The road is long and winding - and frequently missing stones. 8 on a fast horsecart is a small group with a small train, but we have found out that despite what fantasy TV has shown us, horses aren't cars. They need encouragement, rest, food, while we march alongside them - not much faster than them, which is understandable, because they're hauling most of our stuff. Especially our food.

Meaning that they decide it's time to slow down and have lunch before any of us do, in a meadow without much to recommend besides the grazing. Shadi and Tayeb take turns looking after the horses; Alesha, Hikaru and Sio offer to do some scouting while the rest of us look after the cart.

We three take shade in what scant cover we can find - the shadow of our provisions - and pass out food that doesn't need cooking: water in skins, nuts, hard cheese, chorizo, crackers, quince jam.

"I can't believe I miss post-shift raiding," Sekhmet says. "With how much energy that burned?  A king-size Coke, roller taquitos, and a bag of Reese's Pieces sounds nice around now."

"God, right? It's hard to put the calories back in when this is what we got to work with," Ace says, groaning as she sits on her legs.

"It's not even like this is bad food," I say. "As an example of iron rations, one man-week. Add some GORP with M&Ms and tea powder to put in the water and you had what I ate backpacking."

"You went backpacking?" Sekhmet asks, pausing mid-drink, her ears flicking at you.

"As a kid," I say, somewhat defensively. "I'm pretty sure not being able to afford it anymore but still eating the same way kinda, well. Contributed to..."

I gesture around a belly that's rounder than Deedee's.

"Huh," Ace says.

"What?" Because that's not a sore point for me, no siree.

Ace holds her hands up. "Just thinking that you, like, exercise a lot. Over here, anyway - you've been keeping in practice, jumping around."

"I like it," I say. "Didn't get much chance back home, from uh, my teen years onward." The 2020's, in other words.

Ace winces. "Yeah that would do it. I just have trouble imagining you without that physicality. I mean, you're a punchwizard here."

"Guessing you didn't have much invested in maintaining the old chassis, either," Sekhmet says, in a way that makes you suspect they're thinking out loud.

I exhale. "That's probably not wrong."

"After upgrading to this model I can see why you're spending more time tuning the engine," Ace says, maybe a little too quickly.

Sekhmet snorts into her membrillo. More importantly, Ace didn't notice.

That's definitely flirting.

"I mean, I'm presently an olympic level punchwizard chiseled from fucking marble," I say. Feeling my tails flick and my ears swivel to Ace, betraying my embarrassment even as a dry voice tries to hide it. "I can vault a palisade. I heal people by poking them."

"For which I have not thanked Sylphan enough," she groans, wincing as she tries to stand - and then slinks back down, curved painfully to one side.

This doesn't seem like it's an act, but it does seem like convenient timing for this inconvenience.

"Ow. Ow, ow, motherfuck," she says. "Speaking of, I uh, don't suppose you could help?"

"I can give you some privacy," Sekhmet says, the face of innocence. "If you need it to work your magic."

"You're too kind," I say, voice still flattened.

...Fuck it.  Can't catch what I don't pitch.

"Sure," I say. "Why not. Thinking of, what, helping Sio bring in some hunting or something?"

"Can't hurt," they say, rising. "We're eating that shit almost as fast as we hunt it."

Then Sekhmet strides behind the wagon and is gone, leaving Ace blinking.

"I still can't believe how good she is at that," Ace says.

"They probably have aura masking spells as well as catlike tread," I say, shifting position. Behind Ace. "Where were you hurting, exactly, lower back? Right above the tailbone?"

It takes her a moment of blinking to register what's happening. "Uhhhh, there and the shoulders. God, I'm the punchline to every joke about someone's waifu having back pain."

I exhale the breath I've been holding. "Okay. Might want to lie down on that blanket, I'll take care of it."

"Should I take my top off?" Ace asks.

"You don't need to... but it'll help me see what I'm doing, and how hurt you are," I say. "Only if you're comfortable."

Ace takes a second of very careful breathing, ears describing circles as they scan for anyone who can overhear, before she very slowly and deliberately starts to lift her arming jacket up.

