Young Writers Society

Once they'd had breakfast, Caspar and James set up with the pencils Hild recently purchased him, a loose sheet of paper from the hunter's bag, and one of their books as a sturdy writing surface.

Caspar lied on his back next to James, watching closely as he wrote three big letters in the top left corner of the page. James pointed to the first one with the tip of the pencil.

"This is C," he said of the single-curve. "It's the first letter of your name. It makes a harsh 'c' sound when on its own."

Caspar nodded. That tracked so far.

"Sometimes it has a softer 's'-like sound, as in 'cesspool,' or 'cyst,'" James said. "But for now we will focus on the sound it makes in your name."

"Okay." Caspar traced the letter with his eyes. The open side of it faced right. It was like a partially cracked egg.

"The next letter is A. The first letter of the alphabet," James said. "A can make a few different sounds. Like 'ah' or 'ey.' We'll focus on 'ah,' for now."

The next letter resembled a mountain peak with snow on the top. Caspar turned his head to look at him. "Would the 'ey' be in your name, then?"

James smiled faintly and nodded.

"You're picking up on this quickly, I see," he said. "Yes, the second letter in my name is an a, that sounds like 'ey.' In yours, it's 'ah.'"

The tip of the pencil then pointed at the last letter he'd written down.

"This is S. S is pretty consistent. It always makes the sssss sound. Like a slithering snake, or the sound of running water. Whatever helps you to remember. And look, it even wriggled like a snake in how it's shaped," he said, turning to look at Cas.

Caspar did see the resemblance.

"I want you to write those three letters in that order. C, A, S. I have a feeling you won't have too much trouble picking up writing, but I want you to start memorizing it. And every time you write the letter, I want you to say the sound it makes in the nickname you're spelling. C-A-S."

Taking the paper and pencil, Caspar first slowly traced over the letters with the pencil. His lines were a little wobbly, making the letters James already wrote look fuzzy. Then he tried free-handing the letters underneath, softly saying out loud their sounds as instructed.

"Very good," James said calmly beside him, watching Caspar write. Caspar cast him a quick, excited smile.

Once the left side of the page was filled with copies of C-A-S, James reached for the paper.

"You're learning fast," James said. "Do you want to know the other three letters in your name? One of them you already know. I want you to guess which one."

Drawing his lips into a thin line, Caspar thought. None of the (three) sounds they just reviewed repeated, so he really was at a loss. He shook his head a little. "I don't..."

"Sound out your name slowly for me," James instructed gently.

"Cas-par," he said. Brows furrowing, he repeated it under his breath a few more times, slower.

James took the piece of paper and wrote down three letters. The one in the middle was an 'A.'

"It's tricky," James said. "Because there are a lot of weird exceptions to spelling rules, which can make spelling annoying. Don't feel bad about it - you see this letter?"

He pointed to the last one. It was a loop up top with two legs, with the right leg pointing outward a little.

"It's an 'r.' The very name of the letter is essentially the last sound in your name, but by itself it doesn't make that sound. It only sounds like "ar" with an "a" in front of it. Alone, it sounds like "er," as in 'round,' or 'room.'"

Caspar nodded. The natures of letters were semi-malleable. Noted.

"Okay. So we've got the 'Cas' down, and we have the 'ar.' What sound do you think this letter makes, then?" he asked, pointing to the letter that looked like an 'R' with one less leg.

"That's 'puh'," he answered.

"You just said that to spit on me," James said with a smile in his voice.

Caspar cracked a brief grin.

"But you're right. That's the letter 'p,'" James said. "It makes the 'puh' sound. Like your 'puh'-ffing out air."

Nodding again, Caspar reached for the paper. "Uh, may I?"

"Of course," James said. "Now I want you to string all the letters together. C-A-S-P-A-R. Caspar. Write them all together like this--"

He quickly reached over and wrote Caspar's name at the top of the page, then handed Caspar the pencil.

"Sound it out as you write it," he said.

Taking the paper and pencil again, Caspar traced what James wrote, then carefully sounded everything out as he copied his name underneath.

In a setting filled with more people around, Caspar would have felt far more self-conscious and thus distracted. When Henry tried teaching him to read, they would sit at a desk in the Melbergs' personal library. Caspar found himself frequently looking over his shoulder, worried to find Felix's judging stare from by the door.

With just James and Hild, he couldn't find any reason to feel embarrassed.

When Caspar finished writing his name by himself the first time, James spoke up.

"Perfect," he said. "And your penmanship is perfectly legible as well. You're doing great so far. I want you to fill the rest of the page with your name. You can sound it out as loud or as quiet as you want as you go."

Caspar's letters were still shaky (writing with the paper angled above them made it awkward, and his hands always shook more when he slowed down with a pencil), but he supposed James was right. The letters were still recognizable.

"You can sit up if you'd like, too," James added. "Writing while lying down is probably one of the most awkward ways to do it anyway. You can just show me when you're done."

"I think I'll do that." He made to sit up, then paused. Caspar looked back at James and softly said, "Thank you."

"No worries," James said dismissively. "I figured I'd save you the neck strain."

Caspar grinned. "Well, that too, but. Thank you. For teaching me."

James delayed only a second before he stiffly nodded.

"Sure," he said with a tiny, soft smile. "You're welcome."

Caspar nodded too, also stiffly, wondering if he made this awkward. That was likely, it felt like he did that a lot.

He pushed himself upright, but opted to stay close by as he practiced. He still enunciated loud enough for James to hear as he slowly filled the other side of the page.

Once Caspar had fit as many copies of his name as he could (he had to squish one at the bottom), he flopped down on his back again and held it up for James to review.

James looked it over, his eyes tracing the page.

"You can already see your lines are getting more confident as you become more familiar with the letters," he said. "This is great Caspar. No misspellings, and it's all perfectly readable. Couldn't ask for a better outcome."

He turned his head and looked to Caspar, offering him a small smile.

"And now you can say you know how to write your name," he said. "I think that's a pretty big deal."

Caspar felt the tips of his ears burn a little. He had to agree, it felt good.

"Would you like to share this milestone with Hild as well?" James asked. "I'm sure she'd love to see."

Just as James finished speaking, Hild dropped down onto her back at James's other side. "What would I love to see?"

James turned the piece of paper towards Hild, revealing the full back side where Caspar had filled it with his name.

"Caspar now knows how to write his own name," James said with pride in his voice. "See?"

Hild hummed approvingly as her eyes carefully roamed the page. "An excellent start," she said sincerely. She propped herself up on her elbow to look around James at Caspar. "Well done."

James passed paper back to Caspar.

"And you get to keep this, for reference," he said.

Their collective praise was frankly a little overwhelming; he couldn't form a verbal response. His whole face heated up, he probably closely resembled a tomato in color. Trying (and failing) to suppress an excited smile, Caspar nodded his thanks as he took the paper. He folded the paper, tucked it into his pocket, and self-consciously rubbed the side of his neck.

"Tomorrow we can talk vowels," James said. "You've already got one out five down so far as writing goes."

Caspar nodded. "Sounds good."

"And if you have any tips, Hild, feel free to chime in," James added.

"Only if you feel you need my assistance," she replied politely. "I wouldn't want to overstep."

"I don't think there's anything wrong with learning from more than one source," James said, his speech pattern starting to slow a bit. They were beginning to get used to this, over the past few days. James would have short bursts of energy and would quickly fade again.

"The more the merrier," Caspar agreed as he sat upright again. "You, um, can get some rest now."

A bit predictably, James protested.

"Why do you guys keep saying that," he muttered. "I'm quite literally lying down. I'm already resting."

Sitting up as well, Hild leveled him with a chastising glare. "I cannot believe you are actually asking. Go to sleep."

James let out a long sigh, looking up at Hild with a rapidly declining sense of alertness. His eyelids grew heavy.

"You know," he said, his words coming out even slower, starting to slur. "One of these... these days... I... I'm..."

James's head turned slightly to the side as he fell asleep mid-sentence, mouth still hanging open a little.

Hild huffed. Caspar mustered a small smile in her direction. "You wanted him to sleep."

"Not in the middle of a rebuttal," she muttered.

Caspar huffed a laugh through his nose. Loosely wrapping his arms around his knees, he glanced over his shoulder at James. Then he reached back and very carefully closed James's mouth. He tensed when James stirred slightly, twitching his head to the side. He remained asleep. Caspar let out a small breath.

Hild rose and brushed herself off. "Well, since we haven't much else to do at the moment, come along." She strode over to the other side of the fire pit.

Caspar blinked. "For...?"

Standing with her back straight as a rod and holding her arms at peculiar angles, Hild tilted her head expectantly. "Dancing lessons."

Oh.

It had been ten days of lying there on the ground.

He'd somehow gotten used to just three angles of the world, and all of them from the ground. Up, left, and right. And sometimes, if he craned his neck really hard, he could look semi-forward, but he was so stiff it was uncomfortable to keep up for more than a few seconds anyway.

Required bed-rest. Or, the closest thing they had to a bed out in the wilderness, which consisted of him lying on a blanket over soft, matted grass.

The days passed by agonizingly slow, but they also blurred together. There was enough of a rythm of life though that he was able to keep track.

Every day he'd give Caspar a short lesson on reading and writing. They were still making their way through the alphabet, but now Caspar knew how to write "Caspar," "Hild," and "James." He was learning a few other letters and words as well, but it would take time to memorize them and how to apply them.

Like he'd told Caspar, there was no rush.

In the spirit of exchanging knowledge, James continued to give Hild lessons on horses. He decided to keep her off the saddle until he was on his feet, but Caspar was nearby on his feet to help with the horses if they were ever a little too unruly. Elliot liked to push boundaries when people didn't know what ones to set, and Penumbra was still pretty shy, but warming up to Hild and Caspar slowly.

He also caught a few moments here and there where Hild was giving Caspar dancing lessons, and watching her lead him through different steps was probably the best form of entertainment he had all week, next to Elliot pulling Hild's hood over her head.

James gave Caspar some tips on his form as he watched from the ground, and though Caspar was tolerating the dancing, he seemed much less eager and motivated to catch on quickly than he did with writing. Which, was fair, he supposed.

Hild would still check on his injuries every day, and redress them as needed. He found himself becoming numb to the process, seeing as he really didn't have much of a choice in the matter.

It was necessary, and he knew it, but a part of him was still in denial.

A part of him was still waiting for the day Caspar or Hild would ask where all the scars came from, and he didn't know if he wanted them too or not. He knew they were thinking it. How could they not?

And Hild had doctoring experience. She'd probably deduced the nature of some of them by now without him even telling her anything.

But at the end of the day, it was ignored, and they went about things as normally as they could. All things considered.

Caspar took care of the horses. Hild ended up stitching through all of James's torn clothes. Caspar would come back with small game sometimes, caught in traps he'd set. Hild would fetch water. Caspar would get firewood. Hild would make dinner. They'd both be keeping watch.

The cycle went on and on.

Hild was checking on him again, looking at the stab wound in his side. From where he laid, he could see the blur of the dark line on his skin where there were presumably stitch marks. At the angle he turned his head, though, that was the most he could make out.

