I took my notebook from my bag, and checked to ensure that Hosea was nowhere in sight before I flipped several pages to my hand-drawn map of America. Quickly, I retrieved a quill and spat on the ink dried on its tip. I had just enough lubrication to write the word land among the squiggles to the west of the America border. Beside the word, I drew a question mark.

I picked up the waterskin and took a big gulp just as William drifted into my line of vision. He nodded once but kept his distance, pointing to his right. “Water east,” he said. He patted his dark horse and set out in that direction.

I forced the mouthful of the water down my tense throat, closed my notebook and shoved it in my bag, grateful William hadn’t seemed to see my drawing. So far he had left me alone, but the matter between us remained unsettled. Eventually, he would approach me and I would have to shun him directly. I did not relish the prospect.

I jumped to my feet as Hosea placed a hand on my shoulder from behind.

He laughed. “Relax, Cobane. I’m just going to check your wraps while we’re stopped.”

Taking a breath, I sat down again and held out my right arm. He made quick work of exposing the abrasions on my inner wrist. They were scarred with light-brown ropes of skin. He unwrapped my other wrist and compared the two. “These are healing nicely. You can remove the wraps in another day.”

I nodded, barely hearing him as he tied the new bandages. He placed a hand on the back of my neck and I relaxed my head into his palm without his direction. “Left,” he said.

I turned my head.

“Now right.”

I looked the other way.

“Any pain here?” He squeezed my nape.

“No.”

“What about your cheek?” He tilted my chin up and to the side to check the marks on my face.

“There’s no pain,” I said.

His routine changed. He pressed his fingers into my jaw, massaging the muscles there.

“Any pain in this area?”

“Ouch!” I pulled back. How had he known?

“You were grinding your teeth last night,” he explained.

I touched my jaw.

“You were grinding them again just now, before we stopped walking.” His mouth quirked. “I hope you weren’t thinking of me.”

“Not you,” I said.

Hosea went to his pack and removed a small tub. He handed it to me. “A balm for lacerations.”

I opened the lid to see a white paste. “Coconut oil,” I said, inhaling the familiar scent. “I use it on my hair.”

“Well, it also prevents scarring. You have a nasty cut on your ear that hasn’t healed yet.”