Chapter 5 - NAYA RETURNED TO THE WELL ALONE TWO YEARS LATER, AND THIS TIME SHE WAS NOT BLEEDING.
Two years passed.
The ranch survived.
Corvin repaired east fence.
Added larger cistern.
Shared water district funded second community well farther north.
Not charity.
Joint project.
Apache labor.
Rancher money.
Territorial grant.
Everyone argued about cost.
Healthy.
Corvin’s ledger grew.
Still boring.
April 3 — Windmill belt broke.
April 4 — Repaired. Lost wrench.
April 7 — Taza’s nephew brought salt. Overcharged me.
April 9 — Found wrench in feed bin.
Then:
May 12 — Naya returned. Alone.
That entry had more words below.
He crossed some out.
Good.
She arrived near sunset.
No army.
One horse.
Blue blanket.
Her son Toma rode behind her.
Nine years old.
Curious.
Serious.
He stared at Corvin.
“You are water man?”
Corvin looked at Naya.
She was trying not to laugh.
“Apparently.”
Toma nodded.
“My mother says you write everything.”
“Most things.”
“Write me.”
Corvin opened ledger.
Toma arrived. Asked to be written. Bossy.
Boy read slowly.
Then frowned.
“What is bossy?”
Naya laughed.
Good.
They stayed three days.
Not because crisis.
Trading.
Visiting.
Water committee meeting.
Ordinary.
That mattered.
Naya helped Corvin repair fence badly.
He told her.
She threatened to leave.
Stayed.
Toma learned to throw horseshoes.
Lost.
Accused Corvin of cheating.
Probably inherited confidence.
On final night, Naya asked:
“Why no wife?”
Corvin looked toward her.
“Why ask now?”
“Because Toma asks why you eat terrible biscuits.”
Fair.
“My biscuits are acceptable.”
“No.”
“They are structural material.”
Corvin laughed.
Then:
“No wife because I stopped trying.”
“Why?”
“Easier.”
“Is easier same as better?”
“No.”
There.
He asked:
“Why no husband?”
Naya looked toward fire.
“I had one.”
“I know.”
“After him?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Same answer.”
Easier.
They both smiled.
Dangerous.
Nothing happened that night.
Good.
No instant romance.
She left next morning.
Corvin wrote:
May 15 — Naya and Toma left north. Biscuits insulted repeatedly.
Then beneath:
Hope they return.
He stared at line.
Did not cross it out.
Progress.
They did.
Again.
Then Corvin traveled north himself.
First time.
Taza’s community did not treat him as hero.
Good.
Some distrusted him.
Fair.
Some remembered Bellrose.
Some remembered only water.
Children stared at his beard.
Toma dragged him everywhere.
Corvin learned how little he understood.
Names.
Kinship.
Trade routes.
Politics within community.
Arguments.
People.
Not one unified “tribe” moving as legend.
Real life.
Better.
He also learned Naya held no royal title.
She was respected because she was good scout, translator, and negotiator.
Her height made outsiders invent stories.
She hated that.
Corvin stopped calling her giant even in his head eventually.
Mostly.
Three years after first meeting, Corvin asked her:
“Would you live here?”
Naya stared.
“That is poor proposal.”
“I didn’t propose.”
“Good.”
“Would you?”
“Why?”
“Because I like you here.”
She considered.
Then:
“I like north too.”
“Then don’t choose one.”
There.
Maybe.
They built life between places.
Seasonal.
Not Naya abandoning community to become ranch wife.
Not Corvin abandoning ranch entirely.
Months south.
Months north.
Toma attending mission school part of year and learning from family rest.
Complicated.
Real.
Marriage came later.
Five years after water ladle.
Corvin asked better.
“Would you choose me if neither of us had to move?”
Naya smiled.
“Better.”
“Is that yes?”
“Ask properly.”
He sighed.
“Will you marry me?”
“Yes.”
Then:
“Your biscuits still bad.”
Marriage founded on honesty.
Good.
Taza attended.
So did Marshal Reed.
Luis Ortega.
Owen Pike, who had left Bellrose and started his own small freight business.
Surveyor Vale sent letter.
County clerk Pell did not attend.
Fine.
Not every repaired relationship needs reunion.
The wedding was small.
No three hundred warriors.
Toma complained.
He wanted spectacle.
Naya told him to get married himself one day.
He was fourteen.
May you like
Horrified.
Excellent.