Hild finished reapplying a medicinal salve and wrapped it back up again, along with the other wounds. She said the infected gash on his side was getting better. The infection was clearing away. That was good.

When he thought she was done, he expected her to throw the blanket back over him and tell him to sleep again.

But she didn't. She just sat cross-legged, hands resting on her knees, looking him over one last time.

"Would you like to try sitting up now?" she asked. "I think you've waited long enough, and the knife wound won't suffer for it at thi--"

James wanted to leap to his feet if he could, but he would gladly take this.

"Yes," he said eagerly, unintentionally interrupting her before she finished her sentence.

Hild's brows twitched inward, a little put out by the interruption.

"Sorry," James added just as quickly.

Her eyes softened, and her lips quirked in a slight smile. "You've been very patient."

"I can get accolades for patience later," James said. "I'd like to sit up now."

Hild's smile broadened a little. "It seems just being upright again will be reward enough for you. We'll have to prop you up against something for now."

Caspar knelt by him, hands hovering to help, but not wanting to touch without permission first.

James brought his arms up at his sides for Caspar to hook under, mentally preparing himself for it. Slowly and carefully, Caspar pulled him upright, then helped him into a freshly-cleaned and mended shirt. Hild bunched up one of the blankets behind him for some cushioning and support as Caspar eased him back against a tree.

James hadn't realized how stiff and achey he felt until he was upright. And gods, was the whole world spinning a little.

Or a lot. What constituted a lot?

It was like all the blood was rushing out of his head instead of to it. He leaned back heavily on the tree, trying to tame the mild nausea and dizziness that arose.

"Would be nice to have some water right about now," James said. "And drink on my--"

Caspar was already pressing a canteen into his hands before he could finish the thought.

"Amazing," James whispered more to himself. "You must read minds."

He hoped the light, well-meaning sarcasm didn't go over Caspar's head. He heard Caspar laugh softly as he backed away to give James his space.

He unscrewed the canteen and lifted it up to his own lips and took a good long drink. It helped with the diziness.

With a small sigh, he set the canteen back down at his side and stared out at the campsite, letting his eyes readjust to the upright world again.

He wanted to try stretching. And moving his legs more. And moving a lot more in general. But Hild was watching him like a hawk. Her gaze alone firmly urged him to take it slow.

He closed his eyes for a moment and took in a deep breath.

Deep breaths were hard for him at the moment, but he did a semi-deep breath. Enough to build up enough air for the relieved sigh he let out.

"You have no idea how maddening it is to stay on your back for hours on end," he said. He lifted up his hands, rotating them. "Look, now it'll be so much easier to do life."

"Yes, a milestone," Hild agreed. "Don't push it, though."

"I think you'd sentence me to another week of stillness if I did," James countered.

She cracked an amused grin. "That would be very likely."

"See? I was right. No thank you. I will take it easy so I can sit and use my hands," James said with a small flourish of said hands.

Hild hummed a laugh. "Very wise."

There was a beat of silence, and James looked from Caspar to Hild.

"Alright, then," James said. "Who wants their hair braided first?"

Caspar took another quiet step back while Hild's smile brightened.

"Guess that answers that question," James said.

Doffing her duffel coat and folding it over her arm, Hild settled close by James with her back facing him. James noted that her hair wasn't freshly washed, which would make braiding easier on his end.

He reached out and gently started sectioning out hair at her hairline.

"Do you have any preferences?" James asked.

"Do as you wish," she answered easily. "Just nothing to make me look foolish."

"Hild, I don't think anyone could make you look foolish," he said.

Hild sat straighter, seeming pleased.

He started mapping out the braids in his head. He was going to do two. Her hair was very thick, so he had a lot to work with.

"I have three brothers total," Hild said conversationally, "and lived with two of them for a time. Neither of them would ever humor me and do my hair if I asked, or let me do theirs, or dress them up." She neatly folded her coat and set it on her lap. "They were ultimately good men, but very annoying as siblings."

"I'm sorry they missed out on moments like this, then," James said as he found her part. "I used--"

Mid-sentence, he found himself changing his mind. He almost mentioned his sister, but he didn't want to go down that road. It would get too dark too quickly. It was best to avoid the topic entirely.

"--to have hair even longer than yours," he said instead. "I would braid it all the time. My hair's probably just as thick, but a lot heavier, and not this--"

"Unruly?" Hild supplied with humor in her voice.

"Curly," James said instead, smiling slightly. "But I've known some curly headed folks who equate the two. Personally, I think it just depends on the person. Some people learn how to work with it and love it. Some people get fed up. Where do you lie in the spectrum?"

Hild hummed. "You could say I've made peace with it."

"Sounds like a generally good place to be," James mused. "Hopefully at peace doesn't mean 'in defeat' as well."

He was working through the curls and being careful of them. This was going to go slowly because he didn't want to cause Hild any pain in the process, but he didn't mind it as long as she was willing to sit a while. It gave him something to do.

Hild laughed. "I'm in good standing with it now, yes."

James noticed Caspar straying away, off to where the horses were tied up. A part of him was desperate and jealous to be on his feet to be with Elliot, but he knew he couldn't yet.

It made him happy, though, when he saw Eir greet Caspar with a friendly disposition.

They were making progress. That was good.

He was also quietly pleased with himself that he'd made Hild laugh a second time. And of course, again, he couldn't see her face.

The moment he was functioning again so many things would become so much easier.

"Have you done many different cuts with your hair?" he asked. "Or have you always kept it pretty long?"

"It's always been long," she said and shrugged. "Do you think I could pull off a shorter cut?"

"I think you'd look great with a bob, about shoulder length or a little higher," James suggested. "It might make your hair feel more manageable, actually. But only if you wanted it short."

"I think I'll give it a try sometime, then."

"It could be a good move to make once you've grown out your natural color a bit more," James continued. "Let your hair heal and all."

Finally, James worked through her hair enough where he could start on a braid on one side. He gently tugged strands together against her scalp, careful not to pull them too tight.

"For all the haircuts I've had, I've never dyed it," James commented. "Hair dye's hard to get a hold of when you're broke most of the time. Might've been nice, though. I just don't think I would've been able to keep up with it enough for it to be worth it."

"Keeping my hair dyed has been a pain, and the cost steadily added up over the years. I don't really recommend it." Hild's head turned very slightly, like she wanted to look at him, but she straightened again. "What styles have you tried before?"

James let out a small sigh through his nose, continuing to pull hair through its own loops, very slowly and meticulously making his way down her head. He didn't want to miss any hairs, and there were a lot.

"Well... when I first left the kingdom, I shaved my head. Only did that once," he said. "I grew it out after that so it was a little longer on top. I'm not quite sure how to describe it. When my hair is shorter it can be a little hard to tame sometimes. It just gets... poofy."

Hild snorted. "A sight, I'm sure."

"If I comb it through with some water or something that helps," James said. "Otherwise it'll be sticking up in all sorts of directions."

He paused, focusing on braiding for a moment as he thought.

"I grew it out for a year or two after that, really," he said. "Changed what I did with my beard a lot. Had my beard out really long for a minute, too. I didn't really like it, because it was mostly an inconvenience, and I didn't like the look of it, but it worked well to make me look like an entirely different person."

He paused, looking up for a moment.

"An older person," he muttered.

Hild was quiet for a moment, then tentatively commented, "You've gone through a lot of changes."

James knew she was talking about more than hair, but he decided to not interpret it as more than hair.

"Well, when you're trying not to be recognized, some creative haircuts at least make people do a double-take. Gives me an extra second, you know," he said lightly.

"Effective," she agreed.

"One time I had a mustache," he offered, eager to brush past it. "And a small ponytail going on. I got endless mockery for that mustache, even though it was a decent stache. It was enough to make me never want to do it again."

Hild barked a laugh, but said sincerely, "I'm sure it was dashing."

James felt his cheeks burn just a little and he wasn't sure if it was the embarassment or the flattery. Regardless, he was going to ignore it and be thankful Hild wasn't facing him to make fun of him for it.

"Someone I was traveling with literally nicknamed me 'Mustache-man' at the time," he muttered. "She knew my name. Or, well- whatever, it's complicated. But she knew the name I offered and still called me that."

"But of course."

"And when I finally shaved it," James went on. "The insults were even worse."

"In quality," Hild asked, "or frequency?"

"In quality," he said dismally. He had to shove a lot of things aside in his mind to reach back to that memory. One of his few more peaceful goodbyes, but still bittersweet. More bitter than sweet, but not because of bad blood.

"'Were you just holding in a sneeze this whole time?'" he said, raising his voice in pitch to mimic Rose. Though Hild would hardly know who she was, she would understand he was doing an impression. "'Did it finally get the better of you?'"

Caspar huffed a quiet laugh from where he stood with Eir. Hild just hummed, sounding less impressed.

"That one was the most tame," James said. "I'm not going to repeat the others on my own account."

"Yes, spare us all," Hild said.

"Naturally," James said, finally making it to the nape of her neck. He still had all the extra free-flowing hair to go, but he was making good progress.

"I had mutton chops, once," he finally said with a bad taste in his mouth.

Hild fidgeted, itching to look at him now. "What? When?" She sounded far too delighted.

"Does it matter?" he asked. "I'd personally rather forget that era of my face."

But he was noting her interest. For a later time.

"Is there a particular style that you've liked most?" she asked.

James slowed on her hair when he found a knot. He was working his fingers through it slowly, not wanting to break any hair.

The problem was that when he ever did look in a mirror, he found himself associating different haircuts and appearances as different people. It was just hair, but at the same time, each cut was tied to an alias and a fabricated identity he made at the time. To choose a favorite felt like choosing a favorite person, but the quality of every past "life" he lead didn't necessarily coincide with his "hair" at the time.

He knew he was taking too long to answer the question as he was taking too long to work through the knot in her hair.

He had to be careful.

"I don't really know that I have a favorite," he finally said. "Maybe I haven't found it yet."

Hild nodded ever so slightly. "I'm sure you will soon."

James narrowed his eyes at the back of her head.

"Why, do you plan on chopping my hair in my sleep?" he asked, forcing his voice to be teasing.

Hild probably recognized his deflection for what it was, but responded in kind with feigned indignance, "I would never! The gall of the mere insinuation." She added thoughtfully, "But I might have to ambush Calder in his sleep to usher him into some semblance of cleanliness."

"You known he'd wake up to that, right?" James asked.

"You can help hold him down, then," she answered smoothly.

"Why does this prank haircut sound more like mild torture?" James joked.

Caspar cast the two a withering look. "I'm never sleeping again."

"Oh, come on, Cas," James said. "We aren't being serious."

"Maybe just a little serious," Hild added quietly.

"Please keep sleeping, Caspar. It's for your health," James appealed logically.

"Yes yes," Hild agreed, waving dismissively, "for your health and all that."

Caspar didn't look entirely convinced.

"Seriously," James said. "You've got nothing to worry about."

He was getting close to finishing off the braid. That still left half of Hild's head to get to, but at least he was making faster progress than he thought he would.

"Hey, Cas," he said, deciding to change the subject out of convenient necessity. "Could you bring my bag over here? I'm going to need something to tie this off with."

