Rhea packed light. She always had and she was not going to change it now.
She had one bag and she had been able to put everything she needed in it since she was twenty-two years old, which was the age at which she had decided that needing very little was not a deprivation but a skill, and she had practiced the skill until it felt like nature rather than discipline.
The twins watched her pack.
Caelum watched with the focused attention he brought to everything he was studying, which was how he experienced the world as a continuous series of things to understand and file. He had been watching the way Rhea moved and stored and positioned things for months and had learned a significant amount from it without anyone explicitly teaching him.
He packed his own bag the same way now: heaviest at the bottom, most-needed at the top, nothing that existed in only one capacity if something that could serve two purposes could replace it.
