He exhaled the smoke in a long, thin line while idly observing the slow burn of the rolled pipe-weed between his fingertips. Kitten sat a pace away in front of the campfire she built for them, borrowed book lying across her lap, her small inquisitive face turned towards him.
"You seemed like you were having a nightmare. Or at least, an odd dream," she spoke.
The traveler nodded once, though he had not had a nightmare at all. The opposite, in fact - he had dreamt of her - the woman he still loved, still pined for. His wife, beautiful and embodying all that was good in the world he lived in, years ago. Marrying her had made his life complete, for a time; she brought a new happiness into his already prosperous existence, then.
It was her loss that sent him roving the lands apathetically, embracing ruination as penance. Somewhere along his travels, he had replaced the pleasure of good food and good song for the noxious vapors he now filled his body with...
Song. He could still hear his beautiful wife’s voice, ever singing the chorus to some syrupy love ballad he never knew the name of. Her melodic lilt echoed on in his mind when all else fell silent and dark around him. And in his dream he saw her again, as whole and charming as she ever was, singing into the night.
No, the nightmare was in waking without her light. Again.
Kitten nudged him again with her questions, but the traveler would only say that he had dreamt of someone as he flicked away his half-finished smoke. Then he in turn asked Kitten if she had been uncomfortable lying on the grass, because she had lain herself over him while they slept. That earned him a blush and a shy apology from the girl; he replied that she need not apologize, that it was he that needed to apologize for mistakenly caressing her as he did.
Tension broken, the traveler pulled his tunic down over his head and sought his trousers and boots. Kitten unfolded her borrowed map and asked him about his suggestion to travel to Scary. What was there? How had he come to find out about it since he never looked at her map?
As he pulled up his ratty trousers, he merely replied that it was a name he heard spoken by a hobbit in Tuckborough. He lightly teased her about bravery in the face of visiting a placed called Scary before his trousers rolled back down his hips, the ties having snapped off in his hands the previous evening before he bathed in the river. The traveler sighed heavily and comically held them up with one hand as he retrieved his worn boots several strides away.
When he had returned, Kitten had removed the ties from her own boots and offered them to him. Thanking her, he laced the leather ties through the eyelets of his pants as she extinguished the fire and gathered her things.
Kitten was uncharacteristically sullen as they followed the road north, but would only colour and insist she was fine when he asked her what was wrong. He could surmise the reason for her mood, of course: he had unceremoniously turned her advances down the night before, despite giving off every sign of being receptive himself. Her ego was bruised, and perhaps her feelings were even hurt. He was sorry for having done so, but he thought it for the best.
He was attracted to her in truth - there was no use denying that - and the few similarities between Kitten and his lost wife only made it easier for him to desire her. But he also believed that the girl walking next to him would not be content with a brief dalliance, and he was not such a cad as to knowingly bait her with what he could not give her. There were better men in the wide world, and she would eventually find one who had not the burdens he carried.
The traveler shook the weighty thoughts from his head, then turned his attention to watching her feet and her walking gait as they passed through towns and forest.
"Blisters," said he at a stop before a small bridge. She looked down to her boots and said that she had none. She would though, the way her loosened boots chafed against her skin. He offered her his own tattered boots, but they were far too large for her petite feet. Before day’s end she would be in excruciating pain, he knew.
Few people, even those he might call friends, would have willingly endured the misery of blistered feet on a journey made wholly on foot for the sake of his modesty. She had sacrificed her own comfort and it touched him more than he cared to admit.
He insisted that she rest when her feet began to hurt, to which she only impassively agreed.
The traveller vigilantly watched the faces of passing Bounders as they passed along the roads, but none seemed to find the pair very interesting. Either news must travel slowly here, he thought, or perhaps all pies were now very well secured against outside threats.
Kitten suggested they locate food twice that afternoon, but they had no opportunity to procure something to eat along their walk. The farmers’ stalls were all closely watched that day, and there had been no forgotten plates left on picnic tables in either town they strolled through. Still, she never complained of discomfort.
It was late afternoon when Kitten could no longer hide her hobble. She had endured longer than he expected and even when he asked how she fared now, she was dismissive and prepared to quietly muster on.
She did not argue, however, when he told her to sit by an unattended cart near to the road.
Kneeling before her, the traveler extended a hand to the nearest boot and shot her a questioning look. She sighed but stuck her legs out, and he carefully pulled off her boots and set them aside. Then he slid one hand beneath the heel of her left foot, raising it up to inspect what damage had been done.
She jerked her leg and stifled a giggle. He raised a brow and slid his calloused hand behind her calf before asking if she was ticklish. She blushed and nodded. He half-smiled as he inspected one foot and then the other. He noticed some red spots that were rubbed raw, but no serious damage had been done yet. Kitten snickered at his every touch.
