Getting out of Braavos was easier than Arya thought it'd be.

She and Gendry had spent the night in the mansion and shared a bit of bread and cheese to break their fast before gathering their belongings and heading to the port. Even with her limited knowledge of the city, it wasn't hard to lead them to the main harbor since all of the canals originated there.

Gendry had done the talking to book them passage on a ship bound for Westeros, not wanting to call attention to Arya. The captain had looked once at her smaller stature and declared that she could help scrub the deck, but Gendry would be doing more work on the journey. She wasn't upset about it; she was more than happy to observe people freely for one of the first times in her life.

She listened to a pair of men grumble about the weather of Gull Town, where they were heading. They apparently were from the Reach, towards the south of Westeros, and Gendry later told her much of King's Landing's food apparently came from there. She watched the captain break up a fight between a Dornishman and a sailor from Myr, both using fighting styles she had only ever read about. Each time she heard or saw something new, she filed it away for later research. Or, so at the very least she could ask Gendry. He may not have traveled often, but he had to know some things about his homeland.

She got answers to her questions several days later, once they had landed in the foul-smelling port of Gulltown and escaped out of the city. Only out here on the road surrounded by mountain passes did Arya first find a love for Westeros.

"So this is the Vale?" She asked him as they walked side by side. Her fingers brushed against the thicker clothes she had bought before they left the city, since she knew the coastal mountain passes would be considerably colder than the Braavosi weather she was used to.

Gendry shrugged in what she presumed to be agreement. "Would seem so."

"What do you know about it?"

He shrugged again. "Mostly heard stories about mountain raiders and bandits. We should be fine; we don't have much for them to take."

Arya nodded as she mulled over his words. She knew that no road traveled was ever free of violence, but she hoped theirs would have less of it. It would make their journey easier and quicker, and the sooner she saw the floating lights, the sooner she could set off into the world on her own. She doubted she'd be going back to Braavos- all that was left there for her was a murky future in a religion she no longer could follow.

The first night was spent camping on the side of the road. One of the things Arya was skilled at was starting a fire, and Gendry set her to make theirs as he secured an area where one of them could sleep while the other kept watch.

When she saw the large figure making their way towards the little camp she had set up, her voice had nearly given her away as a girl when she called out for Gendry's attention. He quickly turned to face the newcomer, placing himself between Arya and the stranger as he did.

"What d'ya want?" Gendry growled, his hand hovering over a hammer that was strapped to his waist. While it was a common blacksmith tool and nothing flashy, Arya knew that it would be a dangerous weapon in his hands.

As the man fully came into view, Arya had to keep herself from flinching. She knew him. Well, not that she'd ever spoken to him, but she'd seen him once or twice at some of the larger celebrations of R'hllor in the past. His red robes and the dual swords strapped to his back were unmistakable. This was Thoros of Myr.

Thoros of Myr gave them a wide smile, but Arya was wary of what may have hidden behind it. She didn't trust anyone wearing the red robes of R'hllor right now, even if it was the 'drunken red wizard.' Her hand slowly moved to grasp the dagger she'd hidden in the waist of her trousers.

"Might you spare a seat by the fire for a weary traveler? I merely wish to warm my hands before continuing on my way."

Arya could sense Gendry's confusion. "The roads aren't safe to travel after dark," he said, his head tipping in the direction Thoros had come from.

Thoros nodded in recognition of his words. "The night is dark and full of terrors, no matter where one is," he replied, his voice light as if it was a joke to himself. Arya supposed the saying was said in jest by him; she knew how some of the priests talked about him, including Mother. Then again... she now knew the lengths to which Melisandre would go to worship R'hllor and wondered if Thoros was anywhere near as terrible as they had said.

"Who're you?" Gendry asked, still tense.

Thoros gave a slight bow. "I am Thoros of Myr."

"My master's mentioned you. Said you were a fat fraud, and as bad a priest as there ever was."

'Well. That answered what people thought of him here in this new land.'

She hadn't expected Thoros to laugh. "That was unkind. True, but unkind. May I?" He gestured to the fire Arya had made.

Arya was surprised that Gendry first turned to glance at her to read her reaction to the query. She gave a slight nod in consent, and Gendry's stance relaxed. "You're welcome to share the fire for a while, but we have no food to share," he informed Thoros.

"It is no matter," Thoros said as he sat next to the fire, across from where Arya was still standing. She and Gendry shared a look before they both sat as well, weary from their first day on the road.

It was Arya who broke the silence. "Where are you headed?"

"To all the little villages that line this road," Thoros replied. "I may not be the most loved or respected man in this kingdom, but enough lords know my name that when I talk, they listen." He looked towards Gendry with a wry smile as he pulled out a bag from within his robes. "I may be a failure of a priest, this is true. But I am the nearest thing to a voice of the smallfolk that there is." He undid the drawstring and held out the bag. "Chestnuts, either of you?"

'Maybe not all those in red robes followed a darkened path of R'hllor,' Arya thought as she munched on a handful of nuts while Thoros told her and Gendry stories of his travels. Thoros of Myr seemed to have found a way to fan the flames of life for hundreds of other, even while renouncing the large bonfire of death that her Mother so devoutly maintained.