Beautiful

    The next day was no easier.  Seeker quickly learned to eat, even when tired or nauseated—work was twice as hard the next day if he didn’t.  Day-old bread cost half as much—only three coppers—and gave him just enough strength to keep going.  Sometimes Comfort brought him sandwiches at lunchtime, and they would sit and eat together.

    He counted the hours each day.  And the days: Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday.  And on Sunday, he rested.  He’d read his books.  Sometimes he’d descend into the ravine just to sit by the stream and think.

    The months passed.  He grew stronger, and the work felt lighter—but he was always tired, and his body always ached.  His clothes grew thin, his beard grew in, and most of all, his heart grew heavy.

    He spent every night in the dream with Beautiful.  He clung to every moment, every kiss—but it was never enough.  Each night, she’d whisper, “I love you,” and then he’d wake to another long day at the tread-wheel.

    Seeker managed his money carefully, spending as little as possible.  Seven gold—that’s what he needed for the earnest payment on the land.

    Beautiful would urge him, “Don’t always be so serious.  Buy yourself something delicious to eat.”  So, he did—just to please her.  And now and then, a peddler came through selling books.  The man liked him and always gave him a good price.  Sometimes, Seeker would skip a meal to buy a book instead.  It kept him happy.

    Fall turned to winter, and the mill shut down.  Seeker chopped wood near the edge of the Forest of Danger—some for building new homes in Delight, some for heating the old.  The labor was hard, but he welcomed the change.  At least it wasn’t as monotonous as the mill.  Wolf howls echoed from the forest, but the beasts never came close.

    Seeker spent Christmas in the dream with Beautiful—and her birthday, and his.  Just one more Christmas alone, and they’d be together.  Forever.

    When spring came, he helped plow the fields in the Interpreter’s realm—and planted the seeds by hand.  Funny, he thought.  These were the same fields where he’d met Beautiful, walking among the wheat as if it had always been there.  He’d never considered that someone had to plant it, harvest it, grind it into flour—to make the bread he ate each day.

    As the months passed, their dream began to fade.  The colors grew less vibrant.  Her voice, quieter.  Her face, harder to see.  He spent hours staring at her sketch, trying to hold on to every line—but he couldn’t stop it.

    Harvest came, and he worked in the fields, reaping grain.  The words echoed in his mind, tormenting him, “Hi, I’m Beautiful.”  Was this the spot where she’d first poked his stomach and smiled?  The Interpreter’s tower stood in the distance, calling to him—but there was no time.  Sacks marked with Delight’s smiling face waited to be filled.  Straw to be bound into bales.  Carts to be loaded.

    Harvest ended, and it was back to the mill.  The work wasn’t hard anymore—just boring.  The scent of wheat reminded him of Beautiful constantly.  But in the dream, he could no longer smell her.

   At last, a year had passed.  He finished his shift for the week and Comfort paid him.  He finally had seven gold.  The land would be his.  Just one more year, and he could begin building their home.

    The next morning, Comfort introduced Seeker to the foreman, who led him to the mill across the bridge.

    “Lunch at noon.  Day’s over when the bell rings,” he said.  

    Seeker took his place at the arm of the wheel and pushed.  It was harder than it looked.  The wheel creaked and groaned as it turned.  The fragrance of wheat made him daydream of Beautiful.  He counted each rotation.  One.  Two.  Three… Ten.  Twenty… Ninety.  Ninety-eight.  Ninety-nine.  One hundred.  In endless circles—until he lost track.

    Fatigue set in.  His feet burned.  His back ached.  Still, he walked.  Minutes stretched like hours.

    The first bell rang.  He dropped to the ground with a groan.  Muscles he didn’t even know he had ached.  He took a long draw from his canteen, then pulled away, panting for breath.  His heart raced.

    He blinked, and lunch was over.  Still hours left.  He wanted to weep.  “Only babies cry,” he told himself.  Sweat poured down his face.  He imagined they were tears.  Still, he kept on.  On and on.

    The second bell sounded—mercifully.  Seeker wasn’t even sure he could walk back to his room.

    Comfort was waiting as he left.  She placed a silver coin in his hand.  “You did well,” she said.  “The first day is always the worst.”

    They walked back to the village together.  “It’ll get easier, I promise,” she said.  “Make sure you eat—for tomorrow.”  Before she left, she handed him a loaf of freshly baked bread.

    Seeker ignored her advice and dropped into bed like a dead man.

***

    Seeker still ached—even in the dream.  How was this possible?  But seeing Beautiful made it all worthwhile.  He kissed her tenderly and reached for her hand.

    She gasped in alarm, then gently took his hands in hers.  “Oh, Seeker… what did they do to you?”

    His hands were covered in blisters.

    She kissed his hands again and again.  “Oh, you poor, dear boy,” she exclaimed.  Tears streamed down her cheeks, falling onto his palms.  Where they landed, the blisters vanished.

    “Do you hurt?” she asked.

    “A little,” he said with a shrug—then winced at the pain in his shoulders.

    “Come,” she said, placing her arm around his waist as she led him from the village to a quiet spot beneath a fig tree.  She sat and pulled him down beside her.  Then she sang softly and rubbed his back, shoulders, arms, and legs—until he felt like a brand-new man.

   Yes.  Definitely worth it.

    That night, Seeker and Beautiful sat together on the beach, watching the waves reach their toes.  She told him about going to the market with her mom, and he talked about his new room—and his work.

    “I found the perfect place overlooking the ravine—where we can start our life.  We’ll sit outside and watch the waterfalls together.”

    “Seeker, you know I don’t care—as long as I’m with you.”

    Seeker looked at her for a moment, then glanced down. “Only…”

    “Yes?” she said, leaning in a little.

    “It’s fifteen gold to begin building.  I thought about it all day.  Four years, Beautiful.  At a silver a day… it’ll take me four years.”

    “This is what you wanted, Seeker.  We knew it would take a long time.”

    “I thought about it all day.  Things are different here.  Eight silver a month for my room.  Even a loaf of bread is six coppers.”  He chuckled.  “I wouldn’t be able to afford a bowl of Miss Cheerful’s stew.”

    Beautiful laughed gently, her eyes lighting up the dream.

    “I thought about it all day,” he repeated.  “If I work hard, I can do it in two years.  It won’t be easy… but I can do it.”

    Beautiful nodded absently.

   “Did you hear what I said?”

   She nodded again.  “I know you will,” she said.  “It’s just… so far away.”

    Seeker followed Comfort into a building at the center of the village.  The office was elegant but not extravagant.  Natural light filtered through leaded-glass windows.  High-quality wood paneling lined the walls.  A landscape painting, a globe, and a bookcase lent a quiet air of authority.  A modestly plush couch rested against one wall, and high-backed wooden chairs stood before a large, solid-wood desk with neatly arranged papers.

