The announcement came at sunrise, when Elder Nima's voice rang over the village like a bell:
> "Two teams will travel east to gather firevine and ice-root. The season's stores are low, and the high cliffs are restless."
Firevine for fevers. Ice-root for swelling. Both grew only on the Windward Crags, steep and treacherous terrain laced with sharp wind and nests of cave-fowl known to defend their territory viciously.
Kael stepped forward immediately, but Nima raised a hand. "You've had your trial. Let others rise."
Then she looked between Aven and Charlisa.
"Both of you are fast. Quiet. And you've yet to work together."
Aven raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
Charlisa merely nodded. She had expected this.
---
The journey began in near silence. Aven moved with the grace of a predator, her footsteps sure. Charlisa followed steadily, noting plants, the wind's shift, the way Aven's body leaned into slopes.
Halfway up the cliffs, their path narrowed between jagged rocks. One misstep, and a fall would be fatal.
"You always this quiet?" Aven asked finally, not turning.
"Only when walking behind someone who doesn't want company," Charlisa replied with a calm smile.
Aven snorted. "Sharp tongue. Kael likes that in a woman?"
Charlisa's grip on her walking stick tightened. "He likes loyalty. Honesty. Depth."
Aven paused, casting a long look over her shoulder. "And you think I don't have those?"
Charlisa didn't answer—just kept climbing.
---
By midday, they reached the firevine grove—an explosion of red tendrils wrapping around jagged rocks. Aven went to work expertly slicing and collecting the vines. Charlisa followed, mindful not to disrupt the roots.
Suddenly, a shriek echoed from above.
A pair of cliff crows, large and territorial, dove straight at Aven.
She cursed, shielding her face. One claw slashed her shoulder as she tumbled back onto loose stone.
Charlisa didn't hesitate. She thrust her gathering basket over her head to deflect the birds and pulled Aven behind a rock ledge, pressing a cloth to the bleeding wound.
"You alright?" Charlisa asked, breathless.
Aven hissed but nodded. "Damn birds…"
Charlisa examined the gash. "Clean cut. Not too deep. We'll bind it with vine paste."
As she worked, Aven watched her silently.
"You're not weak," she said finally. "Not soft either. I misjudged you."
Charlisa looked up. "I wasn't here to take anything from you, Aven. Just to build something of my own."
For the first time, Aven's guarded expression softened.
"You remind me of her," she said quietly. "Kael's mother. She had the same stillness when everything else was loud."
By the time they returned to the village, their baskets full and shoulders brushed by exhaustion, they were no longer strangers walking beside each other—but warriors who had bled, climbed, and survived together.
And that was how trust began.