She thought to bring us snacks.
I adore this woman.
“Geez, Brains. Did you rob the dining hall or what?” I ask, only half joking.
Her lips curve into a mischievous smile. “Lyra might have. Would you like some?”
“I thought you’d never ask,” I say, accepting one of the bundles when she offers it to me. It’s still faintly warm. Inside, there’s a small roll stuffed with spiced apples and sugar glaze, probably pilfered fromdessert—IknewI smelled something with apples. “You’re a miracle worker, you know that?”
Her laughter fills the carriage again, easy and bright. “I didn’t want us to get too hungry on the way there. That’s no way to start an adventure.” She nibbles on one of the sweet rolls, eyes twinkling.
As we eat, I feel myself relax. My tension fades until even the silence with Poppy is comfortable.
Outside, night settles fully. The lanterns on the carriage cast pools of light that glow and dance across the rolling fields. The forest has long fallen away behind us, and open prairie stretches on every side, bathed in moonlight.
Hours pass in a rhythm of creaking carriage wheels and swaying fields. Our conversation drifts in and out. Poppy yawns once, covering her mouth, and I hand her the blanket from the back of the padded seat. She thanks me softly and pulls it around her shoulders before sinking deeper into the cushions and leaning her head against the side of the carriage, still staring out at the moonlit landscape.
At some point, the road smooths, the sound of hooves steady and hypnotic. I yawn and glance out the window, catching sight of what look to be faint lights moving across the dark prairie.
“Poppy, look,” I say gently.
“What is it?” Poppy whispers sleepily, shifting on the seat beside me to lean closer and get a better look. Her thigh presses against mine, and I have to tryreallyhard not to get distracted by it.
Tiny shapes glide above the fields, their luminous bodies turning and drifting as they float easily through the air.
“Prairie fish,” I whisper.
The prairie fish move in slow, fluid waves, their scales catching moonlight and scattering it in flashes of blue, green, and silver. Their light draws in the mosquitoes and other tiny insects, and they snatch the bugs out of the air, just likeotherfish snatch them off the surface of the water.
“Have you ever seen them before?” Poppy asks.
“Yeah. Once.”
I saw them on this same trip, about twelve years ago now. But on that trip, my parents were on either side of me, and I was still small enough to sit squished between them. The memory makes me happy and sad at the same time.
Poppy’s reflection glows in the window, lavender eyes wide with wonder. The moonlight paints her in shades of silver. “I’ve never seen them before. They’re amazing.” Her mouth curves into a delicate smile, reminding me of the kiss at the cookie shop—and making me want to kiss her again. But I don’t want to make her uncomfortable, especially so early into our trip. So I resist the urge to lean in.
The prairie fish drift alongside us for a short while, their gentle shimmer keeping pace with the carriage until they finally glide off, leaving us traveling through the dark on our own.
When I glance down, I find Poppy’s hand resting on the seat between us, fingers relaxed. Slowly, I slide mine overhers, and though I give her plenty of opportunity to, she doesn’t pull away.
So I curl my fingers between hers, holding her hand in mine as the night grows later and the air inside the carriage gets cooler.
When Poppy finally dozes off, her head tips against my shoulder, the blanket slipping down her arm. I pull it back up carefully, nestling it around her so she’ll stay warm, and let my eyes drift toward the window again.
The rhythmic sway of the carriage lulls me, the gentle clop of hooves against the road blending with the soft whisper of Poppy’s even breathing. My eyelids grow heavier with each passing minute, and I find myself leaning closer to her, careful not to wake her.
Before I even realize it, I’m drifting off too, head tilting against the back of the seat, shoulders loosening, the prairie outside the window fading into a soft blur. As I fall asleep, I can still feel the gentle weight of her hand in mine.
SOMEWHERE BETWEEN SLEEP AND WAKEFULNESS, the first hints of dawn begin to paint the sky, a soft pink and gold spilling across the fields.
I wake slowly, neck stiff, and find that Poppy is still asleep on my shoulder, her knit hat and glasses askew. Slowly, I stretch my neck to one side, then the other, then wipe the sleep from my eyes. All the while, I’m careful not to wake her.
By the time the sun has risen higher in the sky, Faunwood comes into view. We cross a wooden bridge, then roll into the village, which is still waking up, thatched roofs shining with dew, chimney smoke curling lazily into the autumn sky.
It’s smaller than I remember from my time here as a boy, and it looks busier as well, with more shops than I recall when I was last here. Time changes everything, I suppose.
Poppy stirs beside me, murmuring something sleepy, and I smile down at her.
