out his small hand and gently patted the top of Traveller's hooded head. Once. Twice. He stroked the rough fabric of the hood, just as he remembered Veilon stroking his hair.

Traveller froze. Their whole body went still. They slowly turned their head, the deep shadow of the hood facing Bob.

Bob just looked at them with his plain, serious eyes. He kept his hand on their head.

A long moment of silence passed. Then, a quiet, breathy sound came from under the hood. It might have been a laugh, or a sigh.

"It's a strange thing," Traveller's voice said, softer than Bob had ever heard it. "To be reminded you have a head to be patted."