"Indestructible, they say," she mumbled to herself.
"Hm? What did you say?" Follows-Chalk asked, one hand clutching a rag, the other resting on the hilt of his club. She shook her head.
She found it strange; at first, it hadn't crossed her mind to linger whenever he was around.
Over time, she discovered he was welcoming, polite, and far less bloodthirsty than the stories painted him to be. Regardless, she had never wanted to say the wrong things to him, afraid of what he could do to her. She had always kept in mind that he had been the ruthless, brutal legate of The Legion.
During her first few weeks in Zion, she had often compared the bandaged man before her to the fearsome tales of Caesar's second-in-command, struggling to reconcile the two. She had seen flashes of his old demeanour whenever he trained the tribesmen, but never more than that. The way he read passages from The Scripture, how he prayed, how he treated people from day to day; it looked like as if he had lost his memory and become another person completely, just like her.
"Any longer and you'll be eating rubber." Daniel had brought her back, tapping her shoulder and stood. "Or charcoal." She had taken her skewered gecko meat away from the fire. As she had started to eat, she overheard him speaking quietly to Joshua. "You know, next time, speak, and don't just stare. I'm not your messenger."
"I didn't tell you to talk to her." She had heard him say.
The New Canaanite had proceeded to call some of The Sorrows who had finished their meal. He had taken off his hat, opened The Scripture and begun doing his usual near-evening activity. Joshua had followed, sitting by the fire with his hands resting lightly on an open Scripture.
He never needed to shout or bark commands when he didn't train the tribesmen—the quiet gravity of his presence inspired both awe and fear. The Dead Horses and Sorrows moved around him with reverence as if he were the canyon walls themselves: unyielding and eternal. He was like the canyons—scarred, weathered, and imposing but with hidden depths of beauty and resilience. Although they unsettled her, she found herself drawn to those depths.
Alix had sat at a distance, caught between awe and unease. She had heard stories from NCR soldiers, Hanlon, and folks in saloons that painted him as Caesar's butcher, a man who brought ruin upon ruin. But the figure before her, humming a soft hymn, was nothing like the monster she had imagined. Before meeting him, she had pictured him and Caesar standing high and tall, watching people of all tribes scream their lungs out—in fear, in pain, in anger, in grief—as a spectacle. There had been no reason not to be fearful of him when one thought about his vile barbarity.
How could this man, now cradling scripture and whispered prayers, have once commanded legions to slaughter?
Her chest tightened as she studied the way his shoulders rose and fell with his steady breathing. The light danced across the edges of his bandages, casting faint shadows that softened the harsh lines of his scars. Indeed, it didn't help that he looked dreadful with his gauze-wrapped body, and some of the visible burned skin reminded her of the marked men and how she almost saw death in The Divide many times.
Over time, she grew accustomed to his bandaged visage, and to her surprise, an insatiable curiosity about the enigmatic man took root. He told stories about himself—his mistakes and what he had learned. Beneath his stoic facade, she sensed his self-reproach. His clenched jaw, tense fists, and raised shoulders betrayed the weight of his past whenever he spoke of Caesar. However, she wanted more. More than his stories as the Malpais Legate.
Noticing his eyes on her, she had looked away, swallowing.
Questions about him came up whenever she saw him doing some menial work around the camp: how old he really was, when he had started learning languages, which part of his body that had got burned worse than the others, what his youth had been like, his parents or relatives, if he'd had a loved one that he had left pre Legion, if he had also treated women like garbage during Legion, if he had sired sons or daughters. One time, she had asked herself if he could still 'do it' when he wanted to, and how the phallic part would look like; though she didn't want to think much about it.
Alix stalled in Angel Cave longer than she cared to admit, her excuse of 'needing supplies' growing thinner with each passing visit. She hovered near the workbench, fiddling aimlessly with scraps of metal and circuits, all while stealing glances at Joshua.
