#bf3

It had been days since Gale’s big revelation. Wynmoira kept her distance from him, not having the courage to face him. She’d make excuses for why she didn’t need him tagging along on their adventures, assuring that she and Shadowheart could handle it, that a third magic user was unnecessary. When she was back at camp, she’d use any excuse to go for a supply run, typically alone or taking Karlach with her in case anyone took issue.

But no matter how hard she tried to avoid him, he always found a way, an excuse, to try to talk to her. He’d try to talk about a book he was reading, and typically, Wynmoira loved to hear about it, but she’d now say she was busy or too tired. He’d try to talk to her at dinner, asking about her day, yet she gave one-word answers or excused herself. She couldn’t let go of her petty jealousy and insecurities, and it was beginning to take a toll on her.

“Need help there?” Gale called out behind Wynmoira. He watched the woman struggle to juggle the newly cut wood in a wheelbarrow. The camp was running low on wood, and it was her turn to cut a few logs. Typically, she didn’t struggle this badly, but she got caught up in the moment during her hacking.

“I’m fine,” she said harshly. She placed another piece of wood on top of the stack. It fell, and like a domino effect, others followed shortly after. Gale watched as the mess unfolded and let out a small huff before reaching for the fallen wood.

“I don’t believe that’s true,” he challenged. His voice was soft yet assertive. They locked eyes for a moment, the silence growing between them. Wynmoira wanted to tell him to go away, yet some part of her wanted him to stay. She missed him, whether she wanted to admit it or not. She missed their time together, and avoiding him made her feel hollow like she was missing something.

“Fine, you can help,” she caved. She reached for a few logs on the ground before placing them into a stack in his arms. Gale let out a small grunt as he tried to adjust to the added weight before chuckling, proud of himself as he steadied the weight. Wynmoira grabbed the wheelbarrow and began pulling it, Gale joining her side as they headed towards camp.

“We haven’t seen much of each other these days,” Gale pointed out, his eyes wandering to Wynmoira. Her eyes remained straight ahead, not drifting for a moment. “I miss our little talks.” His voice was softer, with a hint of pain in his words. Wynmoira’s face faltered for a moment, recognizing the shift in his tone. But just as quickly as it changed, she returned to her stone-cold gaze.

“We’re talking now, aren’t we?” She quipped.

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.” Wynmoira finally broke her gaze ahead, looking over at the wizard. His brows furrowed, his lips curled downwards slightly. “Ever since the ordeal with the hag, you’ve been…different.”

She wanted to challenge him, tell him he was wrong. That she was the same woman she’d always been. But she couldn’t bring herself to say it. She knew he was right. Things were different between them. She never really prepared herself for this type of conversation. In all honesty, she hoped to avoid it entirely.

“I just needed to adjust my priorities.” She paused, turning away from him. She couldn’t face him and have this conversation, not now. “We need to get these tadpoles out of our heads before it’s too late.” She continued pulling the wheelbarrow, leaving Gale behind. He followed shortly after her, and the two remained silent until they made it to camp. Karlach approached the two, welcoming them back.

“Hi there, soldier!” Karlach had a large smile on her face. She was comfortable, wearing her camp clothing. There were no real plans for today other than resupplying and resting. Her eyes drifted to Gale, who was following behind, noticing the small frown on his face. “What did you do, Wyn?” Wynmoira’s eyes widened slightly, and her brows furrowed in confusion.

“Lovely how you immediately assume it was my fault,” she protested. Karlach looked at her, raising a brow. She didn’t have to say anything before Wynmoira caved, nodding her head. “He tried talking, and I don’t want to talk.” She settled the wheelbarrow on the ground and began pulling some logs out, placing a few by the nearby campfire pit. Once enough was placed, she made her way over to a larger stack of wood, refilling the pit. Gale joined her side momentarily, adding his collection to the pile before leaving her. As he walked away, she couldn’t help but look after him. His head and shoulders fell slightly as he sulked back to his tent.

