As night fell over the quiet village, Lumberling walked a step behind Vaenyra, following the soft crunch of her boots on the gravel path.
She hadn't said much since the sparring match. Still simmering, no doubt. He had paid the price, broken ribs, bruised pride. She hadn't held back, not one bit. And though the healers had mended his body, the sting of her strikes still lingered in his bones.
Streetlamps flickered to life as they passed beneath them, golden halos humming softly with power drawn from the river generator and the windmill on the far ridge. The warm light threw long shadows, illuminating the contours of her beautiful face as she walked in silence.
Then she spoke, sudden and flat.
"When are you going to leave this place?"
"I'm not leaving," Lumberling said, without hesitation.
She slowed, just enough to glance back at him. "That's not what I meant."
A few steps passed before her voice came again, softer now. "Are you going to keep staying here?"