    A timeless man sat behind the desk—neither young nor old—with white hair and a dignified bearing that suggested great age and wisdom.

    “Father,” said Comfort, “this is Seeker.  He arrived today.  I assured him you’d be happy to help him build a house in Delight.”

    He looked up at Seeker—stern-faced, though his eyes were amiable enough.  “Seeker, welcome.”

    “Pray, excuse me,” said Comfort.  “I have other matters to attend.”  She curtseyed and left.

    “Tell me, young Seeker,” said the mayor.  “What brings you to the village of Delight?”

    “Sir…”  Seeker began.  But then the mayor stopped him.

   “I’ve been called many things in my life, but ‘sir’ isn’t one of them.  You can call me Jabal.”

    Seeker spoke of his promise to Beautiful—his desire to build a life together with her.

   “Ah, yes,” said Jabal.  “Desire fulfilled is a tree of life.  King Solomon wrote that, thousands of years ago.  Desire was once the name of this village.”  He picked up a black binder and stood.  “Walk with me.”

    He led Seeker through the streets of the village.  “In Delight, everyone does their fair share—and everyone receives their due rewards.”  He pointed to a lovely house with a charming flower garden.  “When Diligent first arrived, he was no different than you.  Look what he and his wife, Dedicated, have built together.”

    As they walked, he pointed out more homes—and told the stories of the people who had built their lives there.

    When they reached the edge of the village, Seeker exclaimed, “Yes—this is where I met Comfort!  And she said you could help?”

    Jabal opened the binder he carried and flipped through a few pages.  “Yes,” he said.  “This land is for sale.  It’s Diligent’s—but as you saw, he doesn’t need it anymore.  Fifty gold—that’s what it’s listed for.  And a cozy little cottage shouldn’t cost more than, say, a hundred.  Ten percent down is standard.  So, fifteen gold, and we can start building.”

    Seeker stared at him.  “I don’t have any money.”

    Jabal put his hand on Seeker’s shoulder and smiled.  “Of course,” he said. 

    They retraced their steps back to Jabal’s office.  “We do the King’s work here in Delight,” he said.  “All work, and all are rewarded.  Even my own daughters work.  If you serve me well—serve the King well—my daughters will serve you well, too.

    “One silver coin per day—that’s the standard wage.”  He held out his hand, and Seeker shook it.  “There is always something to be done.  Milling.  Harvesting in autumn.  Chopping wood in the winter.”  Jabal reached into his pocket, drew out several gold coins, and pressed one into Seeker’s hand.  “A bonus, to help you get started.”

    They met Comfort coming the other direction.  “Daughter,” said Jabal, “Seeker will be needing a place to stay.  Please show him to his room.”

    What a strange dream.  They had wandered the beach as children, picking up seashells.  They’d splashed in the shallows and walked out to a small island at low tide.  He’d written her name in the sand, and they sat together, watching the waves wash it away.  He’d forgotten to tell her about his plan—but no matter.  There was still tonight.

    He wound the music box and let it play until the final note faded, then placed it in his satchel.  He rolled the picture of Beautiful, tied it with twine, and tucked it beside the music box.

    He climbed the tower and selected The Measure of a Man and The Yoke and the Plough, sliding them beside Redemption of Eva and his Book.  That was all his satchel would hold.  When he left, he eased the latch back into place, securing the Interpreter’s study.

    One last lesson from Kind.  Farewells to Miss Cheerful, Steadfast, Gracious—and of course Kind and Liorna.  Then he set out on the Narrow Way.

    He crossed the footbridge over the stream and came to the Hill of Deliverance.  There, he sat among the lilies and gazed at the village tucked into the mountains across the ravine.  A path wound across the plains to an arched stone bridge spanning the gap.  Just beyond it, he would prepare a life for Beautiful.

    He stepped lightly down the far side of the hill.  This was the furthest he had ever gone.   In the distance rose the Hill of Difficulty.  Hill?  It towered above the highest peaks in the Interpreter’s realm, its summit lost in cloud.

    By the side of the path stood a small stone monument.  Three sets of bones were affixed to it, neatly arranged, long picked clean by time.

Here lie Simple, Sloth, and Presumption.
Their hands were idle, their minds empty.
They perished as all who refuse to labor.

    A grim warning.  At the base lay coins, tools, and scraps of parchment.  He picked one up.  It was a prayer for prosperity. 

    At last, he reached the path to the village.  Ahead stood a crossroads—Destruction to the left, the forest of Danger to the right.  The Narrow Way continued straight as ever, ascending the Hill of Difficulty with no turns or switchbacks.  Just straight up, an endless climb.  He couldn’t see the top from here.

    A hush fell over the path as he approached a row of grain towers—pale stone and weathered wood, with brass-ringed hatches and iron spouts.  Each bore a symbol: wheat within a sunburst.  Nearby carts rested under canvas, loaded with sacks marked by a simple circle scored with a shallow groove.

    Tucked beneath a rise in the road stood a mill—blackened timber, a copper-shingled roof glinting like old coins, and a massive turning wheel.  A low mechanical hum filled the air, layered with creaking wood, grinding stone, and the squeal of rope and pulleys.

    A stone-arch bridge spanned the ravine—wide enough for a cart, with no rails, no gate.  Its pale surface had been smoothed by years of passing feet, so old it seemed to vanish into the face of the ravine.  From the forest, the stream flowed beneath the bridge, tumbling into the trees below and filling the air with the sound of rushing water.  To his right, a stream poured down from the mountains, crashing into the waterfall where he and Beautiful had danced so many times in their dreams.

    The village was lit with a soft golden light.  Cobblestone streets curved gently with the hills, lined with pale stucco houses, clay tile roofs, and bright window boxes.  The warm scent of bread drifted from unseen bakeries.  A bell tower chimed nearby.

    He walked through the village, taking it all in—gardens and terraces in full bloom, with lavender, sage, and roses climbing the walls.

    At the edge of the village was a perfect plot of land—just big enough to build a house for the two of them, with a view over the stream winding through the ravine.

    “Lovely view, isn’t it?” came a soft voice from behind.  “Welcome to Delight.”

    She was young and radiant, with a soft, round face and a slight fullness in her cheeks.  Her blue eyes carried a peaceful presence he found soothing.

    “Yes.  It is,” he said, turning to face her. “I’m Seeker.”

    “I’m Comfort,” she said.  “It can be yours, you know—if you want it.”

    “I want to build a home for my bride,” he said.  “And this place—well, it’s perfect.”  He glanced down.  “Only… I’m not even sure how to begin.”

    “Talk with my father,” she said.  “He’ll find a way for you.  Besides, he always needs help.”  She pointed toward the center of the village.  “Town hall—you can’t miss it.  He’s the mayor.”

    “Thank you,” Seeker said.

