The wife was even too stunned to speak and could just hold her husband's hand. Even the rest of the caravan could just stare.
Salīa said nothing as the man looked to her, seeing she wouldn't move at all, her eyes firmly locked into his.
Behind her were his two other men, who dove in to attack her, but were already black Bazil, who stood tall behind her.
It didn't take much effort to tell who had the upper hand amongst them. The big-chested chuckled and then released his weapon and told his men to do the same.
"I apologize, old man, I'm just quite heated."
He then lifted some water and drank it in large gulps.
The designated guards on the caravan glared at him, and so he apologized to them, too.
The same guards told Salīa and Bazil that, as a reward, they could walk alongside them for some time without a fee, but if they caused any trouble, it wouldn't end well.
Salīa and Bazil quickly learned that some of them were traders, like the three men, and some were going on the Noblas Veiros, like the elderly couple. And it turns out, this couple and these men have passed each other once or twice before in other lands.
The big-chested man and the elderly woman argued often, but it was because the elderly woman was reminded of her stubborn son and he her loquacious mother, and so that's how they went about.
And this had been their third dispute during their journey with this particular caravan, who already seemed exhausted by them.
The big-chested man had long become friendly and somewhat docile upon glimpsing at Salīa's eyes, but wasn't sure what to make of her companion.
"Lady, what do you do?"
"I sing."
"Hmm, so is he carrying an instrument, then?"
His eyes had set upon a long, stretched-out, boxed case which Bazil had stabbed to his back. It was actually his xira that he retracted into its smallest form and hid in an instrument box for this very purpose.
"You're quite perceptive. I'm a theatre singer. We enchant you with musical stories," she said. "Do you like plays?"
"Never seen one, but I'd love to see yours. You with the instrument," he snickered. "You're also a singer?"
"A blacksmith," Bazil said firmly, positioning himself between the man and Salīa.
Salīa noticed him pulling each muscle to ease, since a true blacksmith should naturally appear as if they worry more about creating the sword than seeming as one who might wield it.
"We were looking for a blacksmith, actually. My little brothers over there snapped their swords. You think you could forge a new one?" his eyes flicked to Bazil, yet back to Salīa as he licked his lips, alongside his brothers.
Bazil took a long moment, trying hard not to click his jaw.
"Once my sister and I make Palosa, I'll have the tools available to do so."
"Your sister?"
Their faces twisted up, flashes of dubiousness and excitement swirling between their expressions.
Then they smiled together and said, "Then we will make sure nothing happens to her with us around."
Bazil harrumphed in suppressing a cold laugh, but then nodded politely.
Of course, the leader of an army did not need their help for her, but a common blacksmith might.
"You're very pretty," said the elderly woman.
"You too," Salīa bowed.
"Well, I know that much, but thank you."
That was all it took for the elderly woman to open her ruffian bag and pull out a container of savory fritters.
She passed Salīa two but gave about ten to Bazil, insisting that young women must be delicate eaters while men always hunger for more.
Instead of disputing this, Bazil chuckled to himself as he secretly slipped some of his rations to her.
"What about us gran?" asked the big-chested man.
"Now I'm gran? Weren't you just calling me a bat earlier?" she slapped his head with her calabash bottle. "Didn't you also press a blade to my dear khī's neck.
"That was then. This is…how about we sing you a song? And if you dear khī approves, you reward us?"
The younger brothers nodded, their stomachs rumbling. Salīa couldn't blame their eagerness, for the fritters were truly delicious.
She could've eaten stacks of them in one sitting if allowed. After the woman's husband nodded, she sighed and then let them be.
The younger brothers pulled out a valiha and readied the tube zither of bamboo between their fingers.
The big-chested brother cleared his throat, then looked to Salīa.
"Will you sing with me?"
"No, she can't," said Bazil. "She's still recovering from a cold."
The big-chested man shrugged, then said, "If that's how it is. I'll sing alone."
The younger brothers began, plucking delicately until a chirpy tune bounced lightly through the air.
