The old woman was taking a long time at the stream. She really was too old for this life on the road, but she did surprisingly well. The young man had not heard one complaint from her in the three years they had traveled together, since he was thirteen. And she often slept on the same hard earth that he did. He tried to make her comfortable, but there was only so much to do with plants, earth, and blankets. They stayed with families whenever possible, or at least he made sure the old woman did.

She had been gone too long. Perhaps she needed help. Well, I need a bath anyway, he told himself, shedding clothes and wrapping a drying cloth around his waist so his hands would be free as he walked the short distance through the trees to the stream. This area made an ideal campsite, with trees for shade and a gentle but deep stream nearby. They had stayed here before, it being a somewhat middle point between a few towns that the old woman would visit to teach in. The hid here sometimes when they had upset some officials. No one lived within a day's journey or even hunted here by the signs of it.

He could hear her moving about in the water and didn't feel any danger. The boy hung his drying cloth on a low tree branch just before leaving the trees. He was no more self-conscious around her than he would be around his own father- perhaps less so because there was not even that slightest hint of manly competition.

"Are you alright, Omi Heza?" he called, stepping out of the tree line, not prepared for what he saw. He had never seen more than a woman's face and hair unveiled. Even his mother and sisters stayed covered in his presence, once his little sisters were old enough to start being different from little boys.

He knew that this woman was beautiful though, and had curves that surprised him after only seeing women in loose garments. Her skin was a light cream tinted brown. She didn't see much sunlight, a small part of his mind supposed. Her dark hair was not curly or straight, but there was quite a lot of it on her head, coming halfway down her back, and patches of it elsewhere on her body.

The now panicked girl turned and ran for her robe and veils, the same ones that every woman wears. The young man came to himself enough to realize that he needed to cover himself as well, so he stumbled back to his drying cloth, a blush rising on his face. The girl had already disappeared into the woods on the other side of the stream.

The young man returned to camp thinking. When Omi Heza returned, holding her bag of soaps and make-ups, he grabbed her wrists gently. "I was just thinking, Omi Heza, that you have seen me bare countless times and I have never even seen you without your face veil," he said. The old woman wore the same garb as other women, including the convering on the lower half of her face. In fact, she wore more than all but the most traditional old women, as she also wore the sheer veil over her eyes and black gloves on her hands.

Omi Heza struggled against his hold, so the boy tightened his grip. "You would not like to see and old woman like me," she half croaked. She sounded a bit different from normal.

"You are very strong for an old woman," the young man said. Omi Heza instantly stopped struggling at that, perhaps not really thinking about what she was doing. He loosened his grip and said gently and quietly, "You and I both know that the two of us are the only people around for miles. But," he continued, "I will force no secret out of you, no more than I would share any secret that I was told."

"People respect an old woman when they would not a young woman. I am like their mothers and grandmothers, and everyone listens to those." Omi Heza no longer sounded like herself at all. The voice was smoother and a bit lower pitched, the voice of a young woman or even a girl.

He released he wrists and stared into eyes that he had never really studied before. Through the sheer veil, he could see the skin caked in make-up that he had never questioned.

The woman that he could no longer think of as Omi Heza unfastened the portion of her veil that covered her nose and mouth, and then she let her hood fall back to uncover her hair as well. She looked strange with a stripe of make-up across her face, making that area wrinkled and cracked when the rest was young and smooth. They stared at each other for a few moments.

"Who is Omi Heza?" the young man asked.

The girl seemed surprised that this was his question, but she answered, "She is my grandmother with bits of myself thrown in."

"And who are you?" he continued.

"Teky," she replied, still staring at him with an expression that he could not read on her face, not having much experience judging emotion.

After it became apparent that she was not going to continue, he said, "Well, I have plenty of time later to hear more, I guess." As the girl moved to put back on her veil, the boy lifted a hand and touched her arm. "I like you better without it," he said. He released his hand and lowered his head, though still meeting her eyes. He smiled and said, "Or without other things…"

The young woman took in a sharp breath, "You cheeky boy!" The effect was somewhat lessened by the small smile she was trying to hide and the blush that was spreading from her cheeks to the rest of her face.

"So says the wise woman of all of eighteen years," he teased.

Teky stood up, turning her back on him and walking to her tent, entering after a backwards glance. "I'm nineteen," she said in a bit of a huff, but still hiding a smile. She closed the flap of her tent. However, the young man noticed that she had not put back on her face veil. The man smiled and started making a small fire to cook their dinner on.