    “Oh—and don’t be put off by his gruff exterior,” she said, smiling.  “Under it all is a heart of gold.”  She paused a moment.  “Follow me.  I’ll introduce you.”

 

   Seeker found himself once again in Bright-Harbor.  He stood at the edge of the vast ocean, waves crashing against the rocky shoreline.  A young girl stood nearby, feet planted firmly in the sand, waving her fist in the air.

    “Ooooh, look.  Beautiful’s angry.”  Laughter came from a group of boys standing just beyond her.

    “Beautiful?” one boy jeered, laughing.  “She’d look better in the dark!”

    She stood there, trembling in rage, as their laughter faded into the distance.  Her dress barely reached her skinned knees.  Her straight hair—bleached almost blonde—brushed her shoulders.  Lightning flashed across her freckled face.  But there were those unmistakable lips.

    “You… you’re Beautiful?”  Seeker wasn’t even sure it was a question. 

    “Yeah,” she shot back, “do you want a black eye?”  She stared at him for a long moment.  Her fist slowly uncurled.  Realization flooded her face.  “Seeker?  I didn’t recognize you, you dumb boy!”  She beamed—and in a heartbeat the little homely girl turned into a stunning angel.

    “Come on,” she called over her shoulder, already dashing down the shore, “I have so much to show you!”

    He reached for Beautiful’s hand—out of habit. But of course… she was back in Bright-Harbor. Alone again. Just like when he’d left Uncertain.

    What was he even doing? He wanted out of Uncertain—maybe become a Pilgrim, like Christian. But he hadn’t thought beyond the Wicket Gate. Certainly not all the way to the Celestial City. That meant dying. And he didn’t want that. Maybe Beulah. But that was so far away.

    Maybe he just wanted to know the truth. Was Christian’s journey just a story? The places were there—the Slough. Beelzebub’s Castle. The Wicket Gate. Ruins of the Interpreter’s House. But no Evangelist. No Good-Will. No Interpreter. And no Cross.

    When he’d first set out, he thought he had to walk alone. But she had shown him something different. Christian may have walked without Christiana—but Christiana had Great-Heart to guide her. And Matthew, Samuel, Joseph, and James. And there was Mercy. Phoebe. Martha.

    And he had Beautiful. The ring was proof. She’d said the King had given it to her—for him. And she wore the ring from the Interpreter. Was it meant for her? Or had he stolen it? It fit her finger—just like his fit his.

    He missed her chatter. Her boredom. Even her complaining. The birds were quiet—as if they, too, were waiting. Listening for her voice.

    Build a house? He had no idea where to begin. But he’d promised. He didn’t have a choice. Except… he didn’t even know where.

    Were pilgrims even supposed to build houses? Gaius did. And Mnason. Even the Prince—but for others. Christiana and her children had stayed—for years. Maybe. Maybe it was allowed. He wasn’t building it for himself. He was building it for Beautiful. And the babies they would have.

    The City of Destruction lay behind him. It had been three hundred years since Christian left it—and still it hadn’t burned. No fire from heaven. No judgment. But Apollyon’s statue still endured. He looked once more… and turned away. Not there.

    Town of Stupidity? Never. Carnal Policy? Even if Beautiful and he wanted it—they’d never be welcome.

    He stopped at the hollow where they’d slept. Beautiful had packed him a sandwich—with a note. “Sandwich for my Seeker. Love you, Beautiful.” He wanted to lie down and sleep. To join his Beautiful in her dream. Way too early. The sun was barely overhead—and he was halfway back to the Cottage. He was definitely calling her a slowpoke tonight.

    He paused at the place where she’d fallen in the Slough. Why had he laughed? He didn’t think he’d ever forget the hurt look in her eyes.

    Later on, he leaned his staff against the olive tree. A sparrow called out. “Where has your beloved gone?” she seemed to say. He would kiss her feet a thousand times—just to see her eyes dance—if he could go back.

    Maybe he would explore Beelzebub’s Castle. There was so much time. Maybe the answers were inside. What had happened there? No. Not without Beautiful. When he’d insisted on later, he’d had no idea he’d be returning without her.

    He rested at the summer parlor in the Wicket Gate. He could almost see her cleaning. Unbelievable. You’re unbelievable, Beautiful. The pitcher was empty. She’d been right. Someone had stopped here.

    Then it hit him. The village above the ravine—the one he’d seen from the Hill of Deliverance. The stream flowed nearby, and it commanded a view of the cascades and waterfalls. That was the place. And when they were ready, they could continue their journey—up the Hill of Difficulty.

    By the time he reached the Cottage, the mountains had begun to cast long shadows. The common room was empty. He didn’t wait. He hurried to his room—to dream with Beautiful. He couldn’t wait to tell her.

  When they reached the village, Beautiful slipped her hand from Seeker’s and turned to face him.  “Seeker, dear.  Forget what you know about the Dark Land—the sailors, the taverns, the whore-houses.  This is Bright-Harbor.”   She hesitated, choosing her words.  “You can’t hold my hand.  Or kiss me,” she added quickly, “not in public.”

    “Everyone knows everyone here, and rumors spread fast.  We haven’t even arrived, and they’re already talking.  I’m not ashamed of you, Seeker.  It’s just how things are here.”

    Seeker nodded.

    The village stretched along the shoreline.  Waves lapped softly at the sand.  The smell of salt hung thick in the air.  Lanterns lined the coast, casting light across the water—revealing small fishing boats rocking in the dark.

    The houses were small, built with vertical planks and shingled wooden roofs.  Each one had a yard—some with gardens, some with laundry or fishing nets hung on poles—surrounded by whitewashed, waist-high stone walls.

    Beautiful slipped into an alley between two houses, tugging Seeker after her.  She let go when they reached a black-painted iron gate.

    She looked at ease—but still strangely tense.  “This is where I was born, Seeker.”  She pressed on the gate, and it swung open.

    Seeker ducked his head and followed her through.  The yard inside was cozy, but spacious.  The house had a low slate roof and an open porch with sliding doors.  It was finely crafted—but built for survival, not beauty.  Beside it stood a smaller building, and across the yard, a shed and what looked like an outhouse.  He chuckled to himself.  The gate, the buildings—everything was scaled perfectly to Beautiful’s height.

    On the far side grew a well-tended vegetable garden, bordered by rows of fruit trees—dozens of them.  Heavy, orange fruit hung from the branches—fleshy and smooth.  He didn’t recognize them.

    Great-Saint stepped out of the house and took Seeker’s hand.  “You’re finally here.  I’ve been waiting all day.”

    A tiny woman appeared in the doorway—at least a half a head shorter than Beautiful.  But Seeker had never seen a tougher-looking woman in his life.  Wiry, strong—she’d clearly lived a hard life.

