Chapter 9
Where the Sun Sets
The Road to Sainte-Camieux, Egidienne County, Republic of Artagna

Marx opened his eyes when the first light of the sun peeked over the horizon. He positioned their lean-to eastward for that very reason. They needed to start their days early as it was still a long way to Sainte-Camieux.
Before getting up, he took a moment to appreciate the warmth of Sunny pressing against his back. He was honestly surprised at how little hesitation she had about sleeping together with him. Most girls would show a little more reserve around an unrelated male, but they may as well have been brother and sister. This did not quite sit well with him, as it was like she did not properly view him as a man, but for the sake of practicality, it worked out better this way.
The campfire had died down to embers and ash, which was just right for cooking breakfast. He measured out some dry mixture to make damper, cutting off bits of salted pork to mix in before adding the water. He then kneaded the dough and when that was done, he made four little cakes and buried them in the ash. He remembered how fascinated Sunny looked the first time he made damper. She had never seen anything like it and was more than a little reluctant to try it at first. She thought it would just taste like ash and was surprised when it did not.
Though she did not remember anything about herself, Marx imagined she was a city girl who had never had to rough it before. If that were so, it was fairly surprising that she had never complained once so far about the privations of the road.
While the damper was cooking, Marx was going to get the coffee ready when he heard Sunny say, "Let me take care of that."
"Morning," Marx said.
"Good morning," Sunny replied.
She wrapped herself in her shawl and reached out to take the coffee pot. Holding the lid open her hand hovered above the pot as little flecks of blue light came together to form a floating orb of water. She carefully moved her fingers to adjust the size of the orb before releasing it to drain into the pot. She then held the pot over her hand and did a similar trick to summon a tongue of flame. As her fingers curled in, the flame grew hotter.
"Careful," Marx warned. "You'll melt through the damn pot again."
The first time she used her Art to heat up the water, she got a little overzealous, creating a blue-white flame that was more than the cheap tin pot could handle. She was able to repair the damage much as she had done with the teacup from before, but that did not mean it needed to happen a second time.
Sunny pulled her fingers back and brought the fire back down a little. It was truly fascinating to watch.
"I've never seen anyone use the Art as easily as you," Marx said, "not that I've ever met that many people with the Gift."
"I'm just doing what comes naturally," Sunny said.
"Yeah, well, what's natural for you isn't natural for most folks, so be careful about who sees you doin' stuff like that."
"Right now it's just you," Sunny said. "Does it bother you?"
"I don't know enough about it to think much one way or the other," Marx replied. "I know it's convenient, and that I don't have to wander around lookin' for wells and creeks when I want some water. Makes this leg a helluva lot easier than the one before it."
"What made you decide to head out west?"
Dodging the question, Marx turned back to the ashes, saying, "Damper should be done."
He spread out his handkerchief, then fished out the four cakes from the ashes with his knife. He blew on the cakes to get most of the ash off, then set the handkerchief between the two of them.
Sunny had the water boiling by then, so she poured in the grounds and set down the pot to let them steep. While they were waiting on the coffee, they began to eat. Like Marx, Sunny was not the sort to say grace before a meal, but she had this habit of holding up her food like an offering or something before taking the first bite. Two little cakes of damper were not much of a breakfast, but Marx was used to very curt mornings. They could take a little more time for lunch and have a leisurely supper. This would tide them over for the time being.
While Marx quickly wolfed down his food, very nearly fitting an entire cake in his mouth at a time, Sunny ate at a more measured pace, neither fast nor slow. As Marx finished eating first, he took it upon himself to pour the coffee, straining the grounds with the edge of his knife. The coffee was nothing amazing, but it was a damn sight better than having nothing at all. They had to be frugal with it, though. They had enough beans for a cup each three times a day, but no more, unless they wanted to reuse grounds, but that was only something for the desperate or misers with no respect for coffee.
Marx noted that Sunny did not ask her question again. He did not intend to pry into her past, not that she could remember it, and he appreciated her not prying into his past either. They weren't left with much to talk about, but he was not all that talkative and neither was she, it would seem.
Once they had drunk their coffee, they broke camp. While Marx was packing their gear, Sunny washed out the coffee pot and cups. He wished he had a shovel to better hide the site of the campfire. He had to settle for scattering the ashes and mixing in the branches they used for bedding. It was not the most convincing camouflage, but it should have been enough to escape passing notice.
Not long after they set out, Sunny asked Marx, "How much farther to Sainte... Camille, was it?"
"Sainte-Camieux," Marx corrected. "At the rate we're goin', another six days, maybe seven."
"We could pick up the pace if you like," Sunny said. "You don't need to hold back on my account."
"I'm not holdin' back for you," Marx lied. "And if I was, it'd be because you've got not business pushin' yourself."
"Try me," Sunny said. "If I can keep up, I'll tell you. I promise."
Marx would have kept an easier pace just on general principle, but the fact that she had only recently recovered from rather extensive injuries was all the more reason. That being said, even though his impression of her was that of a city girl who had never done a day's hard labor in her life, she did seem to have some grit to her and he could not help but feel inclined to respect that. Also, if they could shave off a day or so, that would be incredibly helpful.
"Alright," he said. "We'll try picking up the pace and see what happens."
He finished breaking camp, donning the shelter half as a cloak and screwing the two tentpoles together to form a handy walking stick. With that done, they were ready to go. The road ahead was long, but at least the company was pleasurable enough.