Sharp was the wind that whispered through the cluster of oak and ash trees beside the road. It was not yet icy, but nipped at the skin of cheeks and fingers, promising the frozen season to come. A round ring of ancient stones, set down ages before by hands unknown, circled a cheery fire that cast a wide, wriggling patch of light into a deepening twilight. Felled portions of trees had been cleanly hewn many years ago, and upturned to create half a dozen rustic seats around the fire-pit. A stream trickled fifty paces off, though its voice was low and faint here in the dry season of autumn. The copse of trees and the rise of a low hill to the east provided some shelter from the sighing wind that never ceased to dance, day and night, over the plains. It was a good and well-known campsite for travelers.
A young woman dressed in simple, hardy traveling garb sat by the crackling flames. Each time the wind blew a hard, cold breath over the camp, she squinted her eyes and held very still, as if this helped the chill pass more quickly. Just beyond the edge of the firelight, the hulking stallion, with his black-and-white patchwork hide, grazed without fear. While the woman set a clay mug on a stone next to the glowing embers, the sound of the horse's rough-velvet lips ripping and tearing at the grass was comforting in its familiarity. She spoke not, but relished the quiet, and the gentle choir of the sighing wind, chirring crickets, and hooting brown owls.
As a half-moon rose, brilliant and bright over the western hills, a new sound added itself to the scene. Brisk hoofbeats coming along the road. The woman sat up and swept back the stray tendrils of hair that had come loose from her long braid, and had been carelessly floating in front of her eyes. Her horse paused in his grazing to lift his head. His nostrils flared as he took in a breath, trying to find a whiff of who might be approaching. She did not stand and did not feel alarmed, as the road was heavily traveled by her people.
Before any figures were visible, she heard the hoofbeats slowing. No doubt the light of the fire had caught the rider’s attention. Her muscles gave a clench, not out of fear, but a sort of disappointment that her solitary peace was likely about to be interrupted. She brushed her hands over her lap and sat up straighter still.
Along the road, touched softly by moonlight, came the horse and rider. She could see them now, coming to a halt just beyond the wind-rustled trees. The man was but a silhouette, tall and broad-shouldered, his body nothing but a flowing, shadowy mass beneath a great cloak. The black-and-white stallion behind her gave a great snort.
“Westu hal, lady,” said a rough and deep voice. The accent was that of her own kin, and she felt some sort of relief, though she could not pinpoint why.
“Westu hal, friend,” she replied. And while inwardly she wished to turn back the world half an hour and be alone in the dark again, duty and goodness compelled her to continue. “Would you warm yourself and take some rest from your journey?” Her hand moved of its own accord, making a graceful sweep towards the crackling fire.
“Thank you,” said he, in the same cracked, gruff tone. “I will.” With that, he swung himself down from the saddle and landed heavily. Taking his mount’s reins, he led the beast from the road and down the small slope towards the cluster of sheltering trees.
The woman held her gaze upon him. Watchful and alert, but not on edge. She rose to her feet respectfully as the man arrived on the opposite side of the circle of stones, and he paused to stare at her in surprise as she did so. He was not young, but nor was he old. His hair was shades darker than most of her kinsmen, but the firelight shone upon eyes that were a vivid, cornflower blue. His face was rugged and looked at first to be perhaps heavily scarred rather than wrinkled with age. She could not tell at once, and took care not to gape too long at him. He was swathed in a heavy wool cloak with the hood thrown back on his shoulders, and a long, braided beard lay like a wiry bush over his breast.
“Sit, sit,” he commanded, waving a hand at the politely standing woman. He cast a quick glance at the black-and-white stallion, then released the reins of his own steed; a sleek, grey beast with a dappled coat. The silvery horse dipped its head deeply, sizing up the other animal across the camp.
The young woman hovered in place for a moment, until she saw that the man was taking a seat himself on one of the logs opposite her. She slowly lowered herself back down, and placed her hands into her lap.
The traveler set his booted feet wide apart, hunched himself forward, set his elbows on his thighs, and laced his own fingers - which she could see were thick and rough, with dirt caked into the creases of his knuckles - between his knees. His eyes seemed to be bent onto the fire, though she sensed intermittent flicks of them striking against her cheek whenever her own gaze passed away from him.
A few minutes passed in silence, with only the snapping of the flames and the huffs of the two horses - still curious about one another - drifting on the chilly night air. At length, she remembered the mug she had set down to warm by the embers, and she bent over to pick it up.
“Well, then,” said the man. The words had an odd tone to them. Not so much an inquiry, or a prompt for conversation, as they seemed some kind of concluding declaration. As she shifted her eyes back to his face, she could see that his cheeks were pressed slightly upwards beneath his bushy beard, hinting at a faint smile.
She felt the corners of her own mouth twitch. But she would not allow herself to openly smile in return. Her palms soaked in the heat of the cup as she cradled it. A gentle urge rose in her gut, and she leaned slowly forward to reach across the firepit, offering the warmed drink to him.
His thick eyebrows rose upward, and he blinked twice, before reaching out to accept the cup from her. He placed his palm beneath it so that their hands would not touch.
No other words were said as the traveler sipped at the mug, sighing deeply from the comforting heat it brought to his belly. The fire danced and snapped, the horses stood contentedly with lowered heads, the moon wandered lazily over the hills, and the wind never stopped its moaning.
