Chapter 3 - Company

They parted ways with Viseran and his men shortly after Putt awakened, immediately recognizing Avia and clinging to her in search of comfort. His readiness to leave, unquestioning and calm, might have seemed a relief, but to Avia, it was a point of concern. Given the trauma of recent days—his parents' murder, his abduction—it was unnaturally quiet of him not to ask questions. Avia walked with Putt trailing behind her, his small hand occasionally seeking hers for reassurance.
Avia had always distrusted conformity. She valued debate, curiosity, and challenges to the status quo as vital tools for true learning. People who followed orders blindly, without questioning why, were not really thinking; they were merely existing within the comfort of compliance. This was a lesson Avia had learned early on. Her teachers had often sought obedience over inquiry, preferring docile students before inquisitive ones. However, Avia thrived on provocation, finding it the only worthwhile part of her education. It alarmed her to think that most children stopped testing boundaries so early in life. Unlike them, Avia had spent her entire life pushing against constraints, constantly learning and exploring new ways of thinking and doing.
Reflecting on her school days, she remembered feeling alienated from her peers who seemed dull and uninterested in deeper understanding—they were the norm, the standard mold into which the world was shaped, while she was the outlier. Yet, this difference had always been more of a delight than a dilemma for her, and throughout her life, she had found kinship with those rare individuals who challenged her intellectually.
Avia occasionally glanced back as they walked to ensure Putt was still there. He had been unusually silent since their departure from the camp. What thoughts occupied his young mind? Was his silence a symptom of shock, or had he simply become a quieter boy? Avia knew the importance of giving him time to adjust, yet she hoped his silence was not due to a lack of thought or a fear of speaking. The Putt she remembered was always eager to share stories and observations with her during her visits, which were sporadic yet deeply cherished by both.
Their relationship, though marked by infrequent visits, had always been intense and meaningful during those short spans of time they spent together. Now, as she considered the prospect of caring for him more directly, Avia was overwhelmed by the magnitude of the shift in her life. It had been over four decades since she last nurtured Arica, and motherhood was a realm she associated with the vigor of youth. Yet here she was, with a boy not yet near puberty who needed her—not just as a grandmother who swooped in once in a while with stories and gifts, but as a steady presence in the wake of his parents' tragic absence. The weight of this responsibility was both intimidating and humbling. Mostly intimidating.
Avia stole another glance at Putt, his small figure a silhouette against the vast landscape. "We'll need to talk soon," she thought to herself. "He needs to express what's inside, in his own time, but he mustn't bottle it up." Change was a daunting prospect for anyone, more so for a child who had experienced such abrupt and violent upheavals. Patience, she reminded herself, would be crucial.


Avia was satisfied to see that Putt kept up with her pace effortlessly throughout the day. Despite the trials he had endured—his parents' tragic deaths, the abrupt kidnapping, and the subsequent rescue—the boy seemed remarkably composed, perhaps too much so. His silence didn't entirely surprise her, but it did cause a flicker of concern. To Avia, unquestioning obedience indicated a lack of critical thinking, a trait she did not admire. She believed in the power of questioning as a path to true knowledge and detested the blind conformity that was often praised by others.
As they set up camp for the evening, Avia laid her weapons aside and prepared her bow.
"I'll go hunting. Can you gather some sticks and dry bushes for the fire?" she asked Putt.
"I will," he responded quietly, showing the first sign of initiative she had seen since they left the camp.
"Don't stray too far. Keep the camp in sight."
"I'm tired." His voice had a hint of weariness that went beyond the physical.
Avia descended the slope to the valley below, where the underbrush was thicker, hoping to find one of the plump birds she had spotted earlier. Her instincts were correct; not long into her hunt, the rustling of a deer offered an even better prize. With practiced ease, her arrow flew, ensuring their meal for the night.
Returning to camp with the deer slung over her shoulders, she noticed Putt's wide-eyed expression of mixed disgust and fascination as she began to gut the animal. It reminded her of the spectators at Posita, where people paid to watch fighters kill each other with the same macabre curiosity they might watch an animal being butchered. Avia had once been one of those fighters, drawn by the allure of payment rather than any lust for violence. The thrill of surviving such combats had once left her exhilarated but deeply disturbed, prompting her departure from that life. Killing for sport or pleasure was a line she had vowed never to cross again.
"Have you never gutted an animal before?" she asked Putt, who shook his head no.
"Well," she began, pointing with her knife, "this is the liver. We'll cook it in the embers tonight and save some for tomorrow. These are the bowels, good for making sausages, but we'll leave them for the scavengers today." She then explained the use of each part of the deer, instructing him on how to prepare and cook the meat over the fire.
Putt took the initiative to start the fire, showing a practical side that Avia respected. He assembled a neat pile of sticks and looked to her for the fire steel, which she provided after wiping her hands clean. The boy’s efficiency with the fire sparked a sense of pride in Avia; perhaps he was absorbing more of her lessons than she had realized.
"Is this the way home?" Putt asked, gazing out over the valley below, a note of longing in his voice.
"No," Avia replied, realizing he was contemplating much more than the landscape. "Your village was destroyed. There's nothing left there."
"So, mom and dad are dead?" His voice was hollow, seeking only confirmation of what he already knew.
"Yes, I'm sorry," Avia said, her voice heavy with the weight of the truth.
Putt turned away, his shoulders tightening as he faced the valley. Whether he cried or mourned in silence, Avia chose to respect his space. Some griefs were to be navigated alone. Her life had taught her the harsh realities of loss and survival, yet she found herself ill-equipped to offer the comfort Putt might need. He would have to find his own path through his pain, just as she had throughout her tumultuous life.