"Sure." Caspar gave Eir a final pat on her nose and unstrapped James's bag from Elliot's saddle. He set the bag by James, then settled on the ground close by with his carving project.

"Almost finished?" Hild asked.

"With one side," James said. "There's still all of this I have to work through," he added, fluffing up the other half of her head of hair with one hand.

Hild hummed. "Feels like you've done well so far." She tried straightening the free-hanging hair with her fingers. "I tried combing it earlier, but that was a losing battle."

"Combing curly hair usually is," James said as he held the end of the braid with one hand and started digging in his bag with the other. He had some simple ribbons somewhere.

Finally he felt them underneath everything, and he tugged them out. They were just white, which was a perfectly fine neutral color. It served its purpose.

He shook out one from the wad of ribbons and tied off the end of the braid in a secure bow. Once it was neatly adjusted, he shifted his focus to the other side of her head and started sectioning hair off again.

"Did you learn to style hair on your own?" Hild asked after a lapse of silence.

James hesitated.

"Well... no," he said. "Not entirely. I learned a lot from my parents. My mother, in particular."

"She taught you well," Hild said, a little stiffly like she was treading lightly into unknown territory. "Did you keep your hair longer when you were younger, or did you practice on her?"

James drew his lips into a line as he calculated how to answer.

"I did practice on myself, sometimes," he said. "I kept my hair to about my shoulders for much of my childhood. My mother actually kept her hair very short. So when I did practice on someone else's head, it was usually my father."

He was omitting details, but it was still the truth.

"He was very patient," James said. "Letting me play with his hair like that."

"Lovely," Hild said softly. Turning her head just a few degrees in Caspar's direction, she raised her voice a little as she said, "Calder, reach back into your distant childhood for a moment. Did you always prefer your hair as a shaggy mop?"

Caspar glanced up from his project. "Uh, my parents actually kept it pretty short for the most part. Easier to maintain."

"Makes sense," James said. "It can be more practical with children to keep their hair simple."

"They were busy a lot of the time," Caspar said with a nod.

"Your mother worked as well?" Hild asked.

"Yes. She, uh, usually mended fishing nets and sails."

"Makes sense," James commented. "Stays within the fishing trade."

"My family's practice," Hild said, "was established on my mother's side, and she inherited the business. When she and my father married, he joined the business as housekeeping for a little while, then quit to stay home with my brother and me."

Waving a hand Hild's way, Caspar straightened. "Oh, your brother. His name was...?"

"Ulf."

James took note of the name. Hild had said she had three brothers, right?

Caspar nodded. "Right! I don't think I ever really spoke with him."

Hild shrugged. "He moved by the time you came around, and he was busy with work and his own family, so visits were few and far in between."

"Did Ulf have any children?" James inquired.

"Last I heard from him, he had at least one," she said slowly as she thought back. "Correspondence was spotty at best once he left the Isles."

James hummed softly, nodding to himself.

"Understandable," he said quietly. "So, there's Lyall, Ulf, you, and who's the other brother?"

"Viktor," she answered. "He's the youngest and possibly the most obnoxious out of all of us. He rather liked Caspar, though." Hild tapped a finger on her knee. "He neglected to mention where he was headed..."

Caspar cleared his throat. "We did run into each other shortly after the, um. The incident. We couldn't really visit, though, because we were still in the Isles at that point."

Hild turned her head all the way at this, disrupting James's work, and urgently asked, "What? Where did he go? Why didn't you say anything sooner?"

James reached out helplessly as he lost hold of a strand of hair. He scrambled with his fingers to get it back so he wouldn't have to start all over again.

Caspar bit his lip. "He wouldn't tell me. He looked to be in...surprisingly good spirits, though?"

Hild scoffed and muttered, "Idiots, all of them." She glanced James's way over her shoulder, realizing what she'd done. "Ah, my bad."

"If you could turn your head back to the right just a little please," James said, choosing not to let go of the strands of hair he was holding until she did so he didn't lose his place.

Hild adjusted per his suggestion. "I'm sure Viktor has been thoroughly enjoying life on the run," she went on with disdain, "the scoundrel that he is."

James wasn't sure what that implied, but he decided not to comment on it.

"He expressed numerous times that he wanted to 'see the world'," Hild continued, "well, he's had ample opportunity to sightsee and he's likely thrilled with his new, lawless way of life."

Caspar similarly seemed at a loss for a words for a moment.

"Hopefully his travels have gone safely," James finally interjected after an uncomfortable pause.

Hild only huffed in response.

"He's probably alright," Caspar offered, sounding confident. "He's fast and clever, he's resilient. All the hallmarks of an Ashlund. Maybe he's even made a life for himself."

James decided to keep his mouth shut and focused on braiding. He didn't want to offer false hope when he knew so little about the situation.

"Maybe," Hild said softly.

Silence fell again between the three of them for a moment.

"What's your opinion on flowers?" James asked abruptly.

There was a beat of silence. Hild snorted. "They're fine, just don't gift me with any."

James blinked, feeling just a beat of panic. That wasn't what he'd meant.

"I was thinking of putting them in your hair," he said.

"An unnecessary gesture," she said lightly.

"It was just a thought," James said. "Maybe for another time. I wouldn't want to force you or Caspar to hunt any down on my behalf, anyway."

"Caspar strikes me as the sort to pick flowers in his free time anyhow," she said with a small head tilt. "It would hardly be a bother for him."

Caspar huffed through his nose, sounding put off, but there was a hint of humor in his voice as he countered, "And so what if I did?"

"Nothing wrong with that," James said lightly with a slight shrug.

"Vindication," Caspar said victoriously, gesturing to James.

Hild hummed a laugh, though it still sounded a little dampened. Most of the tension concerning Viktor's whereabouts had loosened now, at least.

"Well, if that's the case then Cas," James went on. "If you feel like it and have seen any flowers around, if you want to go grab some it'd be appreciated."

Caspar stood and brushed himself off. "I did, in fact, recently stumble upon a small patch nearby," he said brightly. "Very striking shade of purple. I'll see if I can find it again." And with that, he set off up along the river.

"Wow, he's really going," Hild said under her breath.

James watched as Caspar disappeared, and then returned his attention to Hild's hair.

"I think he just likes to feel useful," he said quietly.

Hild hummed thoughtfully. "He's always been a little restless in that way."

"What about you?" James asked. "Do you like to stay busy?"

"I suppose I'd usually prefer to keep my mind engaged," Hild answered slowly. "You?"

"Much of the same," James said. "Though I've had to get used to doing nothing when it's required. Like when certain doctors tell me not to move for hours on end."

"An asset, truly," she said. "It'll serve you well."

"Already has," James said with a slight grin.

He was reaching the base of her neck. Still a lot of hair to tame, but he was almost there.

"We'd likely have to adjust our appearances," Hild said suddenly. "For whenever it is that we venture into town."

"I don't know if you and Caspar will need to just yet," James said slowly. "It depends. We have a lot of unknowns. We know Alexandar likely tipped off the sheriff in Needle Point about me. He may have tipped him off about Caspar. I'm not sure how much they would connect us to you, but since you left town as soon as Alexander came by, it's probably best to assume the worst. I just never know how quickly news will travel, but considering we've lost so much time with my recovery..."

He trailed off for a moment.

"Did you have anything in mind?" he asked, "For yourself, that is."

Hild hummed. "I'd like to try cutting my hair short, at least. I'm curious what that would be like."

"Are you thinking of cutting it yourself, or would you like my help?" James asked.

"I'd prefer the help," she said after a second's hesitation, "seeing as I've only ever managed a straight trim on myself, and even then it was uneven."

"Well, I don't know if I could do anything too crazy," James said. "But I can at least make it even. I cut my own hair all the time, and I've cut and trimmed other people's hair as well on occasion."

"Nothing crazy works just fine for me," she said.

"How short are you thinking?" James asked.

Straightening, she tried gauging a desirable length with one of her hands. "Perhaps shoulder-length to start."

"I could manage that," James hummed, reaching the end of the braid. He grabbed another ribbon, tying it off with a bow.

He then tucked both braids forward over her shoulders.

"There," he said. "The braids are done. Just waiting on Caspar, now."

Hild held up the braids for a moment to assess them herself. "Wonderful." She cast him a small smile over her shoulder. "Thanks."

James reached out a hand towards her face. "Hold on," he said, now being able to see the front more clearly. "Turn around a bit."

She obliged and rested her hands on her knees.

He gently tugged on some of her shorter curls, pulling them out around the front to frame her face.

"There," he said softly as he pulled his hands away. "You look lovely."

Hild stared at him blankly, looked askance, then met his eyes again as she stiffly replied, "Thank you. You. Performed expertly."

James blinked, and though he tried to suppress a laugh, it came out as a snort, and he cracked a smile.

"Didn't want to dissapoint. But don't take my word for it. Ask Caspar for his opinion too," he said, looking towards the river where he could see Caspar's blurry figure coming closer.

Hild scooted back an arm's length away from James. Caspar took this as an invitation to sit close and dropped down directly between them.

"They were closer than I remembered," he said, looking rather pleased with himself as he held out the small bundle to Hild. "Uh, hang on, you're supposed to help with this, right?" He looked to James.

Hild took the flowers before James could answer. Her brows furrowed as she looked them over. "Caspar, you said they were purple."

The flowers were, in fact, not purple, though maybe they could look purple in the dark of night. They were a deep blue instead.

Caspar stared at the flowers as well. "They are."

"Hild," James interjected before she could contest it. "I think he may just see color a little differently."

Caspar looked between the two.

Hild nodded and softly said, "Noted."

"To us," James clarified, looking to Caspar. "They look blue. At least, I'm assuming you see the same, Hild."

She hummed. "Yes."

Caspar contemplated the flowers again. "Ah."

"They are lovely, regardless," Hild said with a small smile. "Thank you."

Caspar nodded. "Sure."

"Do you still want me to incorporate them into your braid?" James asked Hild.

"Ah, no thank you," Hild said. "I'd rather look at them."

James shrugged. "Alright."

He leaned his shoulders back a little more on the tree behind him, settling in. For a moment, the three of them just sat together at the base of the tree in silence, while Hild looked down at her flowers.

Hild cleared her throat. "Well, thank you, gentlemen." She stood abruptly, tucking the flowers in her sweater pocket and brushing her braids back over her shoulders. She nodded. "Good day."

"But the day isn't over," James said teasingly.

She turned on her heel as she firmly insisted, "A good day, nonetheless. I have...things to tend to." And she strode off to the river.

James looked over to Caspar and shrugged.

"Want to go next?" he asked, gesturing to Caspar's hair. "Or are you not interested?"

Caspar blinked. "Um. I'm good, thanks."

James nodded.

"Alright," he said. "Are you going to wood carve some more, you think?"

Leaning back on his hands, Caspar shrugged. "Nothing else needs doing at the moment, so I guess-- Oh! Do you still want to try carving? I'd have to find something for you to start with. Maybe a stick. We have an abundance of those."

"Sure," James said. "Why not."

Caspar smiled. "Great. I'll just grab some stuff real quick." He pushed himself back to his feet.

James watched Caspar run off again, this time to fetch a stick.