I avert my eyes. I'm certain at this point that there are things she wouldn't mind me seeing; but I'm not taking any liberties not explicitly offered. There's too much of the dressing-downs from my father, and shame from my teenage and college years when I didn't know better.

It's possible I've overcorrected.

I still don't look until I hear her settle into the blanket, with a soft grunt that's half pain and half other kinds of tension.

"I'm ready," she sighs.

I settle in, straddling the back of her knees and leaning over her. She still has a chestwrap on, Ye Olde Renaissance Brassiere when a corset's not an option, but I see an expanse of tan skin, darker on the midriff, into the shock of red hair that's her tail and the black skirt hanging from her actual hips that she wears under the jacket.

It turns out that building a generously endowed shortstack in the character creator translated to someone that actually does look like she has core strength, unmistakable fat only adding to the impression of sleekness and power hidden in the muscles underneath. There are areas that seem hardened, or tense; her shoulders are carrying a lot (figuratively and - having seen her battle kit - literally), and the skin under the curve of her back looks to have a rougher texture, as if it had been pressed against scratchy wool.

That needs looking at.

"How does it look?" she murmurs.

I rub a little blessed almond oil between my hands.

I could tell Ace just what her symptoms appear to be. That's likely what she meant.

"Dad told me never to compliment something out of a girl's control," I say, surprised at how low my voice gets while still sounding feminine, and gently lay my hand - thumb first, then one finger at a time - onto her shoulders.

Her grunt becomes a laugh as I slide my hands down either side of her spine.

"Smartass. Made this in the character generator, I am directly responsible for these tits," Ace says.

"Apart from this?" I press with my fingertips into the rough patch on her back and - yep, that noise was months of pain, removed in one second by my touch.

"Ghk. So fucked up you can see it, huh?" she manages.

"Unfortunately," I say, as I press the heels of my hands in, trying to start blood flowing. "I can see how tightly wound you are and that you've been carrying a lot of weight on your back. Not just in front."

"The trip doesn't help," she says, breath halting. "I'm not used to marching with a pack. I'm not used to walking much, period."

"I remember you took a ball to the knee back home," I murmur. "Other than that you look, uh, pretty good.”

"Damn straight," she says. "Well okay, maybe not straight, but -"

"I'd gathered," I say softly.

Ace giggles at that, and at my touch, and I need to take a deep breath.

"I uh - I do really appreciate this," Ace says. "You don't, uh, I get ticklish easy but not the way you do this."

I smile and the words "You've just given me great power" are out of my mouth before I can stop them.

"Yeah, well I expect you to take responsibility," she fires back, with what I figure is about as much forethought.

I take another, juddery, deep breath, cupping my hands around Ace's shoulders so I can rotate them both, and I feel Ace's trapezius let go of what they'd been too tightly bound to as she groans relief.

I'm not sure how long I spend wringing out Ace's pain, transmitting warmth from my hands to her skin. Smelling the almond and perfume, rising on her heat.

Until I break the proverbial spell.

"Better?" I say, realizing only after that it was a whisper in her ear.

"Much," she says, in a voice much smaller than you expect from Ace.

I lift myself further up, slide my hands further down, onto her midriff.

"Hey," I say. "There's something I want to try."

"Uh..." Ace needs to think about it. "...Sure."

I slide my hands around and under, onto her belly; interlace my fingers. Ace takes a sharp breath in, but says nothing.

I lean in, close, pressing against her back. And then I rock, using my hips as a fulcrum, up and back until I'm sitting on my heels - and Ace is sitting on my lap, with my arms still tightly around her, and her head on my shoulder.

I think I hear Ace squeak, before both of us take a moment, like this. The space of two breaths, and two slow heartbeats.

And then I let go, and immediately worry if that was too much, too fast. Breaking a boundary, misinterpreting, reading too much into it.

Being a creep.

But Ace is still there. And then she rolls her head a bit, twists her back a bit, to put her head under my chin for just a second.

Before getting up, so I can get up, and look down at her red face.

"That, uh. Helped. A lot," she says.

I laugh. "Any time," I promise.