"There was a lone traveler,
Traveling through,
And the traveler said,
'I'm just a traveler, true
I don't need family
I don't need friends
I don't need familiars
I don't need nothing'
There was a lone traveler,
That traveler met you
And so that lone traveler
Now travels as two."
It seemed the elderly woman wanted to be disappointed, but she couldn't be. As her husband was beaming alongside the rest of the caravan.
It was clear that they were all from the Isles, and the brothers had gifted them a pleasant taste of home. And so, she reluctantly gave them a few fritters each.
Most of the walk after was quite calm with few stops.
Some others in the caravan eventually took a peek at them, and although Salīa was under a hood, some of them, women and men alike, whispered about how pretty she was.
Bazil had always been aware that many found her pretty. One time, she heard someone call her ugly, and he was ready to beat the blindness out of them.
Yet another had already countered and said, "I might not favor her either, but I'd never lie to myself like that. Of course, she's beautiful."
He was just as aware that she knew she was pretty because she flirted more than she spoke plainly, but only with select people.
Her teasing and taunting had become such an ingrained part of her that some might worry if she's feeling under the weather if she hadn't made at least one crude joke for the day.
His rebuffs to her had long been polished with bouts of silence or focusing on other matters, but she had a habit of stumping him still, her words always slithering into his heart.
It wasn't always the flirtations that got past his shield. It was mostly when she'd say things so heartfelt – like "I'm so proud of you" or "I'd love to hear what's on your mind" that had all his armor drop down as if rust had eaten it off him.
Though her teasing was certainly more wicked.
He knew her words weren't always intentional provocations, as she'd only find light fun in having someone's loins get wet or chests heave with laughter at her lewd remarks, but she'd never been so cruel to willingly stir his heart without the intention of taking responsibility.
Yet that only made his feelings for her crystallize even more. She'd never make a compliment without fully acknowledging what she's admiring.
That's probably why ever since she was a kid, it often happened that strangers they'd just met would often confess all their deepest darkest woes and joys, some tracking back over fifty years, and admit how she's the first they could ever confess to or ever wanted to speak on such.
She might have been shunned by many, but was adored by those who actually knew better.
Bazil always felt she had the true mark of a leader; someone who listens to their people, but also offers them something too.
Someone who is not afraid to agree or disagree, but in a way that shows they've truly heard what the other has said.
She also admits when she's wrong, though she's prideful in saying it's not too often – as many often end up saying, "You're actually right." And she's occasionally admitted, "I get that a lot."
"I'm curious," said the elderly woman. "Are you married?"
Salīa shook her head.
"Of course, she can't be married, gran. I haven't even gotten engaged to her yet," joked the big-chested man.
He then winked at her, to Bazil's dismay. The big-chested man caught on and laughed.
"You certainly seem quite protective of your sister, which is good as a brother. But you must know you won't be with her forever. Eventually, someone else will take her hand."
Bazil cracked his neck so loudly that even the elderly man made a sound of shock.
The brothers studied his expressions and exchanged glances.
"I may not seem like much, but you might find my hand worthy. I'm a pretty great merchant of the Isles. Your sister would be lavished in the greatest jewels and garments, some she could never have dreamed of seeing before."
It was hard for Bazil not to scoff at such a bizarre claim.
Salīa had known more wealth as a newborn than this man had probably ever known in his twenty-something years of living.
It's not that he looked down on those of humble means, but this man's ignorance and arrogance were wearing his patience down quite quickly.
"There are many pretty women of the Isles," Salīa said. "Do you not find them deserving of such adoration?"
His younger brothers snickered and were quickly hushed by the older one.
It was hard not to conclude that this could only mean that he probably had adored many women of the Isles and was probably just looking for another woman to add to such a tally.
Salīa had long stopped listening as the big-chested man went on and on about how he had met many beauties, but none had inspired the urge for matrimony until he met her.
The words were not original as she'd heard them many times.
Her eyes had already shifted to the elder man, who was reading something and pointing out certain parts to his wife.
"Preceptor, do you mind if I ask what you're reading?"
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