Writing lessons and socializing with the horses under James's guidance quickly became part of their morning routine. Hild kept dragging Caspar into dance lessons while James rested, and Caspar would talk James through whittling a little past noon time.

Eventually Hild gave James the go-ahead to stand up and try moving around again. Within strict limits, of course, and with assistance.

Caspar held out his hands to James as he asked Hild, "Do I stand in front of him, or to the side...?"

James took Caspar's hand firmly, but didn't pull on his arm yet, waiting for Hild.

Hild stood off to the side with her hands folded. "In front. Both hands, James, you need to keep steady."

James took Caspar's other hand, and Caspar slowly helped him up to his feet. It was clear James was really stiff as he stood on his own two feet, hunching forward ever so slightly. He tightly held onto Caspar's hands, but seemed to be putting most of his weight on his own feet.

"Lean on me if you have to," Caspar said softly.

James took in a slow, measured breath as he lifted and bent one leg, stretching it out. He leaned on Caspar a little more for balance, then lifted the other leg. His movements seemed tense and controlled, and his face was drawn taut in neutrality.

Caspar adjusted his own center of balance to account for James, and watched him closely.

"Forgot about the bullet wound," James said, as if forcing his voice to be light. "Hurts less now."

Hild did not look very amused.

The graze definitely paled in comparison to the knife wound. Caspar tried to shove down his worry.

James lifted his feet one at a time, taking steps but not moving forward. It seemed like he was trying to get blood flowing again and loosen up.

"One of my legs is asleep," he said, stomping very lightly with one foot.

"Pretty much your whole body has been for a while," Caspar commented.

"Yeah," James said with a huff through his nose. "I feel it."

He was still slowly bending, stretching, and moving the one leg. Caspar could see James's eyebrows twitch together, like he was trying not to show signs of pain. Concern festered in Caspar's gut. Hild seemed tense too as she watched.

Finally James set his feet down, planting them firmly.

"Could you lead me forward?" James asked. "I want to walk."

"Slowly," Hild added sternly.

"Yes. Slowly," James echoed.

Caspar nodded. "Yeah." He took a careful step back, stalling a little mid-step to give James a second to follow.

James took a step of his own, and it seemed confident, all things considered.

"Great," Caspar said encouragingly. "You feeling okay?"

"That's a bit of a complex question," James said, his voice withering a little as he looked down, focusing on walking as Caspar continued to slowly lead. "I'm okay."

Caspar nodded. That was. Frankly a stupid question on his part, but how else could he check?

"You know," James said more quietly. "Not moving for a week really does knock the wind out of you."

Caspar nodded again. "Sure does."

It felt much longer than Caspar had ever waited on a deep wound himself, though he intentionally neglected to count those days, so he wouldn't know for sure. There were times where it felt as though the wounds would never heal up, and that was likely due to his negligence.

"You're making good progress," Hild said to James. The "just don't push it" went unsaid, but they heard it loud and clear.

James only partially nodded in response as he kept his head down, watching his feet as he continued to take steady but careful steps.

"Could I go to Elliot?" he asked softly.

Hild hesitated, then nodded. "He could perhaps meet you halfway."

"You'll have to lead him, then," James told Hild. "I think you'll be able to manage that just fine since you've been working with him."

Inclining her head with a small smile, Hild turned and untied Elliot.

Caspar tilted his head to try to get a better view of James's face. "Ready for another step, or do you need a minute?" he asked quietly.

"I'll follow you," James said. "I'm ready."

They took a few more steps until Elliot's nose appeared between them. Hild stood close as well, confidently holding the reins.

"I'm going to let go of one of your hands," James informed Caspar.

Caspar nodded and instinctively said, "Careful," under his breath.

James pulled one hand away and very slowly turned to face Elliot. Caspar firmly held James's arm with his now-free hand, ensuring he stayed steady.

As James reached out, Elliot met James's hand with his nose with surprising gentleness. James stood there for a moment with his hand resting on Elliot's face, and it was as if he and Elliot had an understanding. The horse knew not to be rough with him, and instead just leaned softly into James's touch.

James smiled ever so slightly as he reached around Elliot's head and brushed through his mane.

"Looks like they've been taking good care of you, boy," James whispered, and it was clear he was only talking to Elliot, despite Caspar and Hild being so close. "You're doing a great job."

Hild glanced down as she fiddled with the reins.

"Do you like your new friend?" James asked Elliot, nodding his head to Hild.

Elliot, though a horse, oddly seemed to understand. He flicked his ears and bobbed his head up and down, reaching down to Hild's hand with his mouth and nuzzling it. Hild delicately scratched under Elliot's chin with a slight smile.

"Good," James said softly as he continued to pet Elliot's mane. He glanced at Hild. "That's a yes, by the way."

"Ah, thank you," she said, grinning, "the translation is appreciated."

James stayed for a moment at Elliot's side, simply petting him. Caspar eventually noticed that James was leaning on him more and more for support, holding on with a death grip by this point.

Though he hated to disrupt a tender moment, Caspar cleared his throat and said softly, "Uh, you should probably sit down again, James."

Though he didn't seem to fight it, he did pull away from Elliot with a small look of sadness. He slowly turned back to Caspar and took his other hand again. Hild gently lead Elliot back to the other horses, murmuring small praises as they went.

Caspar helped James back to his spot by the tree and eased him down onto the ground again. James's arms started to tremble. When he let go and leaned back, James looked tired already.

"That was a good start," Caspar offered, kneeling beside him. "Do you need water or anything?"

"Water," James mumbled as he looked down to his side, searching for the canteen that was settled near him.

Caspar twisted off the cap for him, then settled back and glanced around at the trees as James drank.

James finished on his own and set the canteen back down, staring blankly off in the direction of Elliot and Hild as he leaned his head back on the tree.

His breathing had turned labored. Caspar worried that they pushed it too soon too fast.

"It still feels like there's a knife in my side," James said lowly. "But I don't expect that to change for a long while."

Caspar looked him over. For a lack of anything else to say or do, he murmured, "I'm sorry." He ran a hand through his hair. "Wish there was more we could do."

"It's not your fault," James said, still keeping his voice low. "I'll get better eventually. It's just going to be a long while before I'm back to normal. Whatever that means, anyway."

Caspar mustered a weak smile. "Yeah. You'll get there."

Guilt relentlessly gnawed at him.

Caspar failed to protect them, and James was paying for it.

"And... besides," James said. "It was worth it. You're both okay, and I'll recover. That was all I wanted."

Caspar stared down at his hands, unable to find a proper response. It should have warmed him, knowing James cared, but he felt helpless instead. Caspar lost many people whom he loved dearly. But more importantly, the people whom he loved lost their lives because of his shortcomings, and he always found himself buried deep beneath an irrational shame.

Caspar's stomach churned and tossed like a restless sea. He started to feel sick.

"For as long as we're traveling together," James said firmly, like a promise, "I'll do everything I can to keep you two safe. And I mean that."

The pledge anchored him suddenly. The sickness subsided. Meeting his eyes once more, Caspar found words utterly failing him.

Both James's words and his actions pointed toward a strong, unwavering loyalty. This was a deeply reciprocated feeling, and Caspar urgently needed James to know.

Swallowing thickly, Caspar found it within himself to answer in renewed confidence, "You have my protection as well."

"Just don't go doing anything stupid on my account," James said. "Like taking on a bounty hunter by yourself. It really doesn't work out. I'm sure you can't tell that I'm speaking from experience."

With forced brevity, Caspar huffed a laugh through his nose. He gestured vaguely to James. "Yeah, this is a prime example of what not to do."

James smiled slightly.

"Good. Then learn from me and don't do the same," he said.

Keeping his tone light and teasing, Caspar countered, "Just as long as you also learn from it." But he also meant it very seriously. This was the second time James had thrown himself headlong into a fight on his own. It was turning into a concerning pattern.

"Hey I'm learning a lot of things, you know," James said. "Like whittling. And that I've been doing stitches wrong this whole time."

Caspar shrugged. "I'd say we've both covered a lot of ground so far."

"I'm becoming a more well-rounded person every day," James said simply. But it felt like he was still joking.

Caspar managed another grin, but quickly lost steam trying to keep up this facade of nonchalance. He looked off to the river.

He missed home dearly, ached for it. But the sea would have to wait. He was determined to stay. To go whatever lengths necessary in order to protect James and Hild. With everything he had, whatever the cost.

"You know," James said after a long pause. "I'd be up on my feet if I could right now. I'd rather get my strength back as soon as possible, so we could get moving again."

"Need I remind you," Hild cut in, sitting down at James's other side, "of the still-healing knife wound, and the fact that you've been down for a week? Give yourself some time."

James hummed.

"Give myself time," he mused. "What does that mean? How does one give themselves time?"

Hild gave him a flat look as she countered, "Try 'for as long as I tell you'."

James looked like he was clearly holding back a smile.

"Ah, yes," he said just as flatly. "What was I thinking? That's so obvious."

Her even expression cracked in amusement by just a little.

"You know," James said. "You're a very patient doctor."

She tilted her head. "I've had practice with people far worse than you."

"Oh, so it's good to hear I'm not the worst, then," James said with a sense of relief.

"Yes," she said, "well, you've actually been quite compliant. Very easy to handle."

James looked like he was trying to suppress another grin, but he wasn't trying too hard. He pressed his lips together but they still curled up at the corners as he looked to the side and nodded.

"Ah, I see," James said. "That's monumental for me, really."

Hild nodded. "You are winning in all sorts of ways lately."

"I'd love to hear how so," James answered.

"Well, you've excelled at waiting to just sit up again," she started, "you are an expert at braiding hair, and you've taken most of my medical advice without complaint thus far." She offered a small smile as she concluded, "Much success."

James nodded again.

"Much success," he echoed.

He paused, taking in a deep breath.

"It's a shame we don't have a larger mirror for you to actually see yourself, though," James said.

"Tragic," she agreed. "The river wasn't much help, either. Though Calder has yet to mention if anything is off, and he couldn't lie to save his life, so I assume it's at least decent."

James looked to Caspar.

Caspar shrugged. "I probably don't know the difference, so I'm not a great frame of reference."

Hild narrowed her gaze very slightly at them both.

James shot Caspar a look that only read as: "really?" Again, Caspar could only shrug helplessly. He was being quite genuine right now, he honestly wouldn't be able to tell.

"I guess you'll just have to take my word for it," James said.

She nodded slightly. "Very well, then. I shall."

"Good," James said with a small smile.

Hild briefly returned it, then straightened as she assumed a neutral expression. "Anyhow. We'll gradually incorporate more assisted walking as your body is able to handle. Rest up and stay hydrated for now."

"Okay, doc," James said with a nod.

Satisfied with his response, Hild quickly moved their conversation along to other topics. Caspar excused himself from the discussion to check on a trap he'd set. Because it seemed like a good time to do so, and also because he ran out of the mental capacity to talk much more. His mind was tired, though his body was still quite awake and still had energy to burn.

The walk through the woods was quite peaceful. He almost forgot that, as long as they've lingered here, they still needed to keep their guard up and be prepared to leave as soon as possible. He had a terrible habit of letting himself get comfortable once life seemed to settle, even just a little. He looked back over both shoulders, then tilted his head as he listened closely for anything off.