He worked with quiet focus, his hands moving deftly over a pistol. She pretended not to notice the faint tune he hummed under his breath—a melody unfamiliar to her but soothing in its simplicity. Every so often, he would pause, his head tilting slightly, as if listening for something only he could hear. Then, with a faint grunt, he would return to his task, the soft clink of tools against metal filling the silence.
She told herself she was only curious, that her fascination was nothing more than a natural interest in someone so storied—just like how it was with Mr. House. But when she caught herself smiling at the way he muttered under his breath over a jammed gun, she knew it was more than that. Something about him kept drawing her back. Often, she found her gaze held to the rhythmic movements of his hands, sometimes tracing the curve of his fingers or the line of his jaw beneath the bandages.
With The King, it had been different. There had always been an unspoken understanding between them—a camaraderie born of shared battles and respect. She had admired his confident leadership and the community he had built save for Pacer as well as the groupies which she had yelled at more frequently than she would like to admit when she and The King had been together. She remembered how easily they had fallen into sync, each knowing their place.
The King had been her anchor, his trust in her unwavering. It had all started that night, drinking alone with The King and Rex in the hall. The King had said she charmed him—his words still resided in her mind, a compliment she had never quite shaken off. It had felt so right—until it hadn't. A part of her still felt the weight of his gaze, the way he had always seen her as an equal. It made her chest tighten with a bittersweet warmth, the kind that dwelled long after their paths had diverged.
As for Joshua, feelings of respect, awe, and fear still persisted, each one quietly coiling inside her. Beneath them, though, something else stirred—a whisper of something she wasn't ready to name. She didn't want to think too much about the way her heart raced whenever his voice echoed softly through the cave each morning. But somewhere deep down, she knew it was more than just fear.
As they both finished maintaining their weapons, she turned to Follows-Chalk. "What's your age?"
"Age?" He scratched his head. "I have to tell you, I don't know much about it. But I can remember going through 17 springs, and the shaman said now I have to find a bride."
"Huh," she said. "Anyone you like around here? Someone from the Sorrows camp? Or is there a sweetheart back home?"
"I think the shaman and the elders back home will decide that for me. I don't want to think about it yet. Freeing Zion from White Legs is more important."
"You sound like Joshua." He chuckled at her comment. "Um, how many springs did you remember when you first saw him?" She tilted her head at the sitting man wrapped with gauze on the far side of the riverbed. "Think you know his age?"
The young Dead Horse shook his head and opened his mouth to answer her, but stopped. "Why do you ask?"
"I just wanna know?" She tried to brush it off.
"Well, you can ask him, he was looking at us. Want me to ask him?"
She thrashed her hands on his face. "No, no, no! I wanna ask you! Besides, I don't wanna offend him or something." He nodded. She took a glance at him and found his gaze somewhere else. "Was he looking at us often? Does he... stare a lot?"
"Not usually." He shrugged. "Although lately he does that to us... Hey, do you think he's going to make me a warrior?"
"Can't answer that, brother." She gabbled. "One more thing, is he the touchy type?" She remembered the way his hands lingered on hers when they brushed, or during group dances with the tribesmen in the evenings. Sometimes he rested his hand lightly near the small of her back.
"Touchy? You mean he likes touching? Well he treats everyone the same, sometimes he puts his hands on my shoulders or taps my back, sometimes he doesn't... I guess he is? I'm not sure." He frowned.
"Yeah? I mean I've seen Daniel touching, him occasionally, but—"
"Why are you asking me these questions? I truthfully don't know how to answer th—" His mouth fell open and dissolved into a wide smile. "Oh I know what's happening."
It was her turn to furrow her forehead even more, as a cover up. "What? What are you talking about?"
When he gazed down to her cheeks and ears, he clapped and laughed. With his mischievous grin and twinkled eyes, he then spoke quietly, "You're taken with him aren't you?"
"Wha—I was just asking about him!" She yelled in a subdued voice.
"Yeah, after you gave all your attention for him. And here I was wondering why your face's colour changed even when the sun's hiding and it's windy whenever he's around."
