Part Twenty-Eight — An Ordinary Tuesday

　Nothing happened the next day.

　I want to be specific about that, because it matters more in hindsight than it felt like it mattered at the time.

　We woke late, for once, nobody rushing anyone out of camp. Doran made breakfast without complaint, actually decent this time――a fact Fenrik pointed out with theatrical shock that earned him a thrown rag to the face.

"You're getting soft," Doran said, watching Fenrik fail to catch it.

"I'm relaxed. There's a difference."

　There is, actually.

　I can feel it too――something in my own shoulders that's been tight for weeks finally easing, just slightly, just enough to notice by its absence.

　We spent the morning doing nothing more dramatic than walking, no urgency to the pace, no destination pressing on us the way one usually was.

　Fenrik told the same terrible joke from years back――the beastkin, the elf, the confused innkeeper――and somehow it landed just as badly and just as perfectly as it had the first time.

"That joke's never gotten better," I told him.

"It's not supposed to get better. It's supposed to be reliable."

"That's a low bar."

"It's my bar. I set it myself, and I'm proud of it."

　I love this idiot.

　I don't say that enough, even just to myself.

　By afternoon we'd found a stream worth stopping at, clear and cold, and Doran――of all people――was the one who suggested we actually take the rest of the day off entirely.

　No training.

　No ground to cover.

　Just an afternoon spent doing absolutely nothing that needed doing.

"Since when do you take days off?" I asked, genuinely surprised.

"Since I decided we could use one," he said. "Don't make it weird."

　Too late for that.

　I'm making it exactly as weird as it deserves, internally, even if I don't say so out loud.

　We ended up lying in the grass near the water for the better part of an hour, not talking much, just existing in the same space without needing to fill it with anything.

　Fenrik dozed off entirely at one point, snoring softly, and neither Doran nor I woke him.

　This is what I wanted.

　All those years ago, sitting alone on a mountain wondering what I was even supposed to become here.

　This.

　Exactly this.

　People I'd protect with everything I have, doing nothing more important than napping in the sun.

　We made camp that evening in good spirits, the kind of good spirits that come from a day spent on nothing but each other's company.

　Dinner was simple, easy, full of the same small, familiar jokes we'd been running for years by then.

"Tomorrow," Doran said over the fire, "we should think about heading toward Millhaven again. Been a while."

"Sera's going to comment on how long it's been," I said.

"She always does."

"It's part of her charm."

　Fenrik, already half-asleep again, mumbled something that might have been agreement or might have just been the beginning of a snore.

　Neither Doran nor I bothered clarifying which.

　I fell asleep that night easily, the fire burning low, the two of them close enough that I could hear both their breathing over the quiet forest sounds around us.

　It was, by every measure I had, an entirely ordinary Tuesday.

　I didn't know yet that it would be the last one.