    Her hair was short and tightly curled, and the fierceness in her eyes made Seeker flinch.  She glared at him.  “I know why you’re here,” she said.  “I’ll never let you marry her.  You won’t take my Beautiful from me.”

    “Leave!” she shouted.

    “Mom!” Beautiful and Great-Saint exclaimed together.

    Great-Saint placed a hand on Seeker’s shoulder and gently guided him toward the guest house.  Beautiful took her mother’s hand and stepped inside, turning briefly to mouth, It’ll be OK.

    The guest house was small—if he stretched out his arms, he could almost touch both walls.  Aside from a narrow bed, there was no furniture.  Great-Saint left and returned a minute later with a blanket and a pillow.  “Dad’s out fishing.  He’ll be gone most of the night.  Rest now, Seeker.  We’ll see you in the morning.”

    Seeker lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling until sleep finally took him.  This wasn’t how he imagined it would go.

***

    Seeker woke to a kiss on his forehead.  Beautiful was leaning over him, her eyes dancing with amusement.  “Mom made breakfast for you,” she said—then giggled.  “Us.”

    She took his hand and led him into the house.  “Make sure you call her Mom” she said, eyes gleaming.

    She led him into the main room.  A low fire burned in the hearth.  Her mother was already seated at the table in the center.  She glared at him—though something in her face had softened.  But only a little.

    Three places were set—one for Beautiful, her mother, and him.  In the center sat small loaves of bread with thick, dark crusts, and a platter of fish—skin still sizzling, eyes still staring.

    His own eyes went wide.  How had he fallen in love with a fisherman’s daughter and never once considered he’d have to eat fish—for breakfast.

    He leaned close and whispered in Beautiful’s ear, “Any chance you still have coffee in your pack?”  Then, a little louder—stammering, “I’m… not really that hungry.”

    “Oh.  You said you loved me,” she said, eyes sparkling with delight.  “Now prove it.”  She chose the largest fish and dropped it onto his plate—then picked up his fork and pressed it into his hand.

    Beautiful and her mother were both watching him.  So was the fish.  He used the fork to break off a piece.

    “Don’t eat the skin, dumb—” Beautiful glanced at her mom and stopped herself.

    Beautiful pulled the plate toward her, sliced the fish down the center, peeled back the skin, and lifted a forkful of white meat.  Then, using her own fork, she placed it in Seeker’s mouth.

    “Beautiful!” her mother snapped.

   “Mom!” Beautiful snapped back, eyes flashing like lightning.

   “Yum,” Seeker said, trying to sound convincing.

    Beautiful’s mom laughed—and then smiled.  Beautiful turned to Seeker and smiled sweetly.

    Beautiful slid the plate back in front of him.  “Try not to eat the bones.”

    Seeker watched Beautiful eat—he’d never seen her enjoy a meal like this.  She chattered happily between bites.  Maybe fish for breakfast wasn’t so bad after all.

    When he finished the last bite, he set his fork down.   Beautiful jabbed his ribs.  “Thank you, Mom,” she mouthed.

    “Thank you, Mom,” he said quietly.

    “Leave!” Beautiful’s mom shouted.

    Beautiful nearly choked on her laughter, tears streaming down her face.

    “Dad has an extra-special treat for you,” she managed, still laughing.  “You’re going to love it.”

***

    Seeker and Beautiful walked with Great-Saint along the path that followed the beach.  The ocean stretched as far as the eye could see, morning light glistening on the waves.  Overhead, a gull cried out.

    Beautiful reached for Seeker’s hand—but then stopped short.   Great-Saint walked between them, speaking earnestly as they walked.  Then without warning, he stopped.  He took Seeker’s hand in one of his, and Beautiful’s in the other—then gently joined them together.  “What the King has joined together, let no one separate.”

    When they reached a small house on the far side of the village, Beautiful knocked on the door and called out “Tender-Heart!  It’s me—Beautiful!”

    A young woman opened the door.  She was unmistakably Beautiful’s sister—slightly older, with shoulder-length hair.  “Seeker,” she said warmly.  “Come in.  Great-Saint has told me so much about you.”  Her voice was quiet and melodious, but timid.

    What had Great-Saint even said about him?  He hadn’t said more than a dozen words since they met.

    The room was small.  A baby girl played on the floor, toys scattered around her.  Shelves lined the wall, crammed with books.  Tender-Heart motioned to one couch and sat on the other.  Beautiful sat beside Seeker—pressed close, holding his hand in both of hers.

    A man stepped through the door.  “This is my husband, Eager-Mind,” Tender-Heart said.  His appearance was striking—bright eyes and a confident smile.

    Seeker cupped his hand around Beautiful’s ear and whispered, “You never told me your sister’s husband was so handsome.”

    Beautiful laughed easily, “That’s nothing.  Wait till you see Considerate’s husband.  You have a high standard to live up to.”

    Tender-Heart asked how he’d met Beautiful—and how he’d become a Pilgrim.  They talked about Uncertain, his love for music, and his studies.  Then she asked about his Book.

    Eager-Mind sat quietly, nodding as Seeker spoke.  He told them about the book he’d wanted—the one he couldn’t afford from the peddler.  Eager-Mind stood and crossed the room to one of the shelves.

    He took a black leather-bound book, embossed with silver lettering, and placed it in Seeker’s hands.  Redemption of Eva.

   He opened the book and forgot everything else—Tender-Heart. Eager-Mind.  Even Beautiful:

The Great Red Dragon towered over Eva
“You’re back, Lady Evadne,” he hissed. “No matter how many times the Author resets the story, you will never win.”
He sneered, “Lord Peregrine,” he said, the title curling in his mouth like rot. “He’ll always die, Madame. You know that.”
Eva raised the Shield of Faith, sheltering behind it just in time. Then the Dread Lord Beelzebub walked boldly through the fire—and stood at her side.
“Traitor!” spat the Dragon.

    Beautiful shook his arm.  “Seeker!”

    He blinked, “Huh?”

    Eager-Mind repeated, “You can have it.  It’s my gift to you.”

    “Thank you,” Seeker and Beautiful said together.

    Seeker slid onto the floor, settling among the toys.  The little girl smiled at him and offered him a doll.

    “I want to have a daughter, just like her,” he said.

     Beautiful slid beside him, lifted the girl into her lap, and smoothed her hair.  “We will,” she said.  “I promise.”

    Beautiful stood and reached for Seeker’s hand.  “Let’s not keep Dad waiting.  You’ve got a promise to keep.”  Then, more softly— “To me.”

***

    Beautiful’s father was already awake when they returned.  His skin was sun-darkened, rough from years of wind and rain.  He’d removed the cover from the well and was hauling something up with a long rope.

    “Dad caught an octopus, last night.” Beautiful said, her face lighting up.  “It’s a very special treat, you know.”