They sat by the fire, sharing the freshly cooked meat. As the evening deepened, Avia had busied herself with drying the rest of the meat in the smoke and had carefully buried the liver and heart in the embers as she'd promised. Putt’s question about their destination hung in the air, causing Avia to pause. Her life had never followed a defined path unless she was on a mission. Now, with Putt, she had no set destination, merely a responsibility she felt as his only remaining relative.
"Don't you know where we're going?" Putt’s voice held a mix of curiosity and concern as he studied her expression.
"Is it important for you to have a goal?" Avia countered, curious about how much the boy needed direction.
"I don't know. Maybe. You leave home for a reason, like an errand." His logic was sound for a child raised in a more structured environment.
"Are you on an errand?" she asked gently.
Putt played with his food, his youthful face clouded with thought. He shook his head, and Avia caught a glimpse of a tear he quickly wiped away.
"So, we're going to find a new home?" Hope tinged his question, lighting up his features.
Avia felt a wave of reluctance.
"Putt, I know you lived in a house. Not everyone lives like that. Some move from house to house, some live in a tent and take their home with them, some, like me, live with few belongings, following the winds of their hearts."
"Can't you work to get some money?" Putt’s innocent question echoed the practical concerns instilled by his parents, not understanding Avia’s chosen lifestyle.
"It's not about money, boy," Avia shot back, her frustration more with the memory of her son-in-law's rigid views than with Putt’s question. "I live the way I do because I want to. Because it makes me happy and satisfied with my life. I hope you'll learn to like it too."
She deliberately avoided saying 'learn to love,' aware of the deep-seated prejudices Putt had likely absorbed about her nomadic lifestyle. Avia, on her side, had never understood the farmer’s dependence on the unpredictable whims of weather—something her daughter and Bov had accepted as part of their lives, even trying to appease the weather as if it had a mind of its own. Such notions had only ever made Avia laugh, which had once caused a rift with Bov, who had blamed her for inciting the weather’s wrath.
"So, I'll be following you then?" Putt’s voice broke through her thoughts.
"You say 'so' a lot," Avia remarked, a light tease in her tone to shift the mood.
Putt looked defensive, and Avia, softening, unpacked two blankets from her pack—gifts from Viseran in recognition of her status as a 'mamasiente'. She pondered the irony of that title as she handed one of the blankets to Putt.
"Yes, you can travel with me if my company is good enough for you. If not, feel free to leave and return to that burned-down ruin of a village that you call home." Her words were sharp, but her tone held a warmth that invited him into her world on his own terms. In her heart, Avia rejected the notion that she could ever be neatly defined by any title, even one as honorable as 'mamasiente'. She was too much her own person for that, and she hoped to teach Putt to cherish his own independence just as fiercely.