The sky turned deep violet by the time we stopped. Grass bent in waves around our ankles, and the trees had thinned to crooked shadows on the horizon. I picked a spot along the low ridge—nothing fancy, just open space, higher ground, and no soft places for an ambush to hide. I didn't say anything. I didn't have to. Shi Yaozu dismounted without a word and moved like he'd have picked the same ground himself.
The horses were slick with sweat, tired but alert. Shadow disappeared somewhere into the tall grass, silent as breath. He always did that. Kept his distance until he decided you were worth watching again.
Shi Yaozu crouched near the fire pit before I even reached for flint. His hands moved without thought—tinder arranged with quiet precision, dry brush set just right to keep the flame low. I sat on the opposite side, dropping my satchel without ceremony and pulling out the salted rice cake and ginger I'd stuffed there hours ago.