    Beautiful’s father handed it to her.  It wriggled in her hands, and she squealed with delight.  Seeker’s eyes widened.

    He held out his hand.  Seeker had never felt hands so strong—or so rough. 

    “Seeker,” he said, warmth in his face.  “Come have a drink with me.  Let’s talk.”

    Beautiful’s father led him into the house, sat down on the wooden floor, and gestured for Seeker to do the same.  Along one wall, blankets and pillows had been neatly folded and stacked.

    Beautiful carried a small table and set it between Seeker and her father, then sat beside her father.  Her mother followed, forks in one hand and a plate of octopus in the other.  She placed them on the table and took her seat on his other side.

    It wasn’t even cooked.  The tentacles still wriggled on the plate.  His throat tightened.  He searched Beautiful’s eyes.  There was no teasing this time.  He had no choice.  Eat it… or lose her.

    Her father reached behind him and set a bottle and two glasses on the table.  He pulled the cork, handed Seeker the bottle, and held out his glass.

    Beautiful’s eyes met his.  She nodded.  He filled her father’s glass, then started to pour his own.  She shook her head—mouthing the word no.  Her father took the bottle and filled Seeker’s glass himself.

    Beautiful’s father downed the clear liquid in one swallow.  Seeker did the same.  It burned on the way down—but he didn’t flinch.

    Beautiful’s father picked up a fork, stabbed a tentacle, took a bite, and chewed thoughtfully.  Beautiful and her mother each took a fork and began to eat.

    Beautiful seemed to enjoy it.  How bad could it be?  He picked up a fork, carefully chose a piece, and swallowed without chewing.  It latched onto the back of his throat.  He almost gagged.  Beautiful snickered—quietly.

    Her father poured him another glass and handed him the bottle.  Seeker started to pour him a second in return—when her mother snatched the glass away.

    “No,” she said emphatically.

    Seeker took another bite of the octopus.  This time, he chewed.  It didn’t taste bad.  It was just… chewy.  He washed it down with the liquor.

    Beautiful’s father started to pour him a third.

    “Dad!” Beautiful snapped, eyes flashing.

    He ignored her—and kept pouring.

    Seeker swallowed it in one gulp.  Beautiful’s father gave him a long look—and nodded.

    “You love Beautiful.”  It wasn’t a question.

   Beautiful’s mother suddenly screamed.  “I won’t let Beautiful marry him!”

    Beautiful’s father placed a calm hand over his wife’s.  Beautiful slid to the other side of the table and took Seeker’s hand in hers.

    “I love Beautiful.  I always will,” the words came easily—maybe it was the liquor.  “There’s nothing I won’t do for her.  Even if it costs me my last breath.”

    Beautiful’s eyes blazed—brighter than the sun, lighting the room.  Her mother’s eyes softened.  Her father just nodded.

    “Beautiful will stay here.  You’ll return alone,” he said.  “When you’ve built her a home”—he gestured around them— “When you can care for her… come back.  You have my blessing.”

    Beautiful squeezed his hand tight—then stabbed a still-wriggling piece of octopus and shoved it in his mouth.

***

    Seeker woke with Beautiful nestled against his back.  He turned to face her.  She kissed him—long and lingering—until she finally pulled away, both of them gasping for breath.

    “You have to leave today,” she said.  “I wish I could come with you.”

    “We have our blessing,” he said.  “That’s all that matters.  It’s only a matter of time.”

    She sat up and hugged her knees.  “It’s not quite the blessing you think it is, Seeker.”  A cloud passed over her face.  “He knows it will take years.  And he knows…”—she swallowed hard— “you won’t come back for me.”

    “But he doesn’t know you like I do.”

    “I wrote something for you,” he said, digging in his satchel.  Then he laughed softly.  “Or… at least copied a few lines from the Song of Songs.”

Who is she who comes from the South?
As Beautiful as the Moon,
As bright as the Sun,

Come with me,
My love,
My dove,
My purest,

The winter has ended,
And the spring has appeared,
It is the season of song.

Arise,
My Beautiful.
Feed me with apples—
I am love-sick!

The world is filled with beauty…
But none are Beautiful like you.

    A tear glistened in her eye.  “That’s beautiful,” she said.  They sat there, holding hands.  Silence filled the air—thick with heartache.

    “Oh, Beautiful,” he said at last.  “I can’t bear the ache.  I’m going to miss you so much.”

    “It’ll only feel like a few days, baby,” she said.  “You said it yourself.  Besides… I’ll visit your dreams every night.  I promise.”

    “Before you go,” she said softly, “I have something for you.”

    She held up her hand, turning it slightly, letting the light cascade over the brilliant diamonds.  “I wear this as a promise that I am yours.  Never doubt that.”

    She reached into the neckline of her dress and drew out a golden ring, hanging from a fine silver chain.  Turning away, she lifted her hair.  “Help me unclasp the necklace, Seeker.”

    She placed the ring in his palm.  Inset with onyx, it was flanked on either side by engraved trees.

    “The King’s messenger, Secret, commanded me to carry it—until I found the one who would walk with me to the Celestial City.  That it belonged to him.”

    She took the ring from Seeker’s palm and slid it onto his finger.  It fit perfectly.  “That it belongs to you,” she said, her voice full of awe.

    “Wear this as a sacred promise,” she said.  “Not just to me—but to the King.”

   “And remember,” she said—lightning flashing, and sunlight blazing in her eyes—“You are mine.  And only mine.”

    Seeker woke to the sound of Beautiful rustling about.  She’d rekindled the fire, and a small pot of water was already boiling over the flames.  She poured the hot liquid into his tin cup and turned the pot upside down on a nearby rock.

   “Morning, sleepyhead,” she said.  She stirred the drink with a whittled stick, then handed him the cup.  Where had she found coffee at the Interpreter’s House?  What else was in that pack?  He took a sip—and smiled at her.

    “My cup and my knife,” he said, feigning offense. “What else did you dig out of my satchel?”

   She tilted her chin up slightly.  “You’re welcome, Seeker.”

   “Before you ask…”  She kissed him lightly.  “There’s your sweetener.”

    He found a patch of grass where the morning sun had dried the dew beneath the canopy of leaves and sat down.  She offered him a small loaf of bread, but he shook his head.  “Not hungry.”

    Birds sang to them from the branches.  A squirrel chased another up a nearby tree.  Why had he been so worried about time yesterday?  A walk with Beautiful today, and they’d reach the Dark Land.  Then he remembered.  The City of Destruction.  He had to tell her.  Why did he have to ruin the good moments?  Every.  Single.  One.

   “Beautiful, come here.”  He patted the ground beside him, motioning for her to sit.

   He lifted her leg gently, removed her boot, and rolled off her sock.  “There’s something I need to tell you.”

    He reached into his satchel and took out a roll of bandages.  She glanced at her blisters.  “Can you kiss them and make them better?”

