“So not often.”
“No.”
The transport hit rougher terrain and bounced. She braced herself against the door to stop herself bouncing around. The cold was seeping deeper now, settling into her bones and her breath misted in front of her face.
“Is there heat?”
Goraath reached forward and twisted a control. Warm air wheezed out of vents that sounded like they might give up any second.
“Thanks.”
He grunted.
Time stretched. The landscape didn’t change. Still rocky, still empty. She watched the kilometers tick by on the transport’s display. Twenty. Thirty. Forty.
How did anyone live out here? Even the shelter after she lost her job had been surrounded by life. Noise. The constant reminder that other people existed.
Here there was nothing.
Finally a structure appeared in the distance. Low and dark against the hillside. It looked like it was built from the same stone as the mountains.
That must be Goraath’s ranch. Her new home.
The transport pulled into a cleared area and stopped. Goraath climbed out immediately.
She sat for a second longer, staring at the house. At the enclosures beyond it where massive shapes moved. At the mountains looming overhead. At the complete and utter isolation.
Then she opened the door, and the wind hit her hard enough to steal her breath. It screamed across the fields, cold and vicious.
Goraath had already retrieved her duffel. He stood by the house’s front door, waiting with visible impatience.
She hurried across to him. Loose rocks shifted under her feet. By the time she reached the building, her eyes were watering from the cold and her hands had gone numb.
Opening the door, he stepped inside.
The interior was dark. Warmer than outside but not by much. Her eyes adjusted slowly. They were in a main room with a table, chairs, and a worn couch set in front of a huge fireplace. Everything was clean but utilitarian, chosen for function, not comfort.
She looked around, her eyes widening as she fought the sinking in her stomach. Stone walls, exposed beams, narrow windows.
There was no decoration. No personal touches.
“Kitchen.” Goraath pointed to an opening on the left. “Bathing room down that hall. Your room at the end.”
“Thank you.”
He set her duffel by the hallway entrance. “Warriors leave tomorrow or the next day. After that, six weeks minimum.”
“I know.”
“If you can’t handle it?—”
“I can handle it.” Her reply was sharper than she meant it to be. “I’m not running away.”
Something flickered in his expression. Surprise maybe, she wasn’t sure. Then the shutters came down again.
He moved toward the kitchen. “There’s food. I have work.”
“Wait.” He stopped but didn’t turn. “Are there rules?”
