Arbutus Pledge
an excerpt

They stopped as the sun was setting under the branches of a rather large tree that had taken root in the sandy, rocky soil of Disva’s eastern inland, finishing the rest of the dry bread together. “We’ll make it to that little town I was telling you about earlier by nightfall,” Arvel said. “Are you sure you want to come with me?” It was polite, of course, to give the angel a chance to back out of this. Not that he would make it very far without Arvel’s aid—the trip back to the Claux Mountains alone would take over a week, and that was with an exceptional horse. Without a horse and without the means for which to buy food it would be almost impossible for the angel to make it back to his tribe in any fashion. “It would be great, if you did. I mean, Selvorcen’s as good a place as any to start building up the necessary funds to get back to the Claux Mountains, right? So why don’t you come with me?” Arvel didn’t say that he doubted Oriares would be able to manage on his own. That would have been more than simply rude.

Oriares seemed to know everything that was going on in Arvel’s head for all his silence, though Arvel couldn’t fathom what was going on inside his head. Eventually the angel shrugged, still staring at the setting sun. “I’ll go with you.” Perhaps if he had had a choice in the matter he would have chosen differently, but neither of them were stupid enough to believe that it was possible for Oriares to return to his home on his own. “I don’t know what else to do,” the angel continued, softly, watching the sky turn from orange to violet to the duskiest of blue.

“Don’t worry about it so much, for one. Here,” Arvel said, reaching up and snapping off a small branch from the tree, laden with berries and soft white blossoms that appeared to glow in the light of the setting sun. “Arbutus. It’s customary to make promises when sharing them. It was this that Amannim ate as Errapel, swearing to fight Jencir however he could. He recognizes the pledges made. I wouldn’t dare sully the promise fruit’s reputation. I’ll take care of you until you don’t need my help, all right? I won’t abandon you.” Here he smiled, and took a few of the berries, popping them into his mouth and consuming them, bittersweet as they were. He urged Oriares to do the same, handing him the small branch. “Go on. It seals the promise,” he said. Oriares studied the branch and the berries for a moment before mimicking Arvel’s actions, taking several berries and placing them in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully.

“Sort of sour,” he noted.

“Promises usually are,” Arvel said.