Celia gave a soft snort but didn't argue. This time when she turned to him, it wasn't out of wariness but with a quiet, almost trusting gaze. "And... what now?"
"Now..." Eliot slowed his steps. "I want to take you to meet someone. An old healer, lives just outside town. If he takes to you, you could stay here properly. As his apprentice." She went very still, searching his face. "You want me... to work with him?"
"I want you safe. And free to be yourself." His voice was simple, firm. "With him, you could use everything you know, learn more, even. No more hiding if you're under his protection. And it'd ease Mom's mind too." Celia looked away. That blush again, blooming across her cheeks. "You... think about me too much."
"Not too much." He shrugged. "Just enough to not want you gone."
A small, steady nod. Something in her eyes cleared. "Alright. If he'll have me - I'll try."
"Then let's go." Eliot turned toward the city's edge.
As they walked the riverside path toward the hillside hut, Celia kept her eyes on the road... though every now and then, she'd steal a glance at him. And each time Eliot caught her looking, she'd quickly turn away, but not before smiling. A shy thing, that smile. But true.
The path wound through low hills, past fields of yellowing flowers and solitary trees. The air was warm, still damp from recent rain, and birds exchanged lazy calls from the branches.
Eliot walked slightly ahead without turning, yet felt her presence—the lightness of her steps, her near-silent breathing. Sometimes, from the corner of his eye, he'd catch her looking at him… only for her to quickly glance away. He let the silence linger, then suddenly said: "You keep watching me… then looking off. Why?"
Celia faltered mid-step, as if startled he'd noticed. "Me?.." She swiftly turned her gaze to the roadside grass. "It's just… I don't know. Habit, maybe."
"Embarrassed?" Eliot looked at her now, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. She exhaled sharply and pressed a palm to her cheek, blatantly hiding her blush.
"I'm not used to… being looked at. Or… looking back." He nodded. "Yet you still do it."
"Because you..." She hesitated, biting her lip for a heartbeat. "...you're not like others."
Eliot slowed his pace slightly. The wind ruffled his hair as he stared at the ground, masking his own fluster. "Not sure if that's good or bad," he muttered.
Celia finally looked at him, not directly, but sideways, stealthily.
"For now… I like it," she whispered, the words barely audible.
They followed a dusty trail flanked by sparse shrubs and tree stumps, the sagging roof of the old healer's hut now visible in the distance. The man lived on the outskirts like a recluse, only receiving those he knew... or those brought by someone he trusted.
Eliot glanced at Celia. She walked beside him, clutching her herb bag slightly tighter. The sunlight caught her hair, making the strands glow brighter.
"Listen..." he began hesitantly, eyes on the ground. "If Oswald accepts you... you could stay here. It's peaceful. There'll be work, but you can handle it, I know you can."
Celia's brow furrowed slightly. After a pause, she replied. "You want me to stay here?"
"I..." Eliot stumbled, "I want you safe. And doing what you're good at. What you love."
She looked ahead toward the house.
"It is quiet here. And more herbs than anywhere, probably." A beat. "But..." He raised his eyes to hers.
Celia tightened her grip on the bag, her voice dropping:
"It'll feel... strange without you."
Eliot stopped mid-step. A breeze stirred their clothes. He saw her turn away, as if regretting the admission, her cheeks flushing faintly. "We'll see each other," he said steadily. "Often. I'll be nearby."
She nodded, still avoiding his gaze. Then added, almost teasing but with underlying tension:
"Hope he's got a spare room. Not keen on sharing a roof with some old man."
Eliot chuckled. "Oswald's sensible. Not like others." A faint smile touched Celia's lips. This time, her gaze lingered on him longer than usual.
"Well then... let's hear what he says."
Ahead, Oswald himself stood at the door - tall, lean, with a stern expression and walking stick. A raven perched on a nearby post swiveled its head toward them.
Eliot felt Celia edge slightly closer, not hiding exactly, but as if unconsciously seeking the reassurance of his shoulder.