Yawning, still half-asleep, she had crossed the clearing to where Gunther had sat nursing a tin cup of tea on the log by the fire, in the same place where he'd offered her the flask the previous night. The same place where she'd accepted.
His back had been to her and she'd had a moment of nerves, of almost paralyzing shyness, but she'd shaken it off, silently scolding herself. To be shy after last night? Ridiculous! Everything was different now; everything was out in the open. Finally - finally! He knew how much he mattered to her now, and she knew - you are precious to me, Jane - a tiny smile had quirked one corner of her lips. She knew how much she mattered to him, as well.
So she'd taken a seat beside him, shoulder to shoulder as they'd been the night before, and had started to ask him how he had slept, but she hadn't gotten any further than "did you -" when he had virtually shot to his feet, shot up faster than a scalded cat, and moved decisively away from her, emptying the remaining tea from his cup into the underbrush with a curt, almost savage thrust of his arm.
As Jane had watched, open mouthed with astonishment, he'd crossed to his bedroll and begun bundling it up. When he had spoken, he'd done it still without so much as looking at her, his words short, his voice biting.
"Nice of you to finally join us this morning. Get a move on, Turnkey - we have a long day ahead."
Jane had sat frozen for several more seconds before bolting to her own feet, turning and leaving the camp with what she hoped appeared to be calm, purposeful strides. Inwardly, she'd felt dangerously close to falling apart.
She'd walked several yards into the trees to a little brook where she had gathered water the night before, to boil for supper. Falling to her knees at the edge of the stream, she had struggled mightily for composure, fighting against the breaths that were trying to come too fast, against the stinging sensation behind her eyes that wanted to turn into tears.
I will not cry, will not, will not.
She'd scooped some water with shaking hands, splashed it on her face so that she could deny, even to herself, the few wayward tears that managed to escape her control. It was brook water, that was all.
That was all.
But why? Why?
Why was he doing this to her? After what they had shared the night before? The things they had done, the things he had said? It was as if it had never happened. No, it was worse than if it had never happened, because before it had happened they'd actually been getting along really well. And now they were... they were... what exactly?
"Nothing," she'd muttered aloud. "We are nothing. Just like before. Just like always."
She'd gotten her breathing back under control, splashed a little more water on her face, and then returned, grimly, to camp. She'd refused the offer of breakfast (an offer made by one of the others, not Gunther), had gathered her things and secured them to her horse, and made ready to ride out. She hadn't looked directly at Gunther again. If this was how he wanted things, so be it. She could match him in his brusque indifference just as she'd matched him in everything else over the years. If he thought otherwise, he'd soon know different.