   He tenderly wrapped her heel and two toes.  “I’m not kissing your stinky feet!” 

   She stuck out her bottom lip—then quietly offered him her other foot.

    “Beautiful, I never meant to lie to you.  I’m sorry,” he said.  “I just never could find the right time to tell you.”  She had only one blister on this foot.

    He couldn’t find the words.  “Don’t slap your feet when you walk, baby.”  That’s all he could think of.

    Her feet were bandaged, her boots back on.  She sat facing him, his hands in hers.  “Well?”

    There was no easy way.  Just say it.  “My mom left my dad.  That’s why I was alone in Uncertain.”

    “Why?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

    He gazed into her eyes, searching.  “My family is cursed.  Giant Wrath has stalked my father, and his father, and the ones before them—for generations.”  Only kindness in her eyes.  “He destroys everything.  Always.”

    “You’re not your dad.”  Her eyes flashed.  “And I’m not your mom.”  She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him.

***

The way to the City of Destruction was clearly marked by a well-trodden road.  The city walls came into view as they crested a hill.  Beautiful pointed.  “We’re almost there.”

    Seeker laughed.  “You can’t judge distance either.”  Then he remembered the hurt in her eyes, and his voice softened.  “We still have hours of walking, little baby.”

   “If you say so, honey.”  She shrugged.  “Tell me about your brother, then.”

    “Thoughtful?” he laughed.  “Sometimes I think they should have named him Thoughtless.  But he’s a good kid.”

    “You don’t have a lot to say about him.”

    “He’s a lot younger than me.  My parents left me in Uncertain just when he was starting to become fun.”  He paused.  “Though there was that time…”  Seeker shut his mouth abruptly.

    “What?”

   “Nope.” He laughed, full and easy.  “Nothing.”

    As they neared the city, Seeker said, “Nothing like its name, is it?”   The plaster looked fresh, the walls clean—possibly even newly painted.

    Rows of timber-framed houses greeted them, three and four stories tall, as they passed through the city gates.  A soft murmur of voices buzzed around them, as people hurried about their business.

    In the city square, a statue towered over them, its copper surface gleaming in the sunlight.  It had the head of a lion, the hands and feet of a bear, and fish scales covering its body.  Dragon wings stretched out in pride, casting long shadows across the square.

    “Grotesque,” Beautiful said.

    “Apollyon.”  Seeker nodded, pointing at the inscription.  “Three hundred years, and no one’s thought to pull this down.”

    Seeker pulled a small black notebook from his satchel.  “Hmm,” he thought out loud.  “Let me see.”

    Beautiful tugged at his arm.  “Let’s go.  This is giving me the creeps.”

    He kept flipping through his notebook as Beautiful dragged him out of the square.  “There,” he said at last, glancing down one street, then another.  “Her house should be on the other side of the bridge.”

    He took her hand and led her down one street, then another, until they reached the river.  A graceful wooden bridge arched over it.  He pointed at the water.  “I thought I recognized it.  This river gave me no end of grief.”   Below them, the water swirled in dizzying patterns, dredging up mud and carrying a faint, rotting smell.

    “River of Confusion,” he said.  He imagined the river was whispering—mocking him.  “It runs all the way to the Slough, with no bridge across.”  Then he added, “Well, except here… and in Stupidity.  Not much of a bridge there, though.”

   “There’s another one,” she said.  “On the way to the Dark Land.  It empties into the harbor there.”

   On the other side, Seeker stopped to ask directions.  Then he led them down one street, into an alley, and out onto another.

    “Are you sure you know where you are going?” she asked.

    He shrugged, a smirk tugging at his mouth.  “Who knows?”

    At last, they stood in front of a small house.  “You knock, baby,” he said.

***

    Thoughtful opened the door and stared at Beautiful for a moment—then his eyes landed on Seeker.  “Seeker?”  He turned and shouted into the house, “Mom!  Seeker’s here!  And he has a…”

    Beautiful’s eyes danced.  She leaned close to Seeker and whispered, “You didn’t tell me your brother was so cute.”

    “Hmph,” he scoffed.

    When Seeker’s mom saw him, she began to cry—then wrapped him in a tight hug.

     “Mom,” he said, “This is Beautiful.  My…” He hesitated.  “Well—I love her and I’m going to marry her.”  He turned to Beautiful.  “My mom.  And my bratty brother, Thoughtful.”

    “Beautiful,” Seeker’s mom said, giving her a quick once-over.  “Come in.  Sit down.  Can I get you some water?”

    “Are you hungry?” she asked.  “It’s not supper time yet, but I can whip something up real quick if you are.”

     “No, Mom,” Seeker said.  Beautiful nodded.  “We can’t stay long.  We’re hoping to reach the Dark Land before sundown.”

    “Dark Land?”  Seeker’s mom asked, “That’s a dangerous place.  Are you from the Dark Land, Beautiful?”  She shot Seeker a concerned look.

    Beautiful frowned.

    Seeker told how he’d left Uncertain—carefully leaving out the part about the Slough of Despond.  He spoke of Companion, of the Cottage, and how he met Beautiful in the wheat fields.  Beautiful chimed in and finished the story—leaving out, of course, their Christmas kiss.

    Seeker’s mom didn’t seem happy.  He expected her to smile, to hug Beautiful.  Something.  Anything.

    Seeker’s mom started to say something—when Thoughtful came in.  “Seeker, I have something for you.”

     Seeker rose and followed Thoughtful to the other side of the room.  Behind him, he heard Beautiful’s voice “Why did you leave Seeker’s dad?”  He winced.  This was going about as well as expected.

    “Look what I drew,” Thoughtful said, grinning, holding a stack of paper.

     Beautiful’s voice drifted from the other side of the room.  “I don’t understand.  Can’t you just do something… fun together?”

    Thoughtful had drawn pictures of young ladies.  They were fully clothed, but very curvy.  And not one of them had a head.  Seeker chuckled.   “You’ve got talent.”

    “No.” Beautiful snapped.  “I do believe that forgiveness is that simple.”

    “Mom will kill me if she ever finds these,” Thoughtful said.  “Can you keep them for me?  Just for now?”

    Seeker folded the drawings carefully and tucked them into his satchel.  This time, his mom’s voice rang across the room.

    “After Giant Wrath knocks you unconscious—and you’ve shed as many tears as me—then you can judge me!”

   Thoughtful looked at Seeker.  “Maybe you should just forget about her, man.”

    “My son will hurt you,” Seeker’s mom said.  “I’m telling you this because I care about you, Beautiful.”

    “I’m not you!”

    Thoughtful shrugged.  “Beautiful does seem kind of bossy.”  His voice was just a little too loud.

***

    Beautiful seemed shaken as they trudged through the back alleys.  Seeker had tried to convince her to continue their trip, but she insisted on meeting his dad.  She could be so stubborn. 

