When they slept in his tent there was less opportunity to stretch out. In many ways it was quieter than in the camp. No constant murmur of distant voices, no yip-yapping of the clan's dogs, no crying infants or scraping of cook-pots or anything like that. Asher hadn't even bothered to start a fire as the spring and his blankets would be warm enough and his belly wasn't bothered by hunger. 

But that wasn't to say the night was quiet. Tied on a long lead to the wagon, Phantom occasionally shifted position or stretched down to pluck a mouthful of the green grass to snack on through the night. Nightbirds trilled, sweeter than the droning of the grasshoppers. It was peaceful, but seemed to sharpen the dull ache of loss in his chest that had persisted these last ten years. He missed Wren. He always would. Her death seemed too cruel and meaningless to have happened at all. But when Asher glanced over and saw the svelte line of Verissa's hip and waist shudder with silent tears he cursed himself for being selfish. How much had Verissa lost? Everything in her life except whatever he'd allowed her to stuff in a bag before he'd forced her out of her burning home and a pair of dogs, one of which was injured.

Drifting off into a restless sleep, Asher dreamed formless dreams of loss.

--

It was nearing daybreak when they woke, the wind already warm on their faces before the sun had ever risen. Rolling over and ignoring the chuff of warning from the dogs, Asher settled his hand on Verissa's shoulder, lettiing it slide over her blanket down to her hip.

[b]"It's morning, lovely. Time to go."[/b]

The day was a beautiful one, the sky clear and the going easy. The winter rains had long gone and it wasn't yet hot enough to be overbearing. The further Asher drove them in the wagon, the greener the grass around them seemed to become. There was always a variety of plants anywhere a person could look, but here there seemed to be something encouraging them to grow larger and more productive than before. It wasn't long until they came to a patch of blueberries that were easily quadruple the size of regular ones. 

As they stopped to gather some, a small flock of colourful finches raced each other through the thorny vines. Upon closer inspection they turned out to be tiny griffons. 

And though they talked about many things while they traveled, it was clear that Asher was expecting the explosion of plantlife, but refused to divulge. He only grinned and shook his head, telling Verissa [b]"You'll see."[/b]

At one point just after noon, they crested a rolling hill and came across an entire valley of lavender flowers, the fragrant purple crowns dotted here and there with chamomile bushes. As the wagon tilted down to carve a wake through the flowers, a honeybee the size of Asher's fist bumbled buzzily past his head. They were everywhere.