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Jorlin woke up earlier than usual the following day; the sun had just begun to rise by the time she was making her way towards the woods, wearing a cloak and carrying a wrapped up cloth full of bread and cheese in her hand.

She knew where Asher would probably be, as he had the day off from being in the fields. In fact, he only had one day off a week. She headed south of the tavern and weaved around the rotting logs and tangles of thorns as she hiked through the woods. Multicolored leaves blew from the treetops as the wind swept through. It was a few more minutes of walking before she strode into a small clearing centered around a log, upon which lay Asher. He was reclined lengthwise on the log, his hands behind his head and eyes closed. He didn’t open them when he said, “Hello, Jorlin.”

“I brought food,” she stated.

Asher opened his eyes and sat up. “What’d you bring?”

“Nothing special, just bread and cheese,” she answered, going over to the log and sitting down on it. She placed the cloth between them and unfolded it,  revealing four slices of bread topped with goat cheese. “Two each.”

He grinned and said, “Thanks,” already reaching for one.

“What’re you doing out here?” she asked, taking a bite.

He shrugged. “Just relaxing. It’s nice to be still for a while.”

“Aye,” she agreed.

“Working the tavern today?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“Nice. What do you want to do, then?” Asher asked, grabbing his second already. She noted his appetite, hardly surprised. He was as skinny as the other serfs on the manor, his wide shoulders and lean muscles accounting for most of his bulk.

“Well…” she said, drawing out the word. “We could run errands for your father,” she joked.

He rolled his eyes. “Once he gets you to do one thing, there’s no telling how many more tasks he has waiting for you once you get back.”

Asher’s father was a blacksmith, one of the only ones in town. He had taught Asher all about armor and weapons since he was a boy, and Asher couldn’t help but let his knowledge and fascination spill over onto Jorlin.

“We could lead a serf uprising against my uncle,” she stated with a smirk.

Asher laughed. She loved the sound of his laugh.

“Not until you’ve had better training,” he responded, standing up and fetching the two relatively straight branches they used for sparring.

She caught the stick when he threw it her way. “It’s a fight, then?” she asked, already beginning to circle around him. “To the death?”

He mirrored her, and replied, “To the death.” She could tell he was fighting back a smile.

He lunged at her, and she stepped back, easily blocking his swing. She parried the following blow, then darted to the side. Asher swung his stick at her legs, forcing her to jump back, and she followed with a series of blows at his torso, all of which he blocked. When he landed a hard blow on her leg, she fell to her knees on the ground and cried out. She faked the injury, hoping that Asher would fall for her trap.

He lowered his defenses and began to ask, “Jay? Are you-…”

Before he could react, she reached out and grabbed his leg. He let out a startled sound as she yanked his foot out from underneath him, and he toppled to the ground. Jorlin leapt up, and pressed her stick against his neck without giving him the chance to retaliate.

“Surrender,” she commanded once she caught her breath.  

He gave her a mischievous smirk, then grabbed her wrist and twisted it, her branch being forced away from him. Asher pushed her to the ground, then stood up as he positioned himself in a defensive fighting stance.

“I’ll never forgive myself for falling for that,” he muttered as she angrily got to her feet.

Jorlin lunged at him, and he blocked the flurry of blows she swung at him. He took an offensive posture, and in return he forcefully whacked her stick, driving her backwards. Jorlin didn’t have a chance to do anything other than block his strikes as she continued to backpedal. It wasn’t until she felt the pressure on the back of her leg that she realized that the log was right behind her. When Asher struck her stick again, he threw his weight against it, sending Jorlin toppling backwards over the log. Blunt pain bombarded her shoulder as she landed on the ground.

“You’re a scoundrel,” she growled through her teeth as he leapt proudly onto the top of the log, looking down at her. “That’s not fair.”

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow.

She sat up and picked a couple leaves out of her hair. “I s’pose it was fair,” she muttered.

“You’re getting better,” he replied.

“I still haven’t beaten you yet,” she complained, standing up and straightening out her dress and cloak. “And I mean to someday.”

Asher stepped down from his perch on the log, and picked another leaf out of her hair. “You probably will. One day.”

“Oh,” Jorlin suddenly said, reaching her hand into the pocket of her dress. “I almost forgot.”

“Forgot what?”

“Don’t be an idiot!” she teased. “Do you’ve any idea what day it is?”

A grin grew on Asher’s face as she pulled out the dagger she had made for him.

“Happy birthday, Ash,” she said proudly, holding it out to him.

Still smiling, he took it and unsheathed it, looking fondly at the short blade that caught the sun’s light and glinted. “Wow,” he breathed. “Thanks, Jay,” he said, using the nickname he had given her when they were little.

“I know it’s not-…” she began to say, but she was cut off when Asher hugged her tightly.

She closed her eyes, breathing in his scent. He smelled cozy, like home. He smelled like barley and soil. Her thoughts took a darker turn as she remembered that seventeen meant being drafted, and being drafted meant she would be lucky if she would ever see him again.

Still in his embrace, she let out a choked sob, which was muffled into the fabric of his shirt. “I don’t want you to get older.”

“I know,” she heard him say. He held her tighter.

“I want you to stay sixteen forever,” she whispered, her hands balling up into white-knuckled fists.

“Me too.”

