While the rest of the village still slept, cool morning air moved through the lanes and across the fields. At the first thinning of night, a figure opened her eyes.
Clarity returned in stages. Su Wanyan sat up from the makeshift bed and stretched her upper body carefully, working stiffness from shoulders and spine that had spent the night on layered blankets and floorboards. A full minute of quiet motion passed before she looked down at the woman beside her.
Mo Xingxue lay curled on the blankets, eyes shut tight, breath even and unguarded. The tension that had lived in her face through so much of the previous day was gone; sleep had smoothed it into something peaceful. Su Wanyan watched for a moment longer than strictly necessary, then rose and stretched properly—arms overhead, back arched, the residual protest of muscles that had carried children and arguments and an entire afternoon's weight.
Luckily I packed those thick jackets, she thought as let out a sigh of relief.
