Marius grins briefly at her, his even white teeth flashing in the dawn silhouette as he absently scrubs the short hair.  "Simplicity," he says with a wry grin, the good-natured youth in him flickering, momentarily, at the surface, as the ferry glides smoothly along the broad, shining span of water.  He opens the stopper on a wineskin, offering it to her... it's filled with cool water.  "I wish I had more to offer... but until we reach an inn, it's all I have to give."<br/><br/>He listens carefully to her explanation, nodding solemly, some awareness of the stories he'd collected on the road. "I initially started, just... heading in your direction, from what some people in the village said.  That was... three weeks ago, I suppose."<br/><br/>The ferry nudges past a set of curious ivory-pike, their fifty-pound, lilly-white ghosts nudging along the boat and churning up water as they flounder stupidly in surprise.  The boat rocks gently, but no one seems alarmed.  "I heard about the drought, tried scrounging up what my father'd left behind, when he died... I think most went to cover his debts, the rest-- who knows."  He shrugs it away.  "I was almost certain that was what had happened, long before I made it home... I could see the cracks in the dirt, the cottonwoods gone dry, and I could just tell.  You'd have made the best men in the village into a proud husband," he says with a wry grin, but an honest one, "but, that place had nothing for you.  Not anymore."<br/><br/>He shakes his head, turns his gaze out over the bristling ridge of pine along the nearing shore, the road like an inlet into the thick, unmanageable scrub brush and palmetto.  "I know you never did those things you were accused of.  The heat of the day was already becoming palpable, like a spreading mist rising from the river.  As he spoke, his eyes panned the horizon.  "There was never any doubt.  And, perhaps I'm... I don't know.  But I felt--'  trailing off, he shrugged lightly, the leather joints of his armor emitting a hushed creak.  "-- felt like I could help you."<br/><br/>They draw near the shore; the ferrier flicks her eyes nervously over them as Marius instinctively checks the hilt of the blade on his back, the facets on his gear, the strap of his light travel-pack.  "We have some distance ahead," he says steadily, rising to his feet as the warped, creaking boat shrugged its way to the shoals, and the ferryman's rope found one of the weathered pilings with a smooth loop, her dark-skinned arms working smoothly to secure the first ride of the day before the real work of cargo-transit began.<br/><br/>Amara catches a flickering glimpse as Marius watches the girl---at her before he picked up the few coppers he'd stashed aside.  "Safe travels--" he murmurs, pressing them into her hand.  Then, smoothly, he's climbed onto the dock and, one broad hand atop a piling, he reaches for Amara's hand, looking down at her with the earnest trust of their youth.  "My lady?"  He winks... they played 'Lord and Lady' sometimes when they were children-- saplings of children, in fact-- constantly bruised-up or muddied from their 'adventures' in the outlands, but all the while laughingly taking turns climbing the hillsides together, moving branches aside for the other, each time-- 'm'lord,' 'm'lady'... a joke that never grew old.<br/><br/>A mule-leading traveler, broad-hatted and squat, waits at the edge of the woods, hand-tamping a long-stemmed pipe-- he pays them little mind, except to give them each a once-over.  The ferrier watches Amara leave, something like seething jealousy in her eyes-- not over Marius, most likely... but over where she goes-- for the ferrier would see a dozen new faces every day, brush her hands over spices and pelts, tools and perfumes and ceramics... but she'd be on that boat tomorrow, the next day, and the day after, and Amara's fierce eyes would be seeing worlds that the ferry-driver would never see... not for some time, anyway.