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Tobin makes good on his promise to come by the campfire that night. Before he does, he catches a glimpse of himself in the dark glare of the nearby river. Faye had instructed him to wash up before hand, that wet hair is easier to trim.
Faye was right. I look terrible. He thinks, staring at his reflection. His brown hair hangs in his eyes, and worse, there’s dark circles beneath his eyes. He stares for a long moment, trying to see himself in that man’s reflection, then realizes he’s looked like this for Mila-knows how long. And then realizes all the girls they’ve met have seen him like this.
No wonder they all got weird! Tobin realizes belatedly and kicks himself internally. While Gray and Lukas were flirting away I was looking like some creepy vagabond. Gods… No wonder that girl clutched her coin purse to herself when I asked for the time!
He sighs. It does no good to dwell on the past, so he changes into his spare set of leisure clothes. They stick to his wet frame, a little too small thanks to the decent meals from the army and the relentless training. Tobin scoops up his tattered clothes—he even checks his tent for others, ignoring the pang of betrayal that hits him when he enters and Gray isn’t there—and hauls himself to campfire before the regret can catch up with him.
Faye sits before the fire, pink dress turned orange by the light. She lifts her head from the needlework she’s bent over and her lips quirk up in a quick smile.
I haven't seen her smile in a long time. Tobin thinks, then watches as it quickly fades. He then sees the bags that hang under her eyes.
“Glad to see you came.” Faye says.
“Yeah.” Tobin says. “Where do you want me?”
She stands, hands on her hips and surveys him. She snorts through her nose. “I forgot how tall you are.”
His brow furrows and somehow, it makes him laugh a little. “How? You see me all the time.”
“From across a battlefield usually.” Faye tsks. “Sit, I guess. Otherwise I can’t reach you.”
Tobin sits down on the ground as Faye prepares her scissors—the same one she uses for sewing—and Tobin shuts his eyes. He feels her run a comb through his hair, hears her feet dully meet the ground, senses her carefully think and observe which way to cut.
“I forgot to thank you.” He says. Maybe it’s easier that way.
“For?”
“Telling me I looked bad.”
“That’s surprising.” Faye says. “I figured you would’ve given me crap for it.”
“I mean you could use some more tact…”
“And you could stand to actually pay attention for once.”
”Hey, you could be easier with the tough love, Wildflower.”
There’s a wince in her voice as she replies, and even Tobin knows he’s said the wrong thing: “Don’t call it that out loud.”
Tobin shuts up. He hears Faye make the first cut. Snip, snip, snip.
“I do pay attention, you know.”
“Just too late.”
“I was paying attention when you ran up that hill after us.” Tobin says, remembering the sight of Faye dashing uphill after them, demanding to be admitted and join the Deliverance. Her chest heaving, her bag packed, her father’s bow and arrow long since hung up, then in her hands and a promise to be useful if they just gave her a chance.
He remembers thinking of her parents, of the vineyard: their only child, gone off to war with a high chance of not returning to claim her inheritance and take up the family business of making really, really bad wine.
He remembers thinking how much guts it took to enlist all for a crush.
But then he remembers what she told him once: it would be a pretty sad life if all my friends went off and died while I stayed at home, knitting all day.
“It was pretty gutsy of you to come after us and enlist. I don’t think I’ve ever told you that.”
Her voice is soft when she replies, “Really?”
“I mean, yeah. Fighting for money is one thing, seeing the world is another, and girls is… definitely a choice.”
She stays quiet. The campfire snaps and bursts with embers.
“I admire it about you.”
“Well,” Faye’s voice is soft, quiet. Her fingers comb through his hair. Snip, snip, snip. “I meant what I said. I’d rather die with you guys here than stay back wondering what happened to everyone.” Her voice warms. “Besides, you need someone to take care of you.”
“Yeah,” he laughs, “I get it, I’m a mess.”
“Don’t take it personally. Everyone needs someone to look out for them.” Faye says and pats his shoulder gently. “But you especially. Honestly Tobe, you’re still the same goof from the village.”
“I’d argue that consistency is a virtue.” He replies. “But… thanks for this. Between taking up extra training with Python and helping out with other army stuff… Well, I guess I’ve forgotten to take care of myself.”
There’s a smile lingering in Faye’s voice. “Just remember what I said when you’re talking to those fancy noble girls in town: no girl will want to marry you looking like this. And I won’t always be here to make you look good again.” Faye says. “If you don’t learn how to handle a needle and thread, then you should at least keep in contact with one of your sisters or buy—”
“Wait…” Tobin interrupts. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t move, birdbrain.” She chastises sharply. Tobin turns back, hopeful that Faye will hurry up. I just need a glimpse at her face to see if she’s lying… “I’m going back to Ram,” Faye says quietly, “and by the way you’re talking at dinners, you’re staying in the city.”
He hears a final snip, feels her pull the comb through his hair and then pats his shoulder. “There. You’re all done.”
He opens his eyes, shakes off the cut threads and realizes that he can see without the curtain of brown bangs hanging in his eyes. Wow. He looks up at Faye, who brushes her scissors off, then sits beside him and pulls his tattered uniform into her lap. She assesses the tears while he sits and then takes up tending the fire.
She’s not lying. Tobin thinks. She’s headed back to Ram Village after this.
“Why are you still here?” She asks, scrunching her nose up.
“Fair trade. I’ll take your watch while you patch up my clothes.” He says. “Now go rest.”
Faye stares at him for a long moment.
“I mean it,” then he softly adds, “Don’t make me carry you back to your tent.”
Her cheeks redden and his do too when he realizes what it could mean. Faye smirks after a moment and then stands up. “Thanks Tobe. I’ll have these back soon.”
“Yeah. Thanks Faye.”
She just gives him another smile—this time softer and more precious—as Tobin gives her a two-fingered salute and turns back to the fire. As the embers begin to die out and Forsyth arrives—Tobin, pray what are you doing here, silly boy! Miss Faye was supposed to be on watch tonight, yes? Did she abandon her post?—Tobin thinks about returning to Ram Village, and quietly begins making a plan to.