Wren could not bring herself to cry. She watched Rannok as he stared off into nothing, then eventually fell asleep. She could barely contain the rage that boiled below her skin and made her want to choke him in his sleep. He'd lied his sticky, awful lies to her with a straight face. Maybe if he hadn't she would have had a chance to see her mother one last time. To tell her she was sorry for thinking such awful things about her.

She remembered all the mornings when she'd wake up and crawl out of bed, and her mother would already have breakfast ready. She'd put on her clothes and they'd go to the water pump and Wren would feel so big and special carrying her little bucket back. How her mother did her hair or let her pick one new toy from the toy shop when she'd been especially good.

She remembered how her mother rubbed her back and held her as she cried after Cain had died. How she'd whispered that it wasn't Wren's fault, she didn't mean it, of course she would never hurt anyone on purpose. How angry her mother had been and how she'd pushed it aside and comforted Wren anyway. Wren would have given anything to have even a little slice of her back. To have been able to say goodbye.

But it was too late now. Five years and nothing had changed. Rannok was still Rannok and this time she wouldn't let herself forget that, not even for a moment in the midst of such chaos. She stood up carefully and climbed over the back of the wagon seat, then curled upon it next to Elyn. His company still wasn't what she wanted, but it was better than nothing.

The camel plodded ahead of them silently as they traveled. The sun began to set and its fire leaked out across the clouds, streaking them with red. It made her feel calm and like maybe she wasn't so alone. A spot next to her heart ached for the family she knew she'd never see again. They were a small family, and not always right. But good. And she would never have that goodness again. 

"How far do you think we have to travel?" she asked Elyn as a gust of wind kicked up. Wren shivered. She wished she had her night cloak with her. Or her mother's purse or her bangles or one of her hair clips, but Rannok had denied her all of them. 

"A week," he said, and his eyes didn't move from the horizon. He probably hurt the same way she did. Ached for his mother, too, and for some reminder of his old life. They'd come from so many places and yet the caravan always eventually got to feel like home. Now she didn't know where home was.

"Where did you come from before?" she asked. She had to suppress an internal cringe. It wasn't something you asked people from the caravan. Elyn stiffened for a moment and didn't look at her and she wished she hadn't asked after all.

"We lived in Opaline and there were some riots. My dad died and afterwards we moved to the caravan," he said. Wren's shoulders relaxed and she tried not to sigh too loudly. "It wasn't like the caravan," he continued. "Nobody had to get married unless they wanted to and there weren't so many rules. I wish we still lived there."

"My village had the same rules," Wren said. Sometimes if she squinted just right she could almost see it. The tiny houses thatched with dried twigs and mud. The fires that always burned in the salt drying rooms even during the hottest part of the day as men toiled over them. The catchers they constructed out of clay to condense dry air into water overnight, like magic. 

"Do you think Agatine will be like Opaline?" she asked.

"I don't know," he responded. He flicked the reins and the camel picked up pace a little bit. "We should stop soon. We can see if there's food and a tent in the back."

Wren nodded. She wanted to cry out for her pile of blankets and a warm bowl of her mother's disgusting stew. She would do anything to get a taste of it again. She remembered her father reading his ledger while they ate and felt sad and angry at the same time. She wondered whether he would have abandoned her still if he knew that her mother was about to die.

Elyn pulled the camel to a stop and traced the stars in the sky with his fingertips. He held his thumb and forefinger together in the shape of a box and looked through it. She wasn't quite sure what he was doing but was quite sure whatever it was, he knew it well.

He finished up and shook Rannok's shoulder. He awoke with a jump and rubbed his eyes and they talked amongst themselves for a moment. Wren continued staring out at the skyline as more and more stars blinked into view and the sun became dimmer and dimmer. The moon shone down on them like a bright circle. She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself.

It was beautiful out here, in the right light. A couple foxes darted across the front of the wagon, unaware that she could see them. The fragrant scent of cactus flowers wafted on the breeze. She could see for miles even in the dark, on nights when the moon was this bright.

She wondered what it looked like a thousand years ago, before the crow had cursed the land. If the green fronds of grass would stretch as far as her eye could see and if people would gather there at night to look at the stars. If towns sprung out of the ground as often as cactus flowers instead of just near where there happened to be water. 

People were probably happier back then. They wouldn't have had to worry about their children dying in the sun or of starving. Men wouldn't have started battles based on need and they wouldn't have had to step over one another in order to help their families. Wren wanted to wring the crow's neck. If only she could have traveled back in time, maybe she would be sitting at the table with her mother and father like a normal family instead of traveling across the desert in a wagon with someone she hated. 

She tried not to think of her mother, or of her father, or of Armand. She wondered if he was okay, if he had made it back in time and if the swordsmen had taken him back. Her stomach churned at the thought of him lying lifeless in a stack of splintered boxes, hay still stuck in his hair. A chill ran down her spine. She knew for sure now that she'd never see him again, and that she would never truly know why. It only deepened the ache in her heart.

Perhaps in a different time and place--a time and place where grass stretched as far as the eye could see and great black birds ruled the sky--things would have turned out better. Her mother would still be alive and her and Armand would have had a chance to grow before they got thrown into such huge decisions. Maybe they would have drifted apart naturally, like leaves in the wind instead of like a bandage when you tear it from a wound.

She hopped down from the wagon and watched Elyn and Rannok struggle to erect a tent only to end up with two pieces of canvas halfheartedly strung together to keep out the worst of the sun. It would do nothing for the cold.

She climbed into the back of the wagon and fished through boxes. Most of them were filled with parchment and quills and other things she could neither eat nor use to stay warm. She swore under her breath and opened the last one. The warmth of reaver pelt caressed her fingers and she smiled in relief.

"I found blankets," she shouted as she pulled them from the box and waved them at Elyn. He gave her an approving nod and wrapped himself in it. She hopped down without handing one to Rannok. He didn't bother grumbling at her but hopped up to get his own.

Elyn fished around in the wagon for a moment and Wren hugged the reaver pelt tighter around herself. At least it blocked out the wind. Eventually he returned with a skin full of water. 

"There's not much, but it should be enough for us to get to the city. We'll have to be careful," he said as he uncapped it and drank some, then handed it to her. The water cooled her throat as she drank. She handed it begrudgingly to Rannok. He drank his share and placed it back inside the wagon.

So much had changed in such a short period of time. Her friends. Her family. She didn't know where she belonged or where she should go or how she was going to live. Wren didn't realize the walls holding her in had started to collapse until she looked around and realized the rest of her life was now up to her. 

She would have traded it all for a second longer with her mother, or for the chance to say goodbye, but that wasn't an option. She knew the ache would subside with time, just like it always did. It would cease to be a raw, bleeding gash and would instead trickle, then fade to just a scar. She'd never be able to remove it, but maybe, one day far in the future, it wouldn't hurt so bad. 

She'd get to choose where to live. Who to associate with. Who to marry, should she make that choice, and whether or not she was going to. What she did for a living, as limited as those options were and as much as she didn't even know what they might be.

Nothing felt right anymore. Not the wagon, not the caravan, and certainly not the village she left all those years ago. And maybe that wasn't a bad thing.   

---

Wren is ready to move on, which is probably a good thing. Where do you want to see her go? If you were her, would you stay with Rannok and Elyn?