They were still on the river when they awoke, so Holo gave Lawrence an earful, just as he expected, yet she watched over the buzz of activity unique to the river port with delight.
Lawrence took only their valuables from the ship, such as the pouch full of coins, had a branch from one of Salonia’s companies watch after their things, and secured a room for himself and Holo in the meantime.
Rumors of their exploits had reached the port already, so that had been easy.
There seemed to still be quite a bit of distance to the ocean; so when he turned west, to where the ocean was supposed to be, Lawrence found himself faced with a terrifyingly vast open sky, a sensation only amplified by the featureless geography. The clear indigo of the night sky mixing with the fiery sunset was a stunning sight. As they sat at one of the riverside taverns, Holo had been so entranced by it that she almost forgot to drink any of the ale she had been served.
One could see a similar sight in Nyohhira by climbing to the top of a mountain, but being so close to the sea, which was essentially nothingness, the sky most certainly felt much bigger.
In previous travels, both Lawrence and Holo had gotten to see the sea, but the scenery changed with the time and place. Surely, once they reached the end of the river and came to the port, the sun setting over the sea would look much different from this.
“Your food’s getting cold,” Lawrence said, biting into his skewered trout, but Holo simply continued to stare at the setting sun, not even looking at him or nodding in response. It was rare that she was expressionless like this in front of him.
The way she looked made her seem entirely defenseless, as though every layer of her heart, right down to the thin film around her core, had been peeled away.
It was a strange expression—one that was not quite sad, yet hard to call optimistic—and Lawrence was certain that he would never be able to understand the feelings behind it. Those emotions belonged only to those who had lived for centuries, only when experiencing a sight that had not changed in hundreds of years.
And Lawrence had a feeling, too, that they were not happy feelings for her.
All he could do at times like these was just stay by her side and understand the plan he had painstakingly laid out to bring Holo joy was nothing before the overwhelming forces of nature.
He stared at the smudge on the table, created by a tear that had suddenly spilled from Holo’s expressionless eyes, as he swallowed the tender, salty meat of his trout.
The only reason he could still taste it was not only because he knew how to show his understanding for the world’s providence after becoming an adult. It was because now that his life was half over, he was starting to accept—reluctantly in defeat, even—that in the face of the immutable truths of the world, one could not stand one’s ground, only let the flow take over.
“Your fish is getting cold,” Lawrence said again, though not out of concern.
It was his way of showing defiance in the face of the flow of the immutable truths of the world.
Holo, standing in a perfectly still, mirror-like lake, could only find the shore by the help of those who boldly stepped in and caused ripples.
Though there was still some distance to the shore, when she turned to look at Lawrence, a relieved smile crossed her face.
“Yes, it smells good. ’Twould be a waste to let it go cold.”
There were glimpses of unease behind Holo’s expression, like she was taking in the scent in a dream. But when she, at last, hesitantly bit into her fish, she finally understood that this was not a dream.
“I think they’ll be playing music soon.”
Lawrence gestured with his chin to an open stall by the river, where some traveling musicians were preparing their instruments to busk. At the checkpoint, visible from where they sat, boats came in one after the other, and out of them came a stream of people on land eager to end their day with a cold pint.
Unlike cities encased in walls, the rules in riverside ports were lax. As he looked out at the lack of open seats, he could easily imagine how the lively chatter lasted well into the night every day.
“The fun’s just beginning,” Lawrence said.
Holo, consuming half her trout in a single bite, head-first, guts and all, looked up at him as the bones crunched between her teeth.
After swallowing, she devoured the rest of the fish with her second bite and licked her lips.
“I’m going to burp,” she said.
Lawrence frowned at her, and she gave him an ironic, lopsided grin before pointing her skewer at him.
“Not because of the fish. Because of you.”
Before Lawrence could ask what she meant, Holo took a large swig of ale, placed her wooden mug down on the table with a satisfied hum, and immediately ordered more.
“Of course ’tis because of you,” she repeated, and finally belched loudly in quite an unladylike fashion.
Truly satisfied, as though she had managed to dislodge a bone from her throat, she turned to look at him.
“I spend all my days subject to your doting, and then I find that those days have come to an end.”
Holo reached for a new trout skewer, bringing it up to her lips in a kiss, then mercilessly bit into it.
“Thus begins again a journey of two lonely people.”
Despite how packed her cheeks were with fish, she didn’t let a single morsel spill out.
After a gulp, she brought up some more ale to her lips.