"Oh for— Forget I asked!" She turned her back on him. He grabbed her shoulder and shook it, telling her he didn't mean to offend. She stood and let Follows-Chalk chase her. For some reason, she got the feeling that he was over the moon knowing about this and she didn't understand why, but embarrassment prevented her to ask him.
"I'm sorry, okay? Let me remember it."
"Well, not here!" She widened her eyes, hoping he'd catch on.
"Okay, okay. Why don't we get some banana yucca and feed some young bighorners?"
As they walked, she asked him why he didn't really know his age. He said that his parents knew about it and that he thought of it as something insignificant.
"I just want to enjoy life, you know? Experience what's out there, outside my tribe, The Sorrows, outside Zion. I can't be bothered with my age, finding a bride, or anything like that."
She understood even though she didn't remember; she had been as young as him once. Maybe she had used to think exactly like him and ended up being a courier, perhaps a caravaneer before that.
"Hey, you didn't tell me how old you are. Your turn now."
She showed him an exaggerated gasp. "Has Graham ever told you that it's not polite to ask a lady's age?" He made a playful complaint about the unfairness. "I'm joking. I really don't know, but Doc Mitch told me I'm somewhere between 25 to 40." When he asked why she didn't know her own age, she ran over the story about her amnesia. "But we're not taking a walk to talk about me, remember?"
"Oh! Right. Hm..." He squinted, looking up. "I think it was around 6 springs ago when Joshua visited us the first time."
"He was still serving Caesar, right? So he wasn't young when he tried to assimilate your tribe to the Legion."
"Ja, I'm certain he wasn't around my parents' age that time—he looked older than my father. I remember begging him to take me with him when he left but he was adamant that I stayed. I stopped when scolded me."
She jerked her head backwards. "He scolded you? A kid? Oh right, you did mention he was crueller." Follows-Chalk nodded and smiled. "Oh well. That means he's pretty old, isn't he?"
"And now that we can't see his face, we can never guess."
She tried to do the maths in her head but gave up. "Yeah, forget it. If we don't know, we don't know."
"Why don't we ask him directly?"
"No. And never come up with that idea again."
They plucked a few banana yucca when she felt a force pushing her. "Whoa!" Flailing, she almost fell onto her face. "Oh it's you. Hey." She gave the once-lost-from-its-mommy calf some banana yucca. "Stop doing that to me, you hear?" She petted it.
"You know, I'd never thought you can handle bighorners well." She told him how she had come across some tame, sometimes malnourished bighorners, and that she helped Lily tending her little ranch in her spare time. His eyes widened. "You help the giants in the civilized lands?! Hoo hoo! Just when I thought things couldn't get any more peculiar there."
She gaped. "Can I ask about your obsession with civilization?"
He put his basket aside and sat down. She did the same. "When I was a boy, a man came through the valley with one of the caravans. Tall, big moustache, carried a guitar. He told me he was a singer."
"The Lonesome Drifter! I know him! Hah, he's been to places!"
"Oh, you know the man? How is he now?"
"I got him a job. He sings at one of New Vegas bars now, and he gave me his guitar."
"Wow... Then it really is true..." She asked what he meant. "He told me he went from place to place and sang for people who gave him food and shelter in return. I just couldn't believe that there was a place in this world where a man could do that. But now I know it's true!"
"Well, you'll find all sorts of jobs back in the Mojave. Not just jobs, actually, people and creatures, too."
He looked into the distance. "I made a promise to myself that one day I'd explore that world myself. Maybe I should come with you when you want to go back."
"Now, hold on a second. You can't just say that, what does your war chief think of this?"
He looked down, fiddling with his club. "I... I haven't told him yet. Never had the growans—oof!"
The horned animals knocked banana yucca off the baskets and almost shoved them both. She told him they should spread the banana yucca around and evenly, but he said the bovine creatures had had enough treats. He suggested they go back.
"I could talk to him about it for you, if you like. Be a neutral party," she said as they walked down the slope.
He stopped her at once. "You'd do that? That sounds like a smart idea! Ja, sure!"
"You do realize he might get angry at me for trying to lure you out of your own tribe, don't you?"
