Two words, two nods, two words. A backward step. A mixture of notes and rhythm that came in response to the cadence she'd started out of cowardice. Even here, in this quiet place tucked into the corner of the village, she could hear the gods tapping against her skull. That rhythm wasn't going to transform into a simpler meter just because she wished it to. The truth, complex and loud, was still there. It didn't matter that she'd turned, avoided it, danced to something slower as the rhythm rushed beneath her like the terrible currents of the Nostariel. There were some things even a daughter of Beit-Orane could not out fight. Some things a Knight of Tyr could not control.
These emotions, which she had heard poets call sweet or soft, were larger and more sweeping than any of the rage she’d endured, sinking into the very movement of her blood. Vera didn’t find what she felt for Eragos could be compared to sugar or the petals of a bloom. She didn’t have a neat definition, a perfect metaphor. She only knew that she felt small when he stepped back. That bittersweet pull in the center of her chest wasn’t pleasant. It was more like an arrow to the chest. Sharp and jarring.
She nearly opened her mouth and admitted she didn't care about the damn wagons. Vera knew she set them right. She could set them right if she'd been bleeding out onto the earth while in the process of it. But the conversation, what little there was, had ended. That truth, that feeling, sat in wait. And it would remain there like a persistent wound, demanding her attention while she ignored the pain ruthlessly. Her relief went hand-in-hand with the darker tug of loss -- something she never swallowed easily. The Rider's Code was in her head as if it were a voice, pointing out everything she was doing wrong in that moment. Vera didn't know how to accept the space between them, the cut of light across the floor boards. Yet her boots were rooted to the spot where she stood.
Eragos would look at the wagons. She would find something else to look at. Distractions. She should leave, Vera told herself. She should move.
"Good...thank you..."
She looked away, rubbing her bandaged wrist. Leaving was too difficult when she was watching his eyes, the line of his shoulders. There was only so much she could blame on her fatigue. She already felt Eragos had seen through her. She was acting like a nervous servant. Vera hesitated a moment before moving to step around him, to head for the door.