The Walker

Walker had decided to let the girl tag along for a while, at least until the next city, or when he remembered why he had given her the book; whichever came first. Besides, she had proven useful once, and may do so again.

It had been two days since the skirmish at the tower and, fortunately, they had not been pursued further. The girl was still grieving over her brother, and Walker had left her to it. She seemed to be functioning still, doing tasks he asked of her and so on, but she wasn’t talking.

The sun was rising on the third day, warming him up and promising to be long and dry, as usual. Walker, always the first to rise, rolled from the small shelter he had made with his cloak and stretched. His armour creaked and popped; he would need to find parts so he could repair it. He looked over to where the girl lay huddled among the roots of a gnarled oak tree, long dead but still standing.

Since the fight on the hill she would rarely raise her visor, hiding her misery behind the white-silver glare.

Walker checked the girl was definitely asleep before retracting his own visor. He prodded gingerly at his swollen cheek where the robbing old bastard had kicked him. He took his hat off and scratched his head. The hair there felt long and dirty. He sighed and replaced his hat and, reaching into the pack at his hip, retrieved his tobacco kit.

As he inhaled, the girl stirred and turned towards him, he hurriedly dropped his visor back, covering his eyes again. “Get up. Time we were moving. If you need to do your business, go behind the tree, and hurry up.”

She sat, looking at her knees. Walker sighed again. There was no time for grief. People died, especially out here, doing what he did. She had to learn. He turned from her and gathered his cloak, unfastening it from the gnarled tree he had slept against.

As he fastened it under the clasp on his chest, she spoke, “I’m hungry.”

A smirk played on Walker’s lips. He turned and grinned down at her, radiating good will, “Well, girl, all you had to do was ask.”

He started to walk off, again following the sun eastwards.

She scrambled to her feet and called after him, “Hey! Aren’t we eating?”

He carried on, turning slightly, “No food here. Next town shouldn’t be far ahead. Keep up.” He allowed himself another grin; hunger always drew people out. He turned back towards the rising sun and slyly popped some hard bread into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully, wondering what town they would come to next, and how far it might be.