The sun had long since risen, but the light in the forest was dim — filtered through a sky so heavy with grey clouds it looked ready to split open. The air was cold, still, and almost damp enough to drink.
Somewhere far off, a crow called once. Then nothing.
Bjorn's body still bore the ache of recent fights — bruises deep in his muscles, cuts along his arms — but it was the silence, as he stared straight at Aira, that weighed on him more than the pain. She was still there, seated in the patch of shade, letting his head rest on her lap like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Her voice was low, measured.
"Don't move. Your wounds will open again."
He stiffened, pulling away on instinct. Of course she'd say that like she knows what's best for me. She let him, no protest, no attempt to stop him. But her eyes followed him with quiet amusement, as though she'd already predicted the reaction. Tch. Figures.
---
They sat under the same tree, but space stretched between them now.
Bjorn avoided looking at her, instead reaching for the flask she'd placed by his side. He drank, slow but steady. Tastes clean. Not like the swamp water I've been choking down the past week…
No thanks. No smile. Just a grunt. I'm not about to start thanking her like we're friends.
Aira said nothing in return. She simply bent to adjust her boots, brushing off dirt, her hands working with quiet precision. She's too calm. Makes it hard to tell if she's planning something… or just annoying me for fun.
---
Later, while checking the straps on his gear, Bjorn noticed the neatness of his bandages — the tight wrap, the clean cloth. Someone had replaced them.
His gaze flicked to her. She was tying her hair back, a faint smirk on her lips that said without words: You're welcome.
His reply was just a quiet huff — half annoyance, half something he didn't care to name. Fine. Maybe she's not completely useless. Doesn't mean I owe her anything.
---
From a small pouch at her side, she produced a strip of dried meat and held it out.
Bjorn eyed it like it might be poisoned. He didn't take it. Yeah, right. Like I'm gonna eat the first thing she shoves in my face.
Then, with a casual bite into her own piece, she simply said, "Suit yourself."
A moment later, he reached out, snatching it from her hand. …Not bad. Don't tell her that.
They ate in silence. And though no words passed between them, the sharp edge between them dulled — just slightly. Still don't trust her. But… it's easier eating with someone else than staring at the trees alone.
---
As he shifted to lean back against the tree, his eyes caught the mud caked into her boots and the tear along her left sleeve.
She'd run through the forest to get here — piggybacking him the whole way. That explains why my back doesn't hurt more than it does. Guess she's stronger than she looks… damn it.
He didn't ask why. But he found himself watching her more often, as if searching for a reason he wouldn't voice aloud. Why'd you bother, girl? You're not the type to play hero! are you?.
---
It was Aira who broke the silence first.
"You've been asleep for hours. I almost thought I'd have to carry you again."
Bjorn scoffed, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. Carry me? In your dreams.
"You couldn't."
Her grin was faint but certain. "You sure about that?"
He didn't answer. I am. …Probably.
The grey clouds above shifted, letting a pale shaft of sunlight through. Neither of them moved from their place beneath the tree.
Better stay here a little longer. Just until the pain eases… and not because I'm comfortable. Definitely not because of that.
Aira shifted, drawing one knee up and resting her elbow lazily atop it. Her gaze lingered on him for a moment — not sharp, not soft, just… assessing.
"What's your name?" she asked.
Bjorn didn't answer right away. He let the question hang in the air, watching a faint curl of mist drift between them. Somewhere behind her, a branch creaked under its own weight, and the muted chatter of the Sloth camp barely reached through the trees.
Her eyes stayed on him, calm, but there was a flicker of curiosity there — the kind that could either fade in a moment or burrow deep if you fed it.
He finally spoke, his voice flat, edged with mild irritation.
"Is it not proper sense to give your name before asking for another's?"
One of her brows lifted, slow and deliberate. The corner of her mouth twitched, though whether it was amusement or mockery was hard to tell.
Between them, a few dry leaves skittered across the moss as a faint wind wound its way through the forest floor. Far above, the clouds shifted again, dimming what little sunlight had slipped through earlier.
She didn't answer right away — and in that silence, Bjorn thought, Figures. Ask, but don't give. Sounds about right.
Aira tilted her head slightly, strands of her dark hair swaying as a faint breeze rustled through the forest. Her eyes—soft, though faintly guarded—watched him with a curiosity she didn't bother to hide.
"Aira," she said, her voice low but steady. "Aira is my name. What's yours?"
Behind them, half-concealed by a gnarled tree, a figure watched. A silhouette—still as bark—its presence unnoticed, its breath barely stirring the leaves.
Bjorn's gaze lingered on her for a long second, his brow faintly furrowing. Names… what use are they when everyone you know ends up gone? His jaw tightened, but he kept his eyes on hers.
"…My name is Bjorn," he said at last, the delay in his reply carrying a weight he didn't bother to explain. His tone was even, but there was an edge to it—like someone who had forgotten the courtesy of introductions and was relearning it reluctantly.
Aira's smile deepened, her eyes brightening. "Bjorn… It's strong," she remarked, almost like she was tasting the sound of it. "It suits you."
The silhouette shifted, muscles coiling. A patch of sunlight caught the glint of an eye before it retreated.
They turned soundlessly, melting into the deeper shadows of the forest. Just before disappearing into the undergrowth, they murmured, almost lost to the rustle of leaves:
"The leader will be pleased with this information…"
A lone crow croaked in the distance, breaking the moment. Neither Bjorn nor Aira noticed—they were still standing there, each caught in the other's gaze, unaware that their meeting had already been marked.