The traveler kept his face impassive, tightened his grip on her ankle, then purposely traced his roughened fingertips along the bottom of her sole. She squealed and kicked away, so he seized her other foot and drew patterns on the underside of it until she teared up with laughter and kicked too wildly to hang on.
"Not fair," she exclaimed.
"At least you look happy again," he replied.
"That’s a dirty trick," she smirked.
"Not so dirty," he grinned. "Not much smell."
She pushed her toes under his nose and wiggled them. "Not much?"
"Perhaps more if I did not smoke so much halfling’s weed." His grin widened and he shook her foot playfully.
"I just bathed last night. It can't be that bad," she countered.
"You wear the road well, truly. And a smile even better," he agreed and released her foot.
Her cheeks turned crimson at his compliment, and he said that he had not meant any insult. Fishing around in his rucksack for his smokes, he commented that she generally seemed happy and that it been unusual to see her not so that day.
"Well, it wasn't my best night," she sighed.
"No?" he asked nonchalantly as he laid his flint and pipe-weed on his lap. The traveler knew that the conversation had to happen eventually, as they would remain paired for the duration of their journey. Having her become resentful of him would ill serve either of them, at least until they returned to Bree and went their separate ways. And so he carefully opened the discussion.
She took her cue and shot him a look. "You know it wasn’t," she said.
Hovering a hand over his smokes, he then seemed to change his mind about smoking. His face looked up with an unreadable expression as he apologized and said that he did not wish to hurt her.
"It's not your fault. I read things wrong again," she looked slightly embarrassed as she scratched the back of her neck. He shook his head and then gave her a pointed look.
"No, you did not. I find you attractive, Kitten. That is true. But I offer you nothing save momentary relief. I am nothing. And I have no wish to hurt you," he repeated again. Yet she still looked confused, and asked how he would hurt her.
"What do you want of me? A quick lay? And whenever we part you will not look back?" The traveler hovered his hand over his smokes again, fiddling with his flint. Her face went deep crimson and she furrowed her brows. He dropped his flint and leaned forward.
"Then what, Kitten? I am sorry, I wanted to take you last night, but I also did not want you to wake the next morning expecting that which I cannot give," and with those few words he had finally laid out the situation plainly.
It took her a few moments before she replied quietly and with curiosity. "We couldn't just... do what we're doing now? What... did you think I expected of you?"
The traveler sighed to himself before he ran a hand through his hair, looking thoughtfully at his smokes.
He answered quietly, "Feelings. Heart." His hand ran along the handle of one of his old nicked knives idly, ruminating on a promise once made over it.
Kitten tilted her head at him, "Is there not already feelings? I wouldn't ask any more than what you already give me."
He looked up to her again with eyes reflecting sincerity as he responded, "I care about you. But I do not want you to ask me to love" - his voice trailed off a moment before resuming - "I did not want the expectation to loom. And as a friend who cares, you can do better than me."
Kitten replied instantly, "I've been with you this long, you haven't done anything to me. You always make sure I have something to eat, took care of me when I was hurt. You didn't want to hurt me. Why wouldn't I trust you?"
The traveler sat back and considered the girl’s words. Slowly he nodded and spoke: "I suppose you could have chosen worse, if not better." Then he tucked his smokes back into his rucksack and pushed it away, his mind made up, and turned to her with a gentle smile on his face.
"This is more difficult than I thought it would be, when I was alone. You know. People," Kitten said while gesturing between them.
"I agree. Things are easier when you go alone. And you have frightened me more in this short time together than I have been for a long time," the traveler broadened his smile.
"I don't mean to frighten you," she began to apologize.
"It is not you, but caring about your wellbeing that is frightening," he replied truthfully. He ran a calloused fingertip along his knife pommel, silently apologizing to the past for what he was about to do. Then he pushed his knives under his rucksack and out of sight.
Kitten had rested her head against the cart when he turned back to her, and he shifted himself in front of her. Raising a rough fingertip to her face, he slowly ran it along her smooth jawline. She blinked but made no move to stop him. Seeing no disapproval, he leaned his face forward quickly and brushed his lips against hers before sitting back again, watching her blankly.
She had puckered her lips slightly and left them puckered as he pulled away. She appeared surprised and a slight flush spread across her cheeks. The traveler broke into a small grin, and brought a finger to her inviting lips.
"And you wanted more than that the other night?" He traced his finger back along her jawline and then down her neck, pausing at her chest. A trail of tiny goosebumps arose in its wake, Kitten looking intently and questioningly into his eyes. After a moment, she moved closer to him.
The traveler drew small circles on her skin, returning the look before asking, "Should I make up for last night?"
Kitten eagerly replied, "Yes," before adding quickly and earnestly, "If you want to."
He smiled broadly for just a moment, then wrapped both his arms around her tiny waist and pulled her to him, claiming her mouth with his while falling backwards to the soft, green grass.
OOC: Be well soon, Kit.