But could he really trust his own senses anymore?

He shook the thought, assured himself that everything was fine, and carried on, albeit at a slightly faster pace.

For the third time in James's life, he was forced to rebuild strength to walk again. This time wasn't as bad at the others, he supposed. He was recovering a lot faster, and his injuries were less severe. The fact that a major stab wound could be less severe than anything else was something he was willing to gloss over for the sake of his own sanity, and for the sake of focusing on something positive.

Thankfully, there were many positive things to make up for the pain that recovery required.

He did enjoy the company of Caspar and Hild, and there was something about the simple joy of learning from one another that kept his mind active, and off of other things.

Hild was getting more comfortable with the horses, and as James was on his feet more, he started helping her with Penumbra, who was gradually warming up to them both. When James learned that the way to Penumbra's heart was through food, he encouraged Hild to give her treats at key moments - because, like with everything, they still needed to be consumed in moderation.

That seemed to bring about a major shift in Penumbra's behavior, and where the mare was previously wary and distrusting, she started becoming fond of everyone very fast.

Meanwhile, Caspar was quickly improving in reading and writing. James finally finished taking him through the alphabet, and though he was applying the letters to some words, he was mosty sticking to the individual sounds. Caspar seemed to do well with a lot of repetition, and taking it slow. That said, James was happy when he saw Caspar starting to attempt to write on his own, sounding words out based on the sounds of the letters he was learning. His spelling was off, often times, but it made James happy to see he was taking initiative.

Though the proudest Caspar ever seemed of any of his writing was when he wrote all three of their names. And then eventually added the names of the horses as well. "Penumbra", though, was a bit more challenging.

As the days went by James continued to push himself as much as Hild would allow him. He was determined to recover as quickly as possible and get his strength back, but he knew if he pushed it too hard, he'd only go backwards in his recovery.

Caspar continued to be quietly supportive, quick to help wherever needed. And Hild continued to be strict about her guidelines, but understanding as well.

However, though things were going well on the outside, James couldn't help but feel an anxious pressure building beneath the surface. It wasn't from them. It was from himself.

With each conversation, or little moment shared, it became harder and harder to imagine saying goodbye, and it scared him. It always went this way, even when he went out of his way to hide every part of himself. Even when he kept every card close, and every secret a secret. Even when he was someone else entirely. It was always hard.

And he'd made it worse for himself, telling them his real name. Telling them real stories.

There was a constant tug-of-war in his brain.

He shared too much, he shared too little. He cared too much, he cared too little.

He didn't know what it looked like to just be.

He "lived in the moment" in the sense that he appreciated the small things, but he could never seem to stop thinking about where everything was headed, and it always ended in uncertainty. The only thing he ever knew for certain was that he could never have a normal life as long as he was wanted, and that was what informed all of his decisions.

When the day finally came that he was cleared to ride again, after three (almost) agonizingly long weeks, James felt antsy.

Not just antsy to move away from their campsite where they'd been stuck for almost a month. But antsy... to cut ties.

He just didn't have the courage to do it.

It was morning when they started packing up all of their things, and clearing the camp. They cleaned clothes and blankets, cleaned themselves up, and took care of the horses as well. When things were dry they were tightly folded and packed away into saddle-bags until the only thing left was the remnants of the fire-pit they'd lived around for so long.

James stood beside Elliot, petting his neck as Caspar filled the fire pit to cover up the evidence of their presence. He looked over to Hild, who was standing beside Penumbra, looking a little more uncertain than usual.

He'd had her sit up in the saddle a few times, and she could do a few commands, but she was still very inexperienced. James was going to have Penumbra follow close between Elliot and Eir, though, with a lead rope attaching Elliot and Penumbra together.

It was just a precaution, but he knew horses could be flighty if their riders weren't confident or didn't know how to respond to sudden changes.

"Ready?" James asked, walking over with the lead to tie it to Penumbra's saddle.

Hild nodded, a bit stiffly, then squared her shoulders. "Yes," she answered firmly. She looked James over in her usual, searching manner. "Are you?"

He debated between sarcastic over-confidence and something more subtle.

"Oh, yeah," he said with a smile, pulling the knot tight. He looked back to Caspar.

"Almost done?" he called back to him.

Clapping the dirt from his hands, Caspar bounded over. "That's about everything, I think."

"Sounds good," James said. "Let's get moving, then."

And with that, he took in a deep breath, lifted his foot into the stirrup, and pulled himself up into the saddle.

It hurt, but once he was sitting still the pain started to subside a little to a bearable amount. He knew Hild was watching him closely, so he kept any and all tension in his toes, where no one could see them curling.

"You still remember how to get up?" James asked Hild with a slight tease in his voice.

With a huff, Hild mounted Penumbra's saddle and sat straight like a rod. "Of course."

James grinned as he rode up around to Penumbra's side, and watched as Caspar rode up around the other.

Hild shooed at Caspar and said disdainfully, "That's hardly necessary."

Caspar huffed a laugh. "Maybe I just want to be next to you instead of behind."

"Yeah, Hild," James said, pushing back a smile. "We like you. It's not personal."

Hild scoffed, but didn't argue any further.

The plan was still to make their way northward, but they wouldn't hit another town along the river for a few days. They were going to travel slow because of James - but if he had it his way, he wouldn't slow them down. Regardless, they would have some time to prepare before they re-entered society again, if only to pass through and restock on a few things they needed.

And it also meant they'd have time to change their appearances a little, in hopes that it would keep people from recognizing them enough that they could do what they needed to do and then leave.

James made the first move forward, and Caspar and Hild followed alongside him as they trekked down the river. For the first few minutes they rode in silence, as it seemed Hild was pretty focused on riding, but when it seemed she got more comfortable and they settled into a rhythm, she predictably started up conversation between the three of them.

"How long have you had Elliot as a companion?" Hild asked.

James glanced at her for a moment but turned his eyes back to the ground in front of them.

"Roughly seven years," James answered.

There were gaps in-between where he didn't have Elliot with him because he'd had him boarded somewhere safe, but he didn't feel that was pertinent to mention. He'd still been "his" horse at the time, even if they were apart.

"Lovely," she said. "Have you cared for any other animals before?"

"I've helped care for other's horses in various capacities, and I'm familiar with farm and barn animals," James said. "But Elliot is the only animal that's been my own."

"You seem to enjoy working closely with animals," she commented. "Have you always been around them?"

"Not always," James said. "What about you? Is this your first time really working with animals?"

Hild nodded. "Yes. We never had much time outside of the practice to devote to properly caring for animals, so I never had any growing up."

"Makes sense," James commented. "Did you ever want any pets, growing up?"

She hummed in thought. "Birds always fascinated me. For a time I kept asking for something small and fairly manageable like a parakeet. Watching the bird bath in the garden was as close as I could come to that, I suppose."

"Did you ever take any interest in griffins?" James asked.

Hild grinned. "Absolutely. Alas, that was never to be anything more than a distant, unattainable dream. The very notion terrified my father."

"Understandably so," James said. "Griffins are not the most tame creatures."

"Part of what makes being able to connect with one so exciting, though," Hild said.

"Fair," James mused. "It takes someone with a lot of experience... and a lot of courage."

"Have you seen any up close before?" Caspar piped up.

"Me?" James asked.

"Yeah."

"Well... yes, actually," James said. "It almost killed me but thankfully I got away at the time. I'd accidentally made camp in a griffin's nest in the middle of the night. Woke up to a very angry bird."

Of course, he was leaving out the fact that he was traveling with others at the time. He'd not been the main person fighting it off.

Caspar whistled lowly. "Wow."

"It was a little underwhelming, actually," James said lightly. "I thought they would be bigger."

"Really? How big was it, then?" Caspar asked.

"Well..." James thought out loud. "Say if we had two more horses walking alongside us, its wingspan would've reached that long. But its body was a little smaller than a horse. A little bigger than a leopard. But very dense, and muscular."

Caspar nodded. "A smaller size would make sense, actually, if it can sustain flight."

"True," James agreed.

"Have you found any other wild animals?" Caspar asked.

James looked up to the sky in thought. Not every creature he'd run into had been hostile, but many had been fearsome. There were the everyday creatures of the forest like deer, squirrels, and rabbits. But he'd run into wolves, and bears, and in the deserts, giant tarantulas and scorpions. The list went on.

"Plenty," he said. "I try my best to avoid them, though."

"What of you, Calder?" Hild said. "Any thrilling up-close encounters with such beasts on your travels?"

"Ah, no. Nothing as exciting as griffins or anything," Caspar said.

"What isn't exciting to you may be exciting to us," James offered. He was eager to get the attention off himself, anyway. "I'm sure you have stories to tell."

Exhaling slowly, Caspar looked off to the side in thought. "Let's see, then... A bear broke into my house once."

"How did it get in?" James asked.

"The front door."

Hild scoffed. "Did you let it in personally?"

Caspar huffed playfully. "No, I said it broke in. Admittedly, the house wasn't in...the best shape." He shrugged. "I think the smell of food or something grabbed its attention? And it wouldn't leave, so I had to chase it out."

"What were you doing when it barged in?" James asked.

"Uh, gathering fire wood."

"So you came home to a bear in your living room, huh," James mused.

"It definitely made for an interesting reception," Caspar agreed lightly.

"How did you manage to chase it out?" James asked, looking over to him with a raised brow.

"It wasn't easy." Caspar grinned. "I had to fight it with my bear hands."

James blinked, and huffed through his nose.

"Wow, Caspar," he muttered with a shake of his head.

Hild groaned and muttered, "Oh my gods."

"I walked into that one, didn't I?" James said to the sky.

Caspar's smile broadened. "It was right there, how could I not?"

"Did a bear really break into your house or was the whole story an elaborate setup just for that pun?" James asked.

Caspar huffed a laugh. "Yeah, a bear really did break into my house." He scratched the back of his neck. "I just scared it off with loud noises and other intimidation tactics."

"I would like to see you be loud," James commented quietly. "I feel like it'd be a rare occurence."

Caspar shrugged, and his voice softened as he replied, "Well, when a man has to defend his home, he'll do what he has to."

James hummed and nodded his head. It seemed there might've been more to the story, but he wasn't going to pry.

"Understandable."

He glanced at Caspar, but looked ahead again, keeping the map in the back of his mind. He had his own maps of the area, but he'd compared them to Alexander's, which seemed more updated in some places. It was nice to know where they were going.

"Were you out of the Isles at that point?" Hild asked.

Caspar briefly glanced her way. "Yes, I was."

It was a criminally vague answer. The kind James was used to giving. He wondered what Caspar was trying to avoid talking about, and though he was willing to let it slide, he had a feeling Hild wouldn't.

Hild gave him a flat look. "Might I inquire where this was, then?"

Straightening up, Caspar turned his eyes down to Eir's mane. "Yeah, the, um. The wilds."

James was familiar with the wilds. They were easy to get lost in. Sitting between Leterra and the Desert Sands, there was a stretch of land completely untouched by any form of civilization since the calamity.

