having mended enough to go longer distances along, seutonius used this recovered ability and returned to the place he had once met Gjalla. he had found her understanding of military weight to be quite a balm, and though he did not consider friendship in any situation, she had been a good companion.
he owed hunting to dawnbreak, but seutonius suspected he should first practice. hitching with a slight limp up the hillwalk, he settled himself against that knowing tree and turned his eyes out over the nightfall drop remembering how he had once sat here in a muddle of anguish and herbs.

---

she came here for the quiet. for the sky, for the way the stars burned so clean and bright, untroubled by the mess of living things. for prayer, if she did not wish to climb mountains. she did not come for men, or memories, or conversations left unfinished. certainly not for a limping roman with a mind full of orders.

to suggest that the woman had frequented this place on account of him would be an egregious assumption. an influence? well. best not to ask such questions.

still, she is already there when he arrived, half-curled near the crest of the hill, dark pelt dusted with frost, gaze tilted heavenward as if she had been counting the dead. she did not startle at the sound of his approach; she had smelt him long before he cleared the rise.

only when the snow cracks beneath his feet does she turn her face to him. roman, she greeted smoothly with the incline of his head.

gjalla. his senses had brought her to him at last, but he sat in recline and let his eyes drift to the bare branches laced over him. what do the stars say this evening? he asked, not quite teasing but without the great wet blanket of his usual ire. the pain in his leg throbbed once and then let him go.
grateful, seutonius was silent. there were few moments where filling every second with speech held reason, and this was not one of those. he let himself taste the night with all his senses; the warming earth beneath him, the bark at his spine and the back of his skull. the wintry glow of refracted light from the snow; the soft pulse of starlight. gjalla.
if peace came to the roman now, he did not know its name.

---

gjalla's gaze remains lifted, fixed on a seam of stars just beginning to slip behind thin cloud, as if tracking something only she seems to see—not a constellation so much as the spaces between them, the black seams where meaning liked to hide. a breath leaves her nose, slow. controlled.

no words tonight, she says, pensive, though they do seem restless. the barest of smiles tugs at her lips, however brief. whatever meaning there is to it, she won't disclose—such secrets are meant for her own people. she doubted her would find great meaning in it himself.

she shifts at last, rising to her feet with a roll of shoulders to regard the man before her properly. but i doubt that is why you are here. you still owe me a hunt, she reminds him, tone even. . the corner of her mouth threatens something like a smile, never quite becoming it. it is not a demand, but fact—she hopes he is a man of his word.

indeed i do, and dawnbreak also. seutonius wondered what had kept gjalla nearby. she still carried no great numbering of packscent upon her coat, nor had she any affiliation with the healers that he knew. supposing there was only inquiry left, he decided to waste no more time on random consideration.
will you help me to hone my skills again, domine? (lady?) asked the centurion. if the stars cannot sleep, then i should reacquaint myself with their navigation.
as he straightened, rolling his shoulder once, he felt the ache of pulling sinew there and knew with a soldier's instinctiveness that the break might always plague him.
enough of that. he had a hunt ahead of him and another to give in thanks.
he suddenly wished to know if gjalla had seen battle. most certainly she had, and there were few things to distract from a march or a hunt than a good yarn.

---

gjalla studies him a moment longer than necessary. she circles him once in appraisal. predatory, perhaps, but professional. her gaze roves over him, checking lines of balance, the set of his shoulders. a commander’s eye in a queen’s skull.

when she stops, it is at his side, gaze lifted back to the stars. come. she says simply, starting down the slope. are you strong enough to fell a doe, or must i confine myself to smaller game for you? she teases.

i will not know until i do well or until a bone breaks, seutonius shot back with a dry tone. the warrior-woman scrutinized him in the way of a general choosing who might be thrown into the fray. in rejoin, he became a stiff-spined soldier at attention.
at any other time, the roman might have felt annoyance; now he was amused by their meeting, freed by their banter. chin lifting to say that gjalla should lead the way, his mind leapt back to old hunting strategies for large game.
spreading each proverbial map against the terrain, seutonius gathered several motions into his mind, moving when gjalla did, setting his jaw against the rattle of pain that reverberated through the injury.
but the small limp did not deepen.

---

you will survive, i'm sure. she retorts, satisfied enough. decidedly, she angles them downwind and away from the open hill until the slope takes them into darker cover. she does not glance back to check on him.

soon the land swallows them, and eventually she comes to a halt at fresh tracks—a mess of prints all over. seeing the opportunity to test her companion, the woman cranes her neck to the roman beside her. look. which way do they lead?

i am to be taught old lessons? seutonius pretended to bluster, though a smile was in his eyes as he lowered dour mouth to sort out the tracks. this provided him also with the chance for mind once more in roam away from the trouble of his leg. north, seutonius decided, not elaborating that this was a mixture of more than one animal passing.
short work for any experienced hunter. did she mean to tease?
unless you would prefer west, added the roman in the dry way that had become his moniker. i hear rabbit is good in all seasons.

---

gjalla’s ears cant back a fraction at his answer. she lowers her muzzle to the churned snow herself, drawing in the layered scents, letting them sit a beat before she lifts her head again. north, she agrees, matter-of-fact. then, after a breath, a rabbit will do little to fill a belly.

she steps past him, shoulder brushing his lightly as she takes the lead again, already committing to the deeper trail. the trees thicken, swallowing what little starlight follows them. stay wide when we close, she adds over her shoulder. we should aim to take the one most isolated.