The first tear that rolled down her cheek felt hot in comparison to the cold air. He tried to draw away but she pulled her arms tighter around him.

He let out a small, fake laugh. “It’s gonna be okay, Jay.”

She said nothing. They stayed like that for a while, the minutes dragging by. Jorlin listened to the sound of the dying leaves rustling and the distant creaking of the watermill. She listened to the sound of the lowing of the farm animals coming from the fields, and to the sound of him gently breathing.

Asher said flatly, “You have to let me go.”

She didn’t know if he was talking in physical or figurative terms, but she immediately missed his embrace once she released her arms from around him and stepped back.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, turning away until the tears dried from her eyes. She hated anyone seeing her cry, Asher foremost.

An uncomfortable silence settled between them. Jorlin kept her gaze on the ground, and she shuffled backwards a little. She could already feel him growing distant, more willing to let go than she was. Maybe she needed to wean herself off of him, or maybe she should spend as much time with him as possible before the inevitable occurred. She couldn’t decide which was worse.

“You need to learn that I don’t matter as much as you think I do,” came Asher’s voice.

She looked up at him, a confused look straining her face. “What?”

He glanced away, something that looked like pity and regret mingling on his tanned face.

“How can you say that?” she asked, a lump forming in her throat. Even with the knowledge that her words would most likely lead to another fight, she couldn’t drop the topic.

“You need to just accept the fact that I’m going to be drafted sometime soon,” he replied, trying his hardest to remain emotionless. Despite his attempt at a masquerade, she could tell that

it was difficult for him to get the words out.

“Of course I accept that,” she retorted. Then, more gently, she added, “But don’t ever say that you don’t matter. You do matter. You always have. And if me thinking so doesn’t mean anything to you then… I was mistaken.”

Asher looked down at the ground, and responded, “It does mean something to me. It means a lot. I… I just don’t want to hurt you by having to leave.”

“It doesn’t matter if I get hurt. You don’t have a choice in leaving, and if you get taken away, then so be it. Just do what you have to do, and don’t bother worrying about me, okay?” She forced a smile.

He looked up and gave her a soft smirk.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is that just do what you must, as long as you survive. And don’t worry about me,” she said.

“Alright. I won’t worry about you if you don’t worry about me.”

She gave him a skeptical look, and replied, “You know I can’t do that.”

“Exactly. I can’t either.”

Jorlin let out a tired sigh and let herself drop onto the log. She couldn’t keep doing this. It was too hard to talk about him leaving. It was easier just to pretend that the draft didn’t even exist, because then she could at least convince herself to be happy for a while. That way it would be easier to fake it in front of Asher. She decided that her main goal had to be to wear a mask and fake it as best she could, at least until Asher left. The last thing he needed was to see her break.

Jorlin suddenly stood up and gave him her best smile. “I was wrong to despair. Forgive me.”

He smiled back, but Jorlin couldn’t tell if his smile was genuine or not. “No need,” he replied.

“Um…” she paused, her mind racing to find something to say. “I was wondering… if you’d like to…”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Walk to the cow fields with me?” She bit her tongue once the words came out. It was a stupid thing to say, but at least they would be spending time together.

He smiled. “Sure.”

Jorlin left the empty cloth that had been wrapped around the bread and cheese on the log behind them as they began walking northeast. They used to sit on the stone wall that enclosed the rolling fields where the cows grazed when they were younger. Asher and Jorlin would name them while they watched them roam. Those days seemed ages behind, on the edge of the time when Jorlin’s life was more careless than it was now. When they hit the path that led to the town center, the two of them continued strictly eastwards as the road curved away from them. Jorlin managed to spark a few conversations while they walked, all of which ended quickly.

It was noon when they finally settled onto a section of the stone wall that ran along the cattle fields after hiking over long stretches of grass. They could see the rickety houses of the center of town faintly in the distance to the north of them. A few cows stood grazing lazily as the two watched them from their seat on the stone wall.

“Frederick,” Asher suddenly broke the silence. When Jorlin looked up, she saw him pointing to a shaggy brown cow in the distance.

“What?” she asked.

“Frederick,” he replied casually. “That’s what we named that cow over there.”

She laughed. “You still remember that? That was years ago.”

He grinned, looking out at the hills that rose up far to the south, his gray eyes growing distant. “Aye,” he answered, “’Course I remember.” He scanned the fields before pointing to another cow, black this time. “And that one’s James.”

A flood of memories returned to Jorlin, ones that she had all but forgotten until then. “No, that wasn’t James,” she said.

“Yes it was!”

“No, that’s George,” she corrected. “James was like George except he had a white spot on his back leg.

Asher thought for a moment before saying, “Ah, that’s right.”

They shared a short laugh together, short, but real.

Hours lengthened into days, and somehow the patrols seemed to evade Asher’s presence. Jorlin still spent time with him, but it wasn’t the same. There was an ever-present shadow that lurked in the dusty corners of her mind, constricting her thoughts and slowly eating away at her temporary flares of happiness. She knew that it was only a matter of time until Asher would stumble upon a patrol and they would take him away. She was painfully aware of the minutes that ticked away. It was hard for her to fake being content in front of Asher, but she managed to convince him. As long as he was happy, it was easily worth forcing herself to fake it day after day.