Tos and Sray, Ranika working on her map
"Your past caught up to you." Tos observed. "Are you going to meet it or run away?"
"What do you know about my past, Tos?" She asked back, a bit more bitter than she intended it to sound.
"Enough," he replied cryptically, unbothered by her tone.
Sray thought about what Kallon had said. Did their mother really tell Tos their parents translated for the Klamon? Why had he not said anything? She frowned back at him. "Who is keeping secrets now?"
Tos laughed. "It's your past, Sray, you'll tell me in your own time what you want me to know."
That was not a sentiment she expected from him. "I appreciate that. You should know I appreciate a lot of what you've done, Tos. Not just this year, but even at the beginning. You never made fun of how I spoke or took advantage of my lack of understanding. You were a good friend, Tos." Sray said.
"Were?" He questioned as he turned towards her, his tone one of mock hurt. "What happened to 'us,' Sray?"
She looked back at him, bemused. "You stopped treating me like your little sister." She replied simply.
"Well, you stopped looking and acting like my little sister." He explained somewhat off-handedly.
She looked at him with his dark, tightly curled hair and bright hazel eyes as if what he said was absolutely absurd. "I never looked anything like your sister," she stated the obvious, slightly amused at the idea that anyone could suggest they looked like siblings. "We could be better friends if you could put aside the idea of marrying me." She inclined her head towards him and raised her brows, knowing he would reject such a notion.
"But what should marriage be, but the very best and closest of friendships?" He replied, undeterred.
She shook her head. "I would hate to deny you the tradition of asking the father's permission to wed his daughter."
"Am I to be haunted by the ghost of your father?" Tos asked, leaving the side of the wagon to to stand fully. Sray could tell he was winding up for something grand. He had that look and tone he got when he was making a declaration he felt most profound. "Do I need to seek him out?" He turned to face the Anlizer mountains to the far Northeast and swept his arm towards it. "Travel to his grave in Kamenlohn and prostate myself before that hallowed ground of his final resting place? Or," he turned back to Sray, "find someone familiar with spirits and in touch with the world beyond and summon him? Addressing him thus:" he paused briefly to clear his throat, his voice dropping to a very solemn tone and he placed his hand over his heart. "'Mr. Hillenbohn, I seek your daughter Sray's hand. I would love and care for her until Behl ceased to shine and the moons fell from the sky. I would even see to your wife, care for her as my own mother until she returned to you in death. None of your family shall have want or need for anything so long as there is strength in my arm and breath in my chest to make it so.'"
"Certainly, he could not say no to that." Tos ended emphatically as he leaned back into the side of the wagon beside Sray.
Ranika settled in on the stool before the immense drafting table. She organized her paints and pens on a small table beside it and on a second, larger one was a pile of maps, books, and notes. Measurements, grids, contours, color swatches and pigment notes, even dried plants and bits of stone and small jars of sand were crammed into the space to refer to as she worked.
She put her hands on the edge of the drafting table and looked over what she had done thusfar to determine where she should pick up next. Carefully she arranged the notes she needed and pulled some of the dried plants and rocks to the edge. Her fingers walked over a selection of brushes before picking one and dipping it daintily in the water before loading the brush with pigment from a pan and turning to the large paper stretched before her. Delicate strokes and washes, layer upon layer to bring out just the right tone and luminosity. She picked up the mal stick with her off hand and pressed gently upon the paper to support her brush hand as she traced the line of a river as it wound across the landscape.