"Let me help you then," Nantan said, reaching a hand out towards her hesitantly.

"Fine," Freya sighed, rubbing a hand up her face and pressing it into her forehead for a moment. "I don't know how you think that will make a difference, since we'll have to split up to cover more ground anyway."

Nantan's expression tightened and he mirrored Freya's gesture with his hand on his face.
"I would rather we stick together, but I know how stubborn you are. I don't like the idea of splitting up, but at least if I'm in the area, I will know where you are and can come help you if you get into trouble."

Freya scowled at him, crossing her arms again.
"Excuse you, I don't get into trouble! I've been here alone for over two months now and I haven't gotten so much as a splinter! I can handle myself. A woman alone in the West has to be tough as nails!"

"You don't carry a gun," Nantan pointed out solemnly, gesturing towards her waist, where she only sported a belt with a canteen and a small belt bag of food and herbs on her denim work pants. Not a holster in sight.

"I have my knife," Freya protested, tone high and defensive. She pulled the modest-sized folding pocket knife out of her pocket and showed Nantan. It was about four inches long folded, the blade slightly shorter than that so it could fit into the smooth, wooden handle.

Nantan shook his head, at a loss for words. He couldn't exactly criticize her for that, since his own people often carried only knives with them. But Freya was not an Apache brave, she was a willowy white girl. She was quite tall for a woman, and he knew she wasn't as delicate as she looked at first glance, but she was unlikely to deter much with just a knife.
"I'll come back after breakfast," he said tightly. "Don't leave without me, I don't want to waste time tracking you down." He turned away and walked off, his pace quick with tension.

"Nantan!" Freya called out, reaching a hand towards his back. He didn't turn around, and her arm slowly dropped. She dropped into a crouch and scrubbed her hands through her scalp, groaning. She hadn't meant to argue with him, Nantan was a good friend and had always helped her family. He'd gotten very close to the twins after their parents died, often coming to the ranch to check on them, and he'd been by almost daily since Frey had left.

A quiet crunching of gravel and sand nearby caught Freya's attention, and she looked to her right, towards the house. About three feet from her on the path was the nisse. The little gray-clad, gray-bearded fae looked at her with a disapproving glare and made a noise that sounded sort of like the scolding of an angry squirrel.

Freya groaned, dropping her hands to the dirt path.
"I know, I know," she whined at the nisse, "I should've been nicer to Nantan and I should've listened to him. He's probably right, I probably do need to carry Mom's pistol, but I just..." she trailed off.