He remained in his tent for the rest of the day, never coming out once. The sun had set, and the others were gathered around the campfire. Wynmoira sat beside Shadowheart, listening to Wyll tell everyone another one of his stories about his journeys. Shadowheart seemed in tune with his words, but Wynmoira was in her own little world. Her eyes would drift towards Gale’s tent in the distance, waiting for him to join the others. He didn’t even leave to get dinner once it was ready.

“You can always go in,” Shadowheart nudged Wynmoira’s shoulder. Wynmoira snapped out of it, giving a small smile to Shadowheart before shaking her head.

“I’m the last person he’d want to see,” she said. She used her fork to nudge the small bits of potato on her plate. She ate only a portion of her food; not really hungry tonight. Shadowheart stood up, walking away from her companion before returning with a full plate of food and handing it to Wynmoira.

“Give it to him. Don’t need two of you moping about,” she teased. Wynmoira took a moment before standing and taking the plate of food. She went to Gale’s tent, stopping just a few steps outside. Everyone’s voices from the campfire were like soft background noise, and she was in utter silence, waiting outside Gale’s tent. She felt a small lump form in the back of her throat, afraid to call out to him.

“I know you’re out there,” he called out. She mentally cursed herself before entering the tent, a sheepish smile on her lips. Gale was sitting on a small chair, a book in hand. His eyes were glued to the page despite her entrance.

“You didn’t get dinner. Don’t need you starving to death.” She tried to joke, wanting to lighten the mood. Gale took a small breath, his eyes leaving the book to meet hers. “Here,” she held out his plate. He stared at the plate momentarily before finally caving and grabbing it from her hands. Wynmoira sat beside him, keeping her plate on her lap. Her hands fiddled with the plate, needing to find something to distract her from her anxious feelings.

“You…us…things are complicated because of Mystra, aren’t they?” He finally asked. Wynmoira went tense, her hands coming to a halt on the plate. Her eyes drifted to him, and he was already looking at her with his soft brown eyes. She couldn’t find the words to say how she felt, so she nodded her head.

There was no denying that something was forming between the two, since their night practicing with the weave. Images that played through her mind about him, intimate images, were exposed, as were similar images of her in his mind. For a moment, Wynmoira thought something great could come from it. But after learning about Mystra, things became complicated. Her insecurities got the best of her, and she tried to separate herself from him. Hoping that her feelings could disappear. Things would hurt a lot less. But nothing is that easy.

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” Wynmoira finally said. She chewed at the inside of her cheek, feeling herself become uneasy as she continued to speak. “Your past is your past, I can’t hold it against you. We’ve all got skeletons in our closets.” She knew herself she had her own secrets, secrets she wasn’t ready to tell. It wasn’t fair for her to hold his against him so harshly.

“I appreciate that, but no,” he said. He placed the plate on the table beside him, turning his body to give her his full attention. “No doubt my past has caused a ripple in our…relationship. Frankly, I didn’t know how to tell you about it. I think a part of me was ashamed, really.”

His words pained her to hear. Gale didn’t seem like the type to have shame. The way he was always so confident in himself, she admired it greatly. But to see him like this, talking about his shame, reminded her that he wasn’t the perfect man she envisioned. He was flawed, just like her. He was human.

“I’m sorry,” Wynmoira said softly. She placed her plate on the table and took Gale’s hand in hers. A small smile grew on her lips as she gave him a gentle squeeze. “You didn’t deserve the way I treated you. I just got so…insecure.” Gale placed his hand on top of hers, giving her a gentle squeeze this time. A small smile formed on his lips as the two held a soft gaze with one another.

“All is forgiven,” he assured her. She missed this. She missed him, his touch, his embrace. She felt safe with him, something she didn’t feel with anyone else. He always found ways to put her at ease, even when he wasn’t trying. “But I do require one thing from you.”

“And what is that?”

“Don’t shut me out,” he asked softly. “If something troubles you, tell me. Let me share your pain. Let me take on your burden. I can handle it.”