Amara hardly realizes how far they've come; they fall into an easy rhythm of walking and talking, the conversation light, but necessary.  Every word rebuilds the old connection and soon silence is as comfortable as speech, just as it used to be.  Her travels seem like nothing compared to his -- she knows that he has a good deal more that he could say about those missing years, but he seems to want to spare her, and she doesn't have the heart to press.  A few times, as children, they'd walked all day, mostly around in circles, and pretended they were going on grand adventures, where every tree became a new and wondrous sight, every bend in the road concealing still more amazing things.  Now they were back in those days.<br/><br/>The breeze brings a smile to her face, and she tilts her head back, letting the air dry the tiny hairs at the back of her neck, now damp with the heat.  She hears the sound first, frowning, aware somehow that it's out of place, wrong, but having no idea why.  Then her gaze follows his, and she sees the dark plume.  "What?" she says, uncomprehending for an instant.  But there can be few reasons for so much smoke, especially so dark, and her breath catches in her throat.<br/><br/>One thing hasn't changed, certainly -- Amara is still the impatient one, now already turning her steps towards that village, trying to decide on the quickest way there instinctively.  Her eyes catch a faint glimpse of flame as well, as she strains to make out details.  It's a frustrating exercise, only tending to make her realize just how far away they are -- much too far away to render any of the usual assistance.  Tears spring to her eyes, the little girl who used to rescue rabbits from traps and go through agonies nursing them back to health now a young woman, mourning much larger losses.<br/><br/>She half looks back over her shoulder, never quite doubting that Marius would follow her, but needing that reassurance for a moment.  Armies do this during wars, she knows that much -- firing whole villages to terrify others, or simply because they can, and she wonders how often Marius has seen towns burn.  When she looks at him again, it is with sympathy, and a sense of loss that isn't entirely about burned homes.