"Ah, I don't think he might. Just look at him the way you always do. Joshua won't get mad at that."
"Follows-Chalk!" She jumped on the young tribal and locked her arm around his neck. "Honestly, I have to sew your mouth shut!"
In the early evening, she found him outside Angel Cave, cleaning a pile of utensils alone. She crouched near and helped him. "Graham, can I talk to you about Follows-Chalk?"
He turned, steady eyes on her. "Have you taken a liking to him?"
"No! Jeez!" She buried her face between her knees. "No. I wanted to talk to you about his interest in seeing more of the world! I mea—ho—where was that coming from?!"
"My apologies. I see that you two are close and I made a guess. Both of you are young, I don't see why—"
"Doesn't always mean I like him that way! And I'm not young as young as him Definitely not his girlfriend material." She waved a hand to dismiss the idea. "Forget about it. What about his obsession with living in the civilization? You know it?"
"I'm aware of his wanderlust. But first, you have to understand that it's been some time since my visit to civilized places. I don't have fond memories of them." He went on to clean for a while before saying, "I'd rather not influence him more than I already do. Why don't you talk to him?"
"I don't know what I should tell him, that's why I'm asking for your opinion. I mean, Mojave is a wicked place—there's always a chance he might end up becoming a raider or, heaven forbid, a fiend."
He put the dirty tools aside. "I don't want him to live like me, think like me. There are better people to look to. God put me on this Earth to show people how to fight, not be a personal mentor."
"But he looks up to you. And aren't you worried about him considering he'll be all alone in the Mojave?"
"One thing you don't know about me is that I see these places from the outside now. It's his choice to make. He's a man, he can make his own decisions. I want him to make them without looking to me for approval."
Everything lapsed into the clanging war clubs from the sparring Dead Horses, their chatter, and the trickling of the river along with clanking from the utensils.
Lake Mead was pretty and cleaner than any body of water she had found around New Vegas. But the water in front of her eyes was far more superior. Living fish thrived here, unlike the scaly abominations that had never hesitated to attack her. Everybody could wash and clean everything here and there would still be plenty of clean water to drink; she didn't need to deal with filters, and the geiger counter never made a single click—only around a few areas.
All this time, even though hiking had never become easy, she never minded having to stop occasionally. There were shrubs and other vegetation to give her shade, allowing her to cool off. Though some of the canyons had been scarred by Joshua's haunting red-eyed murals, the overall beauty of the place restored her spirit.
She stopped to take in everything: the people, the landscape, the view, and him. The thought of returning to Mr. House to finish his mission weighed on her, and she couldn't help but wish for the freedom to visit this place whenever she wanted—if she could fly one of those vertibirds here, she would.
She regretted not bringing Sheldon's camera along, imagining how the lens might have captured the vibrant colours of the canyon or the serenity of the water especially when the sun almost set—memories she could have held onto long after leaving. In the Mojave, the landscape was dry and barren, where few trees dared to grow, apart from Jacobstown. Zion's lush greenery felt like a dream, a contrast she couldn't shake If she had been given the chance, she would have moved to Zion in a flash.
"I don't know, I think I'm gonna tell him to stay. I don't wanna see him become a ruined lad."
"Then let him know."
"Ugh." She put the clean utensils aside and sat down. "He's really fascinated, though. I mean, what should I tell him? 'Stay here, so your understanding of the world will stay small?' 'Stay here, because I'm gonna repeat the same thing that your war chief and I have been telling you?'"
"Maybe you could think of a way that doesn't make his view of the world remain limited?"
"Well." She tilted her head upwards. "I could send him some books from the Mojave when this is over, maybe some photographs, too. But... are those okay?"
"How do you think he learned to speak our language?"
She nodded. "That's settled, then." She began stacking up the clean tools. "Dang it. I still don't know how to talk to him. I'm gonna let him down for sure."
He reached for her back and rubbed it a little. "Whatever you tell him, I'm sure it will be fine. Follows-Chalk needs more guidance in his life. Just not from me."
She turned to him. His eyes kind. "Okay."