It was dangerous, overgrown, and isolated. The only people going through there were normally on the sole main road, going straight to Leterra. People didn't stray from it to go exploring.

Well, most people.

Hild's brows raised, but her voice stayed even as she asked, "How long did you stay in the wilds?"

"A few years."

"Was the house there already?" Hild pressed on. "Or did you build it?"

Caspar shrugged. "I-- Yes, I built it. Hence the mediocre door."

James was hesitant to intervene. Hild and Caspar had history where he and Caspar didn't. He didn't know how much of her prying was warranted, so he kept his mouth shut.

Hild nodded. "I'm sure it was a fine door, especially given your limited resources." She sounded like she was satisified with what she got, and decided to let up. She glanced at James. "He often undersells his craftsmanship. His woodwork is quite professional."

"I'd believe it based on his woodcarving alone," James said.

Caspar quietly looked askance, then out over the river.

"Once he made us a set of all nearly identical chairs to go with an old dining table that we inherited," Hild went on. "The only difference between them was the floral patterns on the arches of the backs. The species of plants used corresponded their symbolic meanings to each family member."

James could imagine what that might've looked like, but he knew enough about Hild to know that those chairs, along with everything else in her family's home, had burned up. He knew it would be best to focus less on the chairs and the value they held.

"What was on your chair?" James asked.

Hild hummed in thought. "I think it was..."

"Laurel," Caspar supplied, just loud enough for James to hear. "For ambition. And victory."

James felt every muscle in his body tense and release within a span of a few seconds as the name pricked him unexpectedly.

Laurel. Larrel. Like the plant.

He pushed it far to the back of his mind.

"I can see how that's fitting," James said, easily conjuring a small, fake smile.

Hild nodded, a tad stiff. "Yes, it rather was."

Was. Apparently Caspar had struck a nerve with her as well.

Well, best to move on from it.

"If you were to make a chair for yourself," James offered Caspar. "What would you put on it?"

Caspar shook his head. "I don't, um..." He shrugged. "I'm not sure."

"Think on it," James said. "You can tell me later."

"I'll help you hold him to that," Hild said. "I'm curious what he'd come up with."

Caspar huffed through his nose, but nodded with a slight smile. "Yeah, fine, I'll give it some thought."

"Perfect," James said with a nod.

He was content to leave it at that.

He knew it was a harmless little 'homework assignment' but he was still curious. Caspar seemed slow to process things but when he did talk, it felt very intentional. He knew Caspar would actually think about it and pick something that held meaning to him.

James looked away from Hild and Caspar to stare off at the river when their conversation hit a lull.

He didn't want to invite attention, so he let himself get lost in staring at the river, caught up in how it pushed against them, going southward as they went northward.

It was nice to be riding again, even if he was still in pain.

"Hey, uh," Caspar started. He leaned forward a little to look around Hild at James. "How you holding up?"

James turned his head.

The honest answer was he was miserably sore and achey all over. And, of course, his side hurt the most.

"I'm alright," he said.

Caspar didn't look entirely convinced. "You sure? You can be honest."

"You don't believe me?" James countered, softening his expression and arching his eyebrows up and together.

"Well." Leaning back again, Caspar tilted his head a little. "I'm sure you think you're alright, all things considered."

James felt at a loss. Not matter how many times he told them he had a high pain tolerance, or that he had endured worse, or that he could genuinely put up with it, they always pushed back. They kept insisting that he wasn't alright, even though he clearly was. Otherwise, Hild wouldn't have let him on a horse in the first place.

"Just." Caspar glanced off, then back to James. "Just let us know when you need a break, okay?"

James let out a huff of air through his nose.

"Sure," he said.

And he'd killed the conversation. Again. But this time it didn't feel as natural as before. This silence felt more tense than the last. It was full of worry.

Worry for him.

He tried to sit up a little straighter in the saddle, to prove he was holding up just fine. It proved to be more uncomfortable than anticipated, but he wasn't going to make any sudden movements to change it. He knew he was being stubbornly petty about something that really was important, but it felt like there was something severed in his brain between emotions and logic.

Logically, he knew better. But something inside of him was winding up. An old bad habit. A survival skill and coping mechanism that was normally helpful but at this moment misplaced.

Spite. Spite to spit in the face of people who captured him even when he was in blinding pain. Spite that kept him running to escape when they were on his tail. Fear that kept him running days and days afterward. Fear that kept the mask on, so people wouldn't know how much pain he was in. So they wouldn't know how vulnerable he was.

He didn't know how to shut it off.

And as conversation died and silence hung between them, the sound of rushing water became the white noise in the background of his mind.

He kept one single focus in front of him.

Navigating, staying alert, and staying on guard.

Time seemed to pass faster as his mind continued to calculate where they were on the map according to their current pace and the placement of the sun in the sky.

Eventually, the sun hit high noon, and pierced through the trees above them with its warmth. Though the river itself was cool, the sun was beating down on them heavily.

As beads of sweat formed on his brow, James found himself finally starting to feel it.

Everything hurt. And now everything was sticking to him, too. Sweaty bandages over itchy, healing wounds.

He started slouching in his saddle, leaning forward. Before he said a word to the others he was already slowing Elliot down with a push of his legs and a tug of the reins. Penumbra noticed before Hild did, and followed Elliot's lead until they both came to a full stop. Caspar caught on as well.

"We should... stop for water," James said wearily.

"Sure thing," Caspar said, already dismounting and coming around to Elliot's side to offer help.

Maybe it was just the heat getting to him, but James felt a little nauseas once the world stopped moving. Wasn't it usually the other way around?

He slowly brought one leg over the saddle, and sat for a moment, staring at Caspar.

He really had no problems with Caspar, but he was so tired of being carried and led and held like a child. He was tired of being touched so much. Tired of being treated like he was fragile.

With reluctance, he took the hand Caspar offerred to him and used it to steady himself as he hopped down.

When he landed on his feet, a whole shiver ran through him, and he felt the ache only worsen.

He wasn't standing up straight. He wanted to try to, but his side was killing him. Keeping his posture correct while upright on a horse for hours took a level of stamina he hadn't exercised for weeks. Of course he was going to feel it, but the stickiness of the humidity and the warm air combined with all of the pain he was in...

He found himself leaning on Caspar. Caspar's brows furrowed a little, but he kept silent and steady by James.

"So I might've... overestimated myself a little," he said weakly.

He was just dehydrated. That was it.

He pulled away from Caspar and grabbed the canteen on Elliot's saddle, taking many long chugs until he felt some of his diziness begin to be mildly appeased.

It'd be better once it got back into his system.

He slung the canteen back over the horn of the saddle, leaning on Elliot instead as he focused on just breathing and letting his head clear a little.

He'd thought he was facing away from Caspar, but Caspar seemed to come out of nowhere.

"We can rest here a bit, then," Caspar said gently as he took a tentative step closer.

James waved him off as he pulled away from Elliot's side and grabbed Elliot's reins. He led Elliot to the nearest tree and quickly tied him up to it before he lowered himelf to sit down. He slid off his jacket on the ground beside him and leaned back at the base of the trunk.

With one more concerned glance his way, Caspar led Eir down to the water, idly commenting to her about the weather. Eir bobbed her head, seemingly in agreement with whatever it was he said, as she followed him closely.

James would need to take Elliot to the river at some point. Or have one of the others do it. He couldn't seem to manage to think too clearly, though, and he still felt nausea teasing in his throat.

Leaves crunched close by. Hild stopped a couple of paces away from him with her sweater folded over her arm, and her eyes searching him for a second.

"Before you berate me--"

"No, it's fine," she said coolly," I should've stopped us much sooner." She took a small step back. "Just rest."

James had been expecting an argument, but even when he wasn't met with one, he was too tired to give a response either way.

He nodded, not looking up to see her face or meet her eyes.

She was always observing him like she was looking for something, and he didn't want her to see what was behind his eyes.

After silently lingering for a moment, likely giving James another once-over, Hild gently patted Elliot in greeting. "Shall I take him for a quick drink?" she asked.

James nodded again.

"Thank you," he said, still not looking up at her.

"Of course." Untying Elliot, Hild quietly led the horse away.

Once left alone, James let the exhaustion show on his face, and he leaned heavily back on the tree. Pain alone could wind anyone, but the hours of riding were all starting to hit him at once. He closed his eyes for a moment as he held his side and tried to wait it out.

According to Calder's aged, slightly dented pocket watch, they broke camp at 7:47 AM and traveled until 12:03 PM. Hild shamefully lost track of time, and only just realized how long they rode when James finally slowed them for rest. She should have made them stop much sooner herself. She mentally berated herself for her negligence.

He very likely didn't want anyone poking at him right now. Which was fine, she didn't like to poke people more than necessary for her own comfort as well, and they reached a point where she could gradually back off more and more. She decided to examine him later.

Hild brought both Penumbra and Elliot to the river to refresh themselves. After carrying both riders and packs full of supplies for hours under a relentless sun, the horses deserved their rest.

While she combed her fingers through Penumbra's dark mane, Hild peeked over the horse's back to Caspar. He sat on the ground by the water with Eir resting alongside him. He and Eir seemed quite engaged in their own little conversation about the merits of fruit. Eir bobbed her head, and Caspar playfully imitated her.

Hild marveled momentarily at his youthfulness in the moment.

Elliot and Penumbra felt very content with where they were. Hild glanced back at James to make sure he hadn't keeled over in the past three minutes - he had not. With everything appearing to be in good order, she decided this was a good opportunity to address some other concerns that have lingered since her last visit to Mr. Wesley's general store.

Hild stepped around Elliot, politely requesting he not go anywhere without her knowing. Eir dropped her head on Caspar's lap, thus allowing Caspar to meet Hild's eyes as she approached.

Rubbing Eir's neck, Caspar asked softly, "Is he alright?" His eyes flicked in James's direction.

Hild nodded. She sat with her legs crossed by Eir's other side and folded her hands in her lap. "He'll be okay."

Nodding again, Caspar turned his focus back down to Eir.

Lately Hild had been making a conscious effort to tread lightly around potentially heavy topics. Though her rapport with James had improved significantly, it really was best to not push him. They hadn't known each other well or long enough for that quite yet.

Caspar, on the other hand, was quite familiar with Hild's blunt straightforwardness. He usually preferred straightforward himself; trying to gradually lead from small talk into deeper discussions tended to be tedious for him. That said, he was significantly gentler than Hild in handling more emotionally delicate situations.

This to say, Hild felt she was able to be more direct right now with just him.

"How long were you in the wilds?" she asked, quietly. She wasn't sure how much he would want aired out with James nearby.

Caspar glanced up at her for just a second. "I don't really have an exact number," he answered slowly.

"Estimate, then."

Leaning back on his hands, Caspar tilted his head back and exhaled. "Three, maybe four years."

That made up almost half of their time of separation.

"Completely alone?" she went on.

He just looked away without an answer. Well, that didn't help in the slightest. Hild leaned forward, tilting her head in an attempt to get a better view of his face. His jaw was tight and his expression slightly pinched, as if with pain.

"I hope it was a..." She pressed her lips into a hard line. "...fairly uneventful time for you." She eased back into a more relaxed position again. "You didn't run into any trouble there, right?"

