“Leon ventured into the forest to hunt for our morning meal,” Veronica explained to Wigo, who was groaning with fatigue. “You’re welcome to rest longer if you need it.”
After informing their exhausted companion of the situation, she approached Night Star. Her daily riding lessons had become as much a part of her morning ritual as the rising sun, despite Leon’s frequent protests that she was tormenting the poor beast.
Today, however, marked a significant breakthrough in her persistent efforts. After watching Veronica repeatedly attempt to mount, before sliding off numerous times in frustration, Night Star finally released what sounded remarkably like a resigned sigh. The magnificent warhorse lowered its neck and body almost to the ground and allowed Veronica to climb atop its back at last.
“Mr. Wigo! Did you see? Did you see me get up there?” Veronica exclaimed, waving her arms excitedly. “When Le— I mean, Noah gets back, you absolutely must tell him I got on the horse all by myself!”
Wigo observed her through sleep-hazed eyes and smacked his lips appreciatively as Veronica beamed with triumph.
“The more I look at that horse, the more intelligent it seems,” Wigo mused. “Are you sure you won’t sell it? I could offer you quite a handsome price.”
Night Star, living up to its reputation as a smart horse, immediately understood Wigo’s words and neighed fiercely in protest. Veronica, still mounted on the horse, let out a small shriek and desperately clung to its neck.
“Absolutely not!” she declared. “I told you yesterday that Night Star is our friend!”
“Well, I suppose that’s that…” Wigo conceded. “It’s been a while since I’ve had a proper breakfast, though. That young man of yours is one of the few diligent youths these days. Yesterday he joined our camp with two rabbits he’d caught bare-handed.”
Seeing his proposition had failed, Wigo seemed to lose interest and shifted the conversation to Leon. After praising the young man’s remarkable survival skills and how she’d never need to worry about provisions in his company, he muttered almost to himself, “Since we’re here, I’d love a hearty meat broth. It does wonders for a hangover.”
“If you don’t know how to make it,” Veronica offered, “perhaps I could prepare it for you?”
“Really?”
“Nothing in this world is free,” she replied with a smile. “I’ve borrowed clothes and dishes from you all, and I feel awkward just sitting around doing nothing.”
Veronica finally jumped down from the now docile Night Star and added, “Just relight the fire for me.”
Wigo must have been desperate for that soup, as he quickly poured water into a pot and started building a fire. Meanwhile, Veronica gently roused Charlotte and looked around for the last member of their party. Enzo was sitting far from the campfire, where he’d been examining a carving since early morning.
Maybe I should ask what he’d like to eat, she thought. Come to think of it, I don’t believe I’ve spoken with him at all.
“Is that a horned owl?” Veronica asked, approaching and crouching beside him casually.
Enzo glanced at her briefly and shrugged. “I’ll give you one more chance to guess correctly.”
“And what do I win if I’m right?” she asked.
“I’ll make you the owner of this little fellow.”
“Really?” Veronica’s eyes lit up at the prospect of receiving the carving. “Is it a sitting cat?”
“Incorrect. Look—it has no tail.”
“If you’re looking at it from the front instead of the side, you might not see the tail,” she reasoned.
Enzo smiled and shook his head. Veronica persisted. “A southern parrot? A rabbit? A strangely shaped hawk? No? Hmm, no matter how I look at it, it resembles a horned owl—Ah! An insect!”
The last word hadn’t been directed at the carving—she’d spotted a massive centipede at her feet mid-sentence.
In that instant, a dagger sliced through the writhing centipede and embedded itself in the ground with a thud. Both of them were so startled that silence hung between them until the struggling insect ceased its movements.
“A barn owl.”
The correct answer came from an unexpected direction. Turning around, Veronica’s eyes widened at the sight of Leon standing behind them—she hadn’t noticed his arrival. In his hand, he held a large mountain bird, regarding them with his characteristically expressionless face.
“Noah? How long have you been standing there?”
“Since you said southern parrot,” he replied.
It sounded like a joke, but of course, his face showed no hint of amusement. Leon glanced briefly at the dead insect and gave a slight nod.
“I’ve made good use of the borrowed blade,” he told Enzo. “Thanks to it, I caught us some good game, so be sure to eat a proper breakfast.”
Then, with his free hand, he took Veronica’s hand with practiced familiarity. As they were about to turn away—
“Won’t you take this?” Enzo extended the carving with a smile. “You guessed correctly, after all.”
“I don’t—” Leon began to decline, but fell silent when his eyes met Veronica’s.
With gleaming eyes, she seized the opportunity and quickly accepted the carving.
“Thank you,” she said warmly. “It’s beautiful. I’ll cherish it wherever we go.”
“From the beginning, I intended to give it to a couple I met on my travels,” Enzo explained. “In my homeland, we believe barn owls bring children in the night.”
“Where is your homeland?” she inquired.
“Tanbia.”
“Ah,” Veronica breathed in admiration before thanking him again and turning away.
“This craftsmanship is truly remarkable,” she marveled to Leon as they walked. “Look how he’s captured even the texture of the feathers!”
As they walked together, she extolled the virtues of someone who could devote themselves so completely to mastering a single craft. Leon listened in silence. A slightly tense atmosphere hung between them, perhaps because he had just finished his hunt.
“But doesn’t this look just like a horned owl?” she questioned. “He called it a barn owl, though I honestly don’t know the difference.”
“If it has sharp features, it’s a horned owl; if it's gentle with a round head, a barn owl,” Leon explained concisely, his gaze fixed ahead.
She appreciated how he consistently answered her questions, despite his somewhat subdued mood. When she made a contemplative sound, Leon glanced down at her.
Veronica pointed at him playfully and said, “If it has sharp features, it’s a horned owl.”
Leon blinked at her, his expression losing its seriousness.
“If it’s gentle and round, a barn owl,” she added, pointing to herself with an unabashed grin.
After regarding her with an almost enchanted expression for a moment, Leon unexpectedly burst into laughter. The chill that had settled on him after hunting instantly dissolved as his refreshing laughter filled the air.
He wiped the corner of his eye and murmured, “I can’t ever win against you, can I?”
“Why would you need to win against me?” she teased.
“I won’t try anymore,” he replied. “What’s the point, if I’m just destined to lose every time?”
Having reached the water’s edge, Leon released her hand and skillfully began draining blood from his catch. Veronica watched in fascination as he plucked feathers and cleaned entrails and bones with practiced precision.
I realize I’ve never once worried about food while traveling with him, she reflected. Is this what security feels like—this profound sense of being cared for? Though I had initially planned to prepare the game myself…
“I’ll handle the cooking,” she declared.
“Why?” he questioned. “You hate touching raw meat.”
“Yes,” she admitted, “but today I promised Mr. Wigo, and I want to contribute something. I can’t keep depending on you forever without giving anything in return.”
Leon studied her determined expression briefly before handing over the ingredients without further protest.
Though he occasionally treated her like a child, he had always respected her decisions. He was fundamentally different from the men who, under the guise of pampering women, prevented them from doing anything independently. If she expressed a desire to learn swordsmanship, he taught her; if she wished to observe the less appealing aspects of game preparation, he never shielded her. Many mistakenly believed that restricting someone’s actions constituted protection, but in reality, thwarting another’s desires was a subtle form of violence as well. She loved that he wasn’t like that. It made their relationship healthier and more fulfilling.