A Gift of Warmth

The fire was almost out, just grey smoke in the cold morning air. Bob woke up. He was hungry.

Traveller was already standing at the edge of the rocks, a white statue watching the trees. Lum was awake, too. She sat with her back against a stone, Bob's grey cloak wrapped tight around her. She looked small and tired, the lines on her face tight like she was holding something painful inside.

Bob saw it. The 'sad' feeling. The 'broken' feeling. He remembered the pretty woman, Veilon, and her warm hand on his head. He remembered the feeling when he touched the big stone person.

He stood up and walked to Lum. Traveller turned their head, a silent question. Lum looked up at Bob, her eyes full of exhaustion.

Bob did not say anything. He just reached out his small hand and put it on her shoulder, on the cold, black part where her arm was gone. He thought about the pretty woman. He thought about the warm feeling. He pushed.

A small, white light came from his hand, soft like the inside of a cloud. It was not hot, it was warm. The warmth spread from his hand, over her scarred shoulder. The glowing lines around the scar pulsed once with a gentle light, then faded.

Lum's whole body went still. Her breath hitched. The tight lines on her face were gone, and her breathing was slower. She stood up. She did not wobble.

She looked at Bob. Her face was still flat, but her eyes were wide with something new. Awe.

"...Thank you," she whispered. The words were for him alone.

Traveller watched the whole thing, frozen. The shadow of their hood hid their face, but Bob could feel their surprise. It was a loud quiet.

Traveller looked at Lum, then pointed towards the low hills. "We need to move. There should be a town in that direction. It's our best chance."

Lum's gaze followed, her face serious. "A town is where they will expect us to go," she said quietly. "The paths will be watched."

Bob understood. Town meant food. Forlorn meant they had to be quiet. He nodded. He was ready.

They walked, not on a path, but in the trees. Traveller was in front, The Eyes. Lum was in the middle, next to Bob, The Ears. Bob was... Bob. He held his stick-sword.

They stopped behind a big bush when Traveller held up a hand. Bob peeked through the leaves. Down on a dirt path, three people walked. The Forlorn. Their faces were sad and mean. They were looking at the ground, at the trees. Bob felt a small hand on his shoulder. Lum's hand was gentle, but it pushed him down, out of sight.

They waited until the Forlorn were gone. The path was not safe, so they had to cross a small, fast river. The water was cold on Bob's legs. He stopped to watch a silver fish dart past his foot before Traveller gently tugged his sleeve. They had to keep moving.

The sun was going down when they climbed one last hill. They were tired. And they saw them.

Far away, in a dark valley, were small, yellow lights. Like fallen stars.

A town.

It was far. The path was not safe. But it was there. A place to go.