There was a beat of silence. Caspar eventually shook his head and looked down to the water.

"It wasn't...far or hidden enough, I guess," he said thinly.

Caspar was found, then. By whom, Hild felt she might not get a straight answer for either, so she was going to have to let that drop for now. But she could only assume that it ended poorly, and thus hoped that he got away with as little injury as possible.

"Caspar," she said gently, and she waited for a moment until he finally met her gaze once again.

There was something buried in his eyes. Just below the surface. Hild wasn't truly sure what to make of it, to be honest. As far as she could understand it right now, she could only call it a terrible hurt.

She let her expression soften, and she continued, "If you ever need to talk about anything, you can."

Hild could handle solitude. James seemed to fare rather well with it too. Caspar, however, was not a loner by nature. He appreciated having space and time to collect himself, and preferred silence to bustle where he could get it, but he desperately needed a few good people around him to call close friends. It was almost paradoxical.

To say he valued meaningful connection would be an understatement; he treasured it.

Caspar swallowed thickly and nodded. Then he cleared his throat, turning his eyes back out to the river, and answered as evenly as he could, "I'll keep that in mind, thank you."

Hild nodded in return. "Good."

Standing up, she looked him over. She supposed offering support was a step in the right direction, but the conversation didn't quite accomplish what she'd hoped. Alas. She could try again another time if he doesn't open up first.

She checked the pocket watch that Caspar let her hold onto. Since keeping track of the exact time wasn't exactly on his agenda, Hild essentially usurped it for her own mental records.

12:29 PM.

The horses had their fill and grazed in what little shade they had here. Hild tethered Penumbra's and Elliot's reins to a tree for now. Travel could wait until the turn of the hour, possibly later. They could play it by ear. It really depended rather heavily on James's state; they needed to preserve all of the past few weeks' progress.

When Hild checked over her shoulder, Caspar had dropped down onto his back to stare at the sky. Eir still lied beside him with her head resting on his legs. Looking the other way, James still sat by the same tree the same way she left him.

Hild was tempted to check his wound sooner rather than later, just to be sure. She decided against it again. She checked the pocket watch.

12:32 PM.

With nothing else to do, Hild went to refill their canteens.

--------------------------------------------------

The dappled sunlight left white spots on the backs of his eyelids. Eir's head grew even heavier on his lap. She felt like she was drifting.

Slinging his arm over his eyes, Caspar let out a heavy sigh, though it did nothing for the hefty knot in his chest.

He wasn't entirely sure what he was trying to avoid here. He just wasn't ready to. Talk. To fully acknowledge what happened in the wilds.

And what good would it do for Hild and James to know?

Letting his arm drop back down and rest on Eir's shoulder, he stared dismally at the clouds.

He wanted to talk about it. About Eindride. Truly. The kid deserved to be remembered. He just wasn't sure how he could even broach the subject, though. He felt like he'd spilled enough about his own past already, and he didn't want to overwhelm anyone with his emotional baggage. Especially since it seemed like everyone was trying to avoid doing that.

Caspar folded his hands over his stomach.

They all seemed stuck in this strange place, wanting to open up and really deeply connect, but just missing that mark because it was better or safer or more comfortable.

They waited by the river for a little while longer before hitting the road again. Though he wanted to help, Caspar stepped back this time as James mounted Elliot's saddle again. He had to remind himself not to overstep.

James and Elliot led the way again. Penumbra followed Elliot, and Hild sometime into traveling again struck up light conversation once more. Caspar and Eir trailed behind them this time.

With the watch in hand, Hild ensured they took more frequent breaks for James's sake. Night came around, and they settled just enough to rest. Caspar and Hild watched in shifts.

The pattern repeated.

When she woke Caspar for his next night watch, Hild quietly complained a little about soreness from riding so much. He offered his sincere sympathies. It took a bit to adjust to, he agreed.

Day three rolled around during his shift. Caspar stopped pacing sometime into it, and opted to sit so that the three of them were set up in a small triangle. Daylight was breaking, which meant he could draw or even try writing if he wanted. He decided against it.

Make it last, he told himself, and keep your guard up.

The thinning woods around them didn't seem so threatening now that the sun was making an appearance.

James had mentioned the name of the next town over. Blitzmouth, if Caspar recalled correctly. Maybe he could find the name on of the hunter's maps while he waited.

He padded over to the horses to locate a map of their area, then settled again in their little triangle to decipher the letters. As quietly as he could, he sounded out the letters under his breath.

The letter 'A' was possibly his favorite. He rather liked how it looked like a small mountain peak with snow. And he liked snow. The smaller 'a' was just as pleasing, because it closely resembled an apple with a sideways pointing stem on the top. And 'apple' started with 'a', so it just seemed to really work out quite well.

James stirred before Hild got up, and he stayed quiet as he gave Caspar a small nod of greeting. He got to his feet and pulled his bag off of Elliot's saddle, inclining his head to the river, implying he would be back. With a small smile, Caspar nodded back in acknowledgement, and looked back down to the map.

He believed he found the river that they had been following so closely, which meant he maybe had the map with the town's name on it. He did see a couple of 'b's around.

Aha! 'Blit'. He found 'Blit'.

After maybe twenty minutes of just finding 'Blit', Caspar heard footsteps returning from the river. He glanced up, then did a double take. He opened his mouth to say something, but James held a finger up to his lips as he returned. Caspar snapped his mouth shut again.

James had rather expertly cut his hair, with the sides shorn shorter than on top, and shaved. Somewhat. Halfway, maybe. Enough to leave mutton chops.

Biting back a smile, Caspar quietly watched as James snuck up to Hild on perfectly light feet and knelt down beside her. Hild stirred just a little, and slowly turned from her side onto her back.

"Hey, Hild," James said, somehow keeping a straight face as he looked down at her. "Good morning."

She rubbed the sleep from her eyes. "Mr. Hawke," she mumbled, "I hope you haven't been--"

Her greeting hung incomplete, the words dying in an instant. With a wide, positively delighted smile, she jolted upright to get an even closer look. "Oh my--" She covered a quiet gasp with both hands and whispered, "You didn't."

James finally broke into a smile and let out a sincerely amused laugh as he raised his eyebrows and shrugged, almost looking smug.

"Enjoy it now because it's temporary," he said.

Dropping her hands down to her lap, Hild guffawed, eyes twinkling. "I certainly hope so!"

James's face lit up with the brightest, most genuine toothy smile as he leaned back a little, watching Hild. She tried hiding her smile behind her hand again as she fought to compose herself.

"I'm sorry," she eventually said, still giggling, "it looks fine. Perhaps you should consider keeping them."

"Oh, really?" James asked. "Would you ever take me seriously again?"

"Oh, of course," she countered, nodding as she tried to school her features. "Very seriously."

James's smile disappeared as well as he suddenly became very serious and nodded, lifting a hand to hold his chin. He looked to Caspar.

"What do you think?" he asked. "Should I keep them?"

Not at all trying to hide his own amusement anymore, Caspar could only shrug, momentarily at a loss for words himself. He finally managed to reply, "Only if you name them."

Hild laughed again, her shoulders shaking. She gave James's shoulder a small nudge. "Okay, no, please! They're too much," she wheezed, "go shave."

James was just watching Hild lose it as his smile returned to his face.

"I don't know," James said. "I'm kind of enjoying this."

She bit her lip to calm herself again, but her smile persisted. "No, but I need to be able to take you seriously in order for you to take me seriously. It's a whole chain of reactions, you see."

"I'm thinking of naming them Jim and Jam. Do you think that's too on the nose?" James said instead.

Still grinning, Hild shooed at him with both hands. "Gods, no! Do not name them!"

James snickered, backing up a step.

"Okay, okay!" he said as he got to his feet. He looked between Caspar and Hild and did a grandiose flourish of his hands to his face. "Get one last good look, then. When I return, I'll be a clean-faced man."

"Yes," Hild said with a hummed laugh, "I shall immortalize this moment in my mind."

Caspar nodded. "Nice knowing you, Jim and Jam."

"A short life, but they were loved while they lasted," James said with dramatized sobriety, bowing his head.

"Dearly loved," Hild agreed with a small pout.

James stood still for a moment with a over-dramatic frown, and then turned on his heel.

"Alright, see you two in a bit," he said, suddenly chipper as he marched back towards the river.

The two watched him go. Hild just uttered, "Oh my gods," in disbelief as she stood and brushed herself off. Caspar nodded to himself as he decided that, yes, he was definitely going to make record of Jim and Jam with a new sketch.

James did return shortly, clean-shaven as promised. Lobbing off the beard and mustache shaved a few years off his appearance.

"It was a lovely funeral," James said, shooting them a smile, revealing a dimple in each cheek - Caspar took note to adjust the portrait later. "You should've been there."

As she folded her blanket, Hild snorted. "Alas, we were not invited."

"They deserved only the best," Caspar replied.

Pushing himself to his feet, he unfolded the map again and took a moment to find 'Blit' again. 'Blitzm--' He furrowed his brows as he studied the 'ou'. Letters were decidedly strange sometimes, even with a fair warning.

"Blitzm..." he mumbled. "Blitzm-ow-th?"

James came up alongside him, looking over his shoulder at the map.

"Yes, that's very good," James said. "O and U next to each other can make the 'ow' sound. Like in 'shout' or 'sprout.' It's the same in the word 'mouth.'"

Caspar nodded and asked curiously, "And why do we do that? Why not just use 'O' and 'W'?"

"Unfortunately," James said. "There really is no clear answer. Words just kind of ended up that way over time."

"Huh." So it just kind of. Happened. Nice.

He folded the map and offered it to James. James pocketed it away for the time being and then went up to Elliot, slinging his bag back onto the saddle. Everyone packed up fairly quickly, and the rode out for Blitzmouth.

While Eir trod along behind Elliot and Penumbra, Caspar stole a few moments on the way to quickly jot down James with mutton chops. And made small notes of 'Jim' and 'Jam' on either side of his face.

The sun grew very warm very fast, and the air was sticky again. Caspar distantly recalled one of the Ashlunds mentioning that warmer temperatures promoted better healing, so he supposed this was fine.

Herron was often much colder. The island was settled by a cold current too, so the ocean spray was doubly chilling. And the wilds were much more moderate in the summer, and would get slammed by true winters. He was far more accustomed to the cold, and found this sticky heat sapping his energy a little too quickly for his liking.

Blitzmouth was not too far off. They hit the edge of town in under an hour. The buildings weren't as varied in color as Needle Point, though a lot of the architecture was the same. As they ventured deeper into the town, a few of the larger buildings took on more complex shapes, and ornate woodworking around doors and windows, and under overhangs that came up to point. The road remained the same; dirt and slightly pebbly, though far more even from more frequent foot traffic.

They had taken inventory before they set out, so they knew what supplies they needed and where about they should find them. After gleaning the general layout and certain landmarks in town for a little, they categorized the supplies and divvied them up between the three of them for retrieving:

Hild set off for medical supplies. She opted to just lead Penumbra on foot.

James went to restock them on food and things for the horses.

