A Heavy Compass

The storm was gone in the morning. The air was clean and cold.

They left the cave. The world looked new and washed. But the feeling between them was old and heavy.

Traveller was quiet. It was a different quiet. Not the good quiet from the campfire. This was a deep, lonely quiet. They were walking next to Bob, but their mind was far away, back in the cave with the story on the stone.

Bob could feel it. The quiet was cold. He did not like it.

He remembered the sad man in town. He remembered the sad musician. He remembered the quiet Traveller at the fire. He knew what to do.

He reached into his pouch and pulled out a piece of cooked Snuffleboar. He held it out to Traveller. An offering.

Traveller looked down at the meat, then at Bob. They did not smile. They just shook their head and kept walking.

Bob's hand fell back to his side. That did not work.

He tried the other thing. When they stopped for a moment, he stood on his tiptoes and reached up to pat Traveller's hooded head.

This time, Traveller gently caught his wrist before he could touch them. "Not now, Bob," they said, their voice distant.

Bob let his hand drop. He looked down at the silver compass hanging on his chest. The needle was still. Pointing the way. He touched the cool metal. The quiet had started in the cave. It had started with the story. With him. The compass felt heavier now.

As they climbed higher, Traveller changed.

They came to a small stream of rushing water. Before, Bob would have jumped across the rocks himself. But now, Traveller simply lifted him up and carried him to the other side, as if he were made of glass.

They came to a steep, rocky slope. Before, Traveller would have offered a hand. Now, they walked in front, clearing every small, loose stone from the path so Bob would not trip.

Bob did not like it. He was not a package. He was a walker. A leader. But Traveller did not seem to see that anymore. They saw the small, white-haired boy from the stone wall.

They stopped to rest on a high ledge. The grey mountain peak was very close now. They could see the jagged lines near its top. The compass on Bob's chest pointed right at it.

The quiet between them was bigger than the whole valley below.

Bob looked at Traveller. They were staring at the mountain, but their face, hidden in the hood, looked lost.

He looked at the compass. It felt heavy. A heavy job.

He looked at the mountain. It looked big. And scary.

He looked back at Traveller. He understood the feeling in their quietness now. It was the same spiky feeling he had felt in the valley.

He pointed at the compass. Then at the mountain. Then at Traveller.

He asked a simple question.

"You... scared?"

Traveller flinched, a small, sharp movement. They turned their head fast, the deep shadow of their hood hiding everything. But Bob heard it.

A quick, sharp intake of breath.