Bright Shadows

         They had been riding nonstop for two days, and lay exhausted by the campfire he started, their cloak the night sky. She wanted nothing more than to sleep, but he requested that she stay awake, and that alone made sleep impossible. He was lying on the ground with his eyes closed, and for a moment she thought that he had fallen asleep, but knew him well enough to dismiss that thought swiftly. After waiting for a short while she considered waking him, but he opened his eyes soon enough. He sat up, and looked deeply at her eyes; she looked back, both because she wanted to, and because she had no choice.
         "What I am about to say might sound like the paltry words of a hopeless romantic, but you are truly the most special woman, no, person, I have ever met," he said. She opened her mouth slightly, ready to thank him and return the compliment, but he motioned that he had more to say. "Perhaps special is not the right word. Exceptional? Meaningful? I am not sure. All I know is that you have changed a part of my life I thought immutable."
         She waited for him to continue, her gaze never leaving his eyes, but when he said nothing, she felt that it was her turn to speak. She did not have much to say. She was satisfied with simply asking him what it was she changed.
         "Imagine that you are walking across a crowded market in a crowded town, the sort of place where those who look odd you  barely note, and those who look common do not exist at all. To me, life is like that marketplace.  I remember none but those odd figures who stood out in the crowd of life, and even them only barely." He averted his eyes from her own and asked her to lose herself in the flames. She did as he asked.
         "Now try to recall my image," he said. She tried, and thought she succeeded; she could see the hardened traveler's face, the scars he bore on the sides of both his eyes, the brown leather vest he wore now.
         He went for his pack, and brought out two pieces of paper, a quill and some ink. He sat back besides the fire, opposite her, and was pleased to see she was still lost in the flames. He woke her. He smiled, and handed her the writing implements.
         "This is getting a bit silly, but it is necessary for you to understand," he said, and then "I am going to turn around now, and I want you to lose yourself in the fire again, and recall my image. Then draw it, badly or not, without looking again at me, or trying to recall my face once more."
         "Why am I doing this?" She asked him.
         "You will know soon, for now please do as I ask. I am tired like you, but we must move on tomorrow, and under the cover of night is the best time to do such things," he said.
She nodded, and did as he asked. She recalled the image again, the hardened traveler's face, the scars he bore on the side of both his eyes, the brown leather vest he wore now; and then she drew it, not too badly, enough for her to recognize that it was him, especially due to the scars besides the eyes. When he saw that she was finished he asked for the drawing, and placed it at his side. He then gave her another paper and asked her to do it again.
         "Why? Was the first one not good enough?" She asked.
         "No, it was fine. I need two for this to work," he said, and she reluctantly began to lose herself in the fire again. She attempted to recall his face; big blue eyes, a slightly curved nose, a scar on his right cheek. She painted it with some skill, and when finished offered it to him. Instead he put the other drawing in her hand, and asked her to look at it. The man in the drawing looked nothing like the man in the new one; he looked nothing like the man she was looking at now.
         She began to move her lips as if asking "What?", and he waited until the shock would pass. He waited for some time as she looked at him and at the drawing, at the scars that disappeared, and the new one that was formed on his chin; one of the most difficult questions she asked herself was: "What caused that scar?" He waited patiently, until the tiredness he had repressed was no longer tolerable, and asked her if she was ready to speak of what she saw.
         "No," she said, and lay down besides the fire; he did as well. They slept well that night, with no guard, for they felt oddly safe.

         He helped her pack her gear, and they rode on, towards wherever it was they were going, or away from whatever it was they were fleeing. He waited until she would ask, and eventually she did.
         "Why?" She asked.
         "It is complicated. I will try to say it as simply as I can. I am not… connected. It's as if I am a guest to this world, always entering with a different identity, as a different person. I can leave as I wish, but I always enter back immediately; I am stuck here. I leave and return involuntarily  every morning, with no exception. I have no memories of a life before this,  but I also have no memories of my childhood.
         " You are not the first I have traveled with; I have been traveling for as long as I can remember. I have grown used to meeting the same people over and over again every morning, until I stopped bothering, and began traveling only with those odd people I mentioned, the people that stand out. To me they are but bright shadows, against the dark wall that is my life. They were enough."
         "What's odd about me?" She asked.
         "I am not sure. I could say it is that you are beautiful, or that you helped me in my time of need, or that it is the color of your eyes. I truly have no idea."
         "So am I just a bright shadow to you? Some weird person you recognize from somewhere? "
         "No," he said, "you are more. You, I remember. Every morning I wake, I still love you."