Caspar was sent to grab hygiene products, and not without a quick jab from Hild about 'horrid body odors' and how he and James in particular could really use some soap.

Before stepping into shop, he gave himself a quick, self-conscious sniff. Yeah, she was probably right, actually.

The general store was. A tad overwhelming, actually. It was larger than the one in Needle Point. The dense shelves were fully stocked with sewing supplies, fabrics, jarred and canned foods, and dishes. The long counters were practically covered with knick-knacks, small packaged foods, and weighing scales.

After taking a moment to reorient himself, he wandered in and scanned the shelves. He eventually found the soap bars, wrapped in brown paper. The gentleman behind the counter advertised them as scented. Caspar asked for the plainest, least-potentially-offending-scented soaps, so the gentleman plucked some of the unscented ones from the shelf.

Hild had given him extra cash with the request of two thread spools, one black and one white, and told him to grab anything extra that may have 'struck his fancy', as she put it.

A section of the back wall had on display some farming equipment and other iron tools. Once the threads were set by the soaps on the counter, Caspar wandered to the back and looked over their selection of axes. A few of them had short handles. Those would be nice and light for travel, but Caspar always found such short axes awkward to handle when splitting wood.

Leaning against the back wall were the longer handled axes. The handles were mostly straight. He personally preferred the ones with subtle arches at the shoulder, belly, and knob of the handle for no real reason other than that they just looked nice. He asked the gentleman behind the counter about the one with red, lacquered wood. That costed more, so he opted for one with the same size and shape, just less treated wood.

He paid for the items, thanked the gentleman, and stepped out.

They agreed to meet up again in the center of town by the stone well. The road was cleaned up and paved with the same grey stones, spiraling out from the well and toward the buildings around them. There were some wooden benches arranged radially where townsfolk gathered in handfuls and talked about things such as the weather and local news and a dash of town politics.

Caspar was tempted to settle on one of the benches to draw the scene around them, but they didn't have the luxury of lingering among people.

Hild and James were already together, standing on the edge of the scene. Caspar and Eir walked the large circle to them, and handed Hild her threads.

"Thank you, kind sir," she chirped.

"Got everything?" James asked, already mounting up on Elliot.

Hild looked Caspar over, and her eyes settled on the axe hanging at his hip with a hint of a smile. "It seems so. Plus some." With a polite greeting to Penumbra, she also climbed up onto the saddle. "This was a very successful venture," she declared.

When Caspar made to follow suit, Eir side-stepped away. With a small, confused frown, he stepped closer again. She spun around, flicking her tail in his face. He spat and swatted her hair away. With an amused bob of her head, Eir spun back the other way and lightly hip checked him.

"Well, you're in a good mood," he mumbled, but huffed a laugh and scratched her neck affectionately. Looking quite pleased, Eir settled and allowed him to mount. Caspar gestured to James and said, "Lead the way."

James nodded and rode out, weaving past a group of people in the walkway. Northward with them.

The bustling town gradually thinned as they made their way out again. The store fronts gave way to houses. Hild struck up conversation by this point. Caspar sat back, happy to just listen as she and James had their usual light back-and-forth.

While Hild detailed a tailor shop window she passed in town to the Blitzmouth doctor, something in James's posture shifted. Though it was subtle, something had caught his eye, and just for a moment, his shoulders ticked up in a tense line. But the tension quickly disappeared, as if on command, and he turned back to Hild with a faint smile. Caspar made a mental note to ask later.

The houses gave way to nature, and the dirt road turned grassy and uneven once more. Caspar liked a place teeming with life as much as the next person (who was conveniently Hild for the sake of hypotheticals, since she loved cities), but he mostly preferred the gentle sounds of the wild around him.

They went on at an even, fairly relaxed pace, and eventually took a break in the shade of some trees. The road was still in view from where they settled, and the river a small distance away in the opposite direction.

While Hild brushed down Penumbra, Caspar set up Eir by Elliot and wandered over to James. This was as good a time as any to check on his state and what exactly he saw in Blitzmouth.

"Hey, um." Caspar tucked his hands in his jacket pockets. "How's the...?" He gestured to James's side.

James raised his eyebrows a tad, but otherwise seemed nonplussed.

"Much better today," he said, putting his hands in his pockets as well. He glanced back at Hild, where the horses were tied up and resting. "Walk with me to the river?"

Oh. They were stepping away now. After casting a quick look her way over his shoulder as well, he nodded. "Sure." Maybe this had to do with Blitzmouth.

James waved to Hild. "We'll be back," he said, patting the canteen on his hip.

"Don't fall in," she called back with a teasing smile.

"I'll do my bes--" James said as he walked backward for a moment, and then almost tripped. He caught himself, but from the quick little grin on his face, it looked like it had been intentional.

Caspar's hands shot forward a little, on instinct.

James shot Hild a smile and then turned around, casting Caspar a quick look as if to tell him he was fine. Caspar gave him a nod and an embarrassed smile, because of course James was fine. Shoving his hands back in his pockets, he followed James down to the water's edge.

James knelt down beside the bubbling water, unscrewing his canteen before he dipped it into the water. Caspar stood awkwardly as he watched, then decided to sit down in the grass beside him.

"Since you've been on the run," James said suddenly, not looking at him while he watched his canteen fill up, "have you made any enemies? Ones who'd still be looking for you after all this time?"

That. Was a very specific question, and it caught him off guard. But it was completely fair, and he was ready to be honest. He just needed to find the words.

Shifting to sit more comfortably, because this may take a quick moment, Caspar rested his arms on his slightly drawn knees and stared out to the other side of the river. "I, uh..." He pursed his lips as he debated how much information to give upfront, and if he even could remember everything in full detail.

He settled for a small, awkward, "Yesh."

James, still not looking Caspar's way, calmly pulled his canteen out of the water and screwed the lid shut.

"Is it a mage hunter who's after you?" James asked. "Bounty hunter?"

"There's been a nice mix of both, I guess," Caspar said with forced brevity.

"Who's been the most persistent, you'd say?" James asked, shifting from his squat by the river to sit down on the dirt.

Most hunters, after either mages or general bounties, never deemed him worth following as a mage sympathizer. He was essentially a dead man walking at this point, nothing very high profile. Hunters mostly figured if they didn't manage to kill him, someone else eventually would.

The only hunter persistent enough to track him way into the wilds in the first place was dead.

Caspar exhaled slowly. "I don't think..."

That hunter in particular, Manning, would now be dead for two years. That was plenty of time for people to start realizing he wasn't coming back, to send a search party, to investigate. Because a man of his standing wouldn't disappear unnoticed. He came from a family that built their wealth and reputation on the persecution of mages.

And Manning was every bit like his family before him: single-minded, and vindictive. Single-minded vindictiveness, if you will.

Caspar eventually nodded and answered lowly, "Ivar."

"Surname?" James asked.

"Hansen."

James slung his canteen back over his shoulder, adjusting the strap. He looped his thumb into it as he looked out at the river.

"The Hansens. The head of the guild headquarters in the Isles," he mused out loud. "Big family."

"Big business," Caspar agreed.

"I've met Ivar," James said faintly. "He's a charismatic man. It was..."

Caspar's brows raised at this, and he cast him a curious look. He wondered under what circumstances James would have meet Ivar face-to-face, then worried what Ivar knew about James.

James trailed off, glancing at Caspar with his tongue in his cheek. He ran it over his teeth and frowned, looking back off to the river, as if deciding not to continue.

"Why would he still be chasing you seven years later?" James asked instead.

Ah. That was. Also an honest question.

"I evaded his son, Manning," Caspar answered carefully. "The Hansens are all. Very dogged. Prideful. Ivar likely wants to finish what Manning started."

James looked at Caspar out of the corner of his eyes, and though his expression was entirely unreadable, his eyes were piercing.

"Of what I know of the Hansens, they are a proud family. I don't know Ivar to be the type to take matters into his own hands when his son's reputation is at stake. Why is Manning not finishing it himself?" James asked.

Caspar wrung his hands, then raked them through his hair.

So he was going to have to tell him sooner rather than later. Good, good. This was fine. Sooner was better.

He kept his head tucked between his arms for a moment and screwed his eyes shut.

There was no justifying taking the life of another person. Gods knew he's tried, to himself more than anyone. Even if the death of the one spared others their lives. Even if it was out of self defense. Even if that life was snuffed out with just rage and despair for the innocent that they killed in the first place.

He could never wash the black from his hands, never fully.

Caspar couldn't even remember how he did it. It was a blur, a frenzied fight for survival by then. He just remembered that Manning was dead by the end of it.

He was trembling all over, and pain shot up from his locked up shoulder to his head. He couldn't recall when that started. Lifting his head, he stared through the river.

"I..."

Caspar felt a hand on his shoulder. He sniffed loudly and looked away. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand, and realized that tears had trailed down to the tip. He didn't remember that starting, either.

James came closer and put his arm around Caspar's shoulders, firm, but gentle.

"He's dead," James said quietly, his voice solemn. "Isn't he?"

Caspar managed a slight nod and bit out, "I killed him."

"I know," James said in a whisper, his voice calm and sober. "I'm sorry for digging."

Shaking his head, Caspar murmured, "You deserve to know. S'fine."

"I don't know that I deserve much of anything," James said softly. "But thank you for being open."

Silence settled heavily around them. Caspar pressed his eyes shut again. Tears ran hot down his face, and he scrubbed them away with his hands. James's arm around him kept him anchored in the present, and he was able to compose himself again.

He might need to wash this off before facing Hild again, but he couldn't find the will to move yet.

Eventually, James broke the silence.

"When we were leaving Blitzmouth," James said quietly. "Someone recognized you. I don't think they were a hunter. They didn't seem like one. But they may have sent word to Ivar. It doesn't sound like anyone else would be keeping an out for you this far from the Isles after all these years."

He paused, letting out a heavy sigh.

"We'll just have to keep our eyes open, like we have been," James said, giving Caspar's back a pat as he started to pull his arm away, from one shoulder to the other. "But I do think we should let Hild know we have another tail to worry about. We don't have to mention the Hansens. Just that I saw someone in Blitzmouth. If you want, I could tell her they recognized me instead. I don't think it'd make much difference. A hunter is a hunter."

"No, it's--" Caspar exhaled through his nose. "It's okay. We shouldn't lie to her. And she should know who to look out for."

James gave Caspar's other shoulder one last firm pat before he pulled his hand away, setting it in his lap.

"Would you like me to tell her or do you want to?" James asked softly.

Caspar finally faced James again. He wasn't sure what he was expecting to find. The deep compassion in his eyes shocked him, though, and he felt utterly unworthy of it.

"I'll tell her," he answered, managing to keep his voice steady, and he mustered a weak smile. "Thanks."

James bowed his head, and slowly got to his feet.

"Do you need a moment?" James asked. "I'm sure Hild is wondering what's keeping us so long, so I do want to return to her. In case she's worried."

"Yeah, of course," Caspar said, "you go. I'm--" He wasn't fine, but he supposed he had to be. "I'm good."

"Take as long as you need," James said gently. "We'll wait for you."

Caspar nodded his thanks. And at that, James turned and walked off, away from the river.

Letting out a breath, Caspar hid his face in his hands for