    They’d stayed a little longer.  Things had cooled down.  Beautiful and Seeker’s mom even hugged when they left.  And Seeker had promised they’d visit again.

    “She didn’t like me.”

    “No, Beautiful.  She’s just like that.  Give her time.  She’ll love you the same way I do.”

    “And I’m not bossy!” Lightning flashed in her eyes.

    “I never said you were.”

   “Yeah, but you didn’t say I wasn’t.”

   “If you want the truth, Beautiful… You were being a little bossy,” he said.  “Just a little bit.”

    “This is where Mom said Dad lives.”  He stepped up to the door and knocked.  “Now behave.”

    Seeker’s dad opened the door.  “Well, hello, Seeker!” he said, grinning broadly—then pulled him into a hug, then stepped back.  “And who might this beautiful young lady be?”

    “I’m Beautiful,” she said.

   “Yes, you certainly are!”  Seeker’s dad said. 

    Beautiful burst out laughing.  “That’s exactly what he said to me!”

    “Can you blame him?”  Seeker’s dad said.  “My son has good taste!”

   It was a small place—barely a single room.  Seeker’s dad cleared a spot on the bed in the center of the room and motioned for them to sit.  “Tell me about how you met.”

    Seeker told him everything— from leaving Uncertain, to meeting Beautiful, to the moment he proposed.

   Seeker’s dad hugged her.  “Can I call you daughter?  Is it too early?”

    Beautiful smiled.  “Yes, I would love that.” 

    “Did you see your mother?” Seeker’s dad asked.  “I certainly wouldn’t tell her about the Slough.  You know the way she is.”

   “No, I didn’t,” Seeker said.  “Tell her about the Slough, I mean.  We did see her.”

    “Why do you live like this?” Beautiful asked, wide-eyed.  “Don’t you want something better?”

    “When Seeker’s mother left me,” he said, “she took everything.”  He glanced at Seeker.  “And nobody—nobody—helped me.”

    “Seeker’s mom, she has a small place.  And you have a small place,” she said.  “If you got back together it would solve so many problems.”

    “I’m trying,” he said, his face beginning to flush.

    “I told her— forgiveness is simple.  Eat a meal together.  Smile.  Forget the past.  You just have to try… just a little harder.”

    The vein in Seeker’s dad’s neck throbbed.  “Look. I’m working my ass off.  Trying my damned hardest.  But nobody gives a damn about me—nobody.

    Beautiful flinched and began to shiver.  She opened her mouth to speak—but Seeker placed his hand on hers.  “Beautiful,” he whispered.  “Stop.” 

    They sat in silence for a long moment, just looking at each other.  The flush in Seeker’s dad’s face faded.  Beautiful offered a brave smile.

    “Look, Dad, it was good to see you,” Seeker said.  “But we’ve still got a long walk ahead of us.” 

    Seeker’s dad hugged her.  “Take care, Beautiful.  My daughter.  Come back to see me.”

    “We will,” she said quietly.

***

    They walked in silence— through the alleys and streets, past the grotesque statue of Apollyon, and out through the city gates.  The path looped around the edge of the City of Destruction.  After they crossed the stone bridge over the River of Confusion, Beautiful finally spoke.

    “You never told me your dad is bald.”

    “What?” 

    Really?  Unbelievable.  That’s what she took away from all this?

    “I don’t want you to be bald.  Everything else is bad enough.”

    “I won’t be bald, Beautiful,” he said.  “I look just like my mom’s dad.  And he’s not bald.”

    “You don’t know that.”  She sniffed.  “Your mom hates me.  And your dad… he never said he was sorry.”

    “He never does.  Never has.  Why do you think Mom left him?”

   “You do.  You always say you’re sorry.”

   “Yeah, I try.”

    “But what if…” she hesitated.  “One day you don’t?”  Tears rolled down her face.

   She flung herself down onto a rock and began to sob—bawling like a baby.  Seeker sat down beside her.

   “I hate you!”  

    Seeker held back his tears.  “That’s a horrible thing to say, Beautiful.  It hurts.  So bad.  How can you say you don’t love me?”

    “Don’t be a dumb boy, Seeker.  Just because you hate someone doesn’t mean you don’t love him.”  She grabbed his hand.  

     “I love you.  I love you.  I love you!”

    He put his arm around her, and they just sat.  Then—out of nowhere—a stag appeared.  Majestic antlers crowned his head.  He stood still, gazing at Beautiful. 

   Her face lit with glee.  She turned to kiss Seeker.  “Yes. I do love you, Seeker.”

    Maybe it really is that simple.

***

    The sun had fully set, and Seeker and Beautiful walked on in the dark— Bear circling silently behind them.

    “No need to camp, Seeker.  We’re almost there.  I know the Dark Land well.”

    “You mean to tell me,” Seeker said, holding back a laugh, “that the Dark Land isn’t always… dark?”

    She slapped his hand.  “Don’t be dumb.”

    In the distance, lights shimmered from a quiet fishing village.

    “Hurry up, honey— we’re home!”  Beautiful exclaimed.

    When Seeker stepped into the common room, Beautiful was already there—packed, ready, and chatting with Faint-Resolve.  Or rather, Strong-for-the-Faith, as he was known now.

    “Here’s a bedroll for you, Miss Beautiful,” he said.  “I won’t need it anymore.  And Companion’s for you, Seeker.”  He nodded toward the familiar roll.  “I’m leaving today too.  My tour is over.”  The clouds were gone from his face, and a smile broke through.  It was the first time Seeker had seen him really smile.  “I’m going home to my wife!”

    Miss Cheerful bustled into the room.  “Morning, Seeker-for-Sandwiches!” she chirped, slipping a small linen parcel into Beautiful’s pack.  She paused, giving Beautiful a knowing look.  “Though whatever you’ve been seeking, I dare say you’ve found it.”

    “They really are a cute couple,” Strong-for-the-Faith added.

   “Yes, they are!  Now sit—all of you.  Traveling on an empty stomach is no good.”  This time, Miss Cheerful joined them without a thought.

    Strong-for-the-Faith gave thanks for their breakfast, for Miss Cheerful, and for the journey ahead.  He prayed the King’s blessing over Seeker and Beautiful.

    Then Miss Cheerful added, solemn and soft, “Keep Seeker and Beautiful safe with Your hand—on their journey, and in their lives.”

   After they ate, Strong-for-the-Faith set out north on the Narrow Way, and Seeker and Beautiful turned south—Miss Cheerful standing before the ruins of the Interpreter’s House, waving.

***

    The day was beautiful—clear, bright, and touched with a lazy breeze.  Clouds drifted overhead like they had nowhere better to be.   Beautiful walked beside him, chatting about everything and nothing.

    When they reached the Wicket Gate, Beautiful gestured toward the summer parlor.  “Honey, can we stop and rest a bit?” she asked.

    It was just as dusty as he remembered.  “There’s a well,” Beautiful said.  “Should be a bucket nearby.  Could you bring me some water please?”  She found a broom and began sweeping.  When he returned, she was already wiping the table with a dry cloth.  She dampened it, cleaned the pitcher, and filled it with water from the bucket.

    How had she known about the well?  Or the bucket.  She was more familiar with the Wicket Gate than he was.  But the sun was already climbing, and they still had a long way to go.

    “Beautiful, what are you doing?”  He paced.  She didn’t answer—just kept cleaning.  “I thought you wanted to rest?”

    “There,” she said at last.  She motioned to the armchair, swatted the dust off the couch, and sat.  “I’ve been thinking…”

    “When we should have been walking.”

    She frowned.  “I needed to rest,” she said.  “Besides, someone has to clean—for the next Pilgrims.”

   “I’ve been thinking,” she repeated.

   While we should have been walking.  He didn’t say it out loud.

   “On the way,” she said, “let’s stop and visit your parents.”

   “No,” he said without hesitation. 

    “But why not, Seeker?  I have to meet them.  I won’t marry you if I don’t.”  She paused.  “No—I will marry you.  You know that.  But my parents won’t give us their blessing.”

    Seeker felt dizzy.  “It’s out of the way, Beautiful.  It’s a long trip.  And you’ll be tired.”  She wasn’t buying it.  “Next time,” he said.  “I promise.  You’ll meet them.”

   A stubborn look crossed her face.  “You take me—or we turn around right now.”

    Seeker sighed.  “OK,” he said at last.  “But I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

    She stood, smiled, and leaned in to kiss him.

    If she noticed his unease, he couldn’t tell.  He was going to have to tell her eventually, anyway.

***

    When they stepped out of the Wicket Gate, Beelzebub’s Castle loomed over them—deserted, cold, and quiet.   Beautiful’s eyes lit up.  “Seeker, let’s see what’s inside!”

   “No.” 

   “It’s been empty three hundred years! It’ll be an adventure, like we used to do.”

   “No.”

    She stuck out her bottom lip.  “You used to be fun,” she pouted.

   Unbelievable.  Did she have no concept of time?  “Beautiful, baby—do you want to cross the Slough in the dark?”  He paused.  “No.  Now stop being a baby.  Next time.  I promise.”

***

    The sun had reached its height and was already sinking in the west.   Beautiful had run out of things to talk about.  Or maybe she was just mad.  He couldn’t tell which.

    “I’m tired,” she moaned.  “My feet hurt.”

    “Of course you’re tired, Beautiful.”  Nobody but you would clean the Wicket Gate on a trip like this.  He didn’t say it out loud.

   “I’m hungry.”  She stomped her feet.  “You’re a slave driver.”

   “Now your feet hurt even worse, don’t they, little baby?”  He paused, then added.  “I’m pretty hungry myself.”  He pointed at an olive tree.  “There.  Let’s see what Miss Cheerful packed for us.”

    Beautiful sat on the soft grass in the shadow of the olive tree.  Around her, flowers swayed—long, slender stems of deep royal blue, touched with soft violet undertones and golden veins.  Three upright, three curving downward.  She took the linen parcel from her bag and carefully unwrapped it.

   Inside were two sandwiches.  “One for me,” she said.  Then sweetly, “And one for my husband.”  She didn’t even blush this time.

    Birds sang around them.  Flowers swayed.  And she looked so beautiful.  He wanted to stay here—just lie down on the grass and forget everything.  But time wouldn’t wait for them.

   Beautiful took off one boot, then peeled off her sock.  A blister bloomed on her heel—and two more on her toes. “I told you my feet hurt,” she said.

   “Poor baby,” he said. “No more stomping your feet.”

***

    The sun was sinking behind the horizon when they reached the Slough.  Seeker was surprised by what he saw.  There were no steppingstones—not even the rickety bridge he’d imagined from Companion’s explanation.

    Piles had been driven deep into the muck, anchoring the bridge where the Slough had once threatened to swallow everything.  The thick hardwood planks were solid beneath their feet, remarkably well-preserved, supported by timber framing that stretched across the breadth of the mire.   Low railings lined either side.

    When they stepped on the bridge, Beautiful grabbed Seeker’s arm and held tight.  With her other hand she pointed toward the edge of the Slough.  “There.”

    “There what?”

    “That’s where I fell in.”  Her whole body shuddered.

    Seeker could almost feel the mire of the Slough again, leeching warmth from his skin.  He remembered how he’d struggled—how it had felt like days—until he finally passed out.  If not for Companion…

   She was pointing at the edge—within sight of the grass, the flowers.  You could still hear the sparrows singing.  He laughed.

   Her eyes darkened.  No flare.  No lightning.  Just sadness—quiet and complete.  She let go of his arm, turned and trudged slowly across the bridge.

   “Beautiful, wait.  I’m sorry,” he said, chasing after her.  “I didn’t mean to laugh.  It’s just—well, when I thought about how I almost died…” He caught his breath.  “You’ve got to admit…”

    She turned around, tears streaming down her face.  “You always underestimate me.”  Bitterness edged her voice.  “You’re strong.  I’m weak.  I hurt.  But somehow—you even hurt better than me.”

    “I’m sorry,” he stammered.

    “I thought you understood me.  That’s why I love you,” she said.  “I thought you were different from everyone else.”

    He reached for her hand, but she pushed it away—then turned and crossed the bridge alone.

***

    A thicket of trees stood in the hollow on the far side of the Slough.  Beautiful had already set down her pack and was laying her bedroll out. 

    Seeker sighed.  At least they’d crossed safely.  He regretted the laugh.  The things she had said about him—those weren’t true.  He didn’t think of her that way.  Didn’t she know that?  Why did she have to be so difficult all the time?

    He placed his bedroll near hers—close enough to keep her safe, far enough to give her space.

    The stars began to appear.  The Bear had started his rounds.  It was far too late in the year for the Hunter, but maybe he’d catch sight of him in the morning—just before sunrise.

    Seeker gathered a few sticks and carefully arranged them in the firepit left by earlier travelers.  From his satchel, he took out the flint and steel—another gift from Companion.  Within minutes, he had a small fire blazing.

    Beautiful was already resting on her bedroll, so he laid down beside her.  She stood and picked up her bedroll.

    She walked to the far side—the direction he was facing—and carefully unrolled her bedroll so it touched his.   Then she lay down and pressed her full body against him.  She took his head in both hands and kissed him deeply.

   “Let’s not fight, Seeker.  I know you didn’t mean it.  I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean it either.”

   She wrapped her arms tightly around him.  “I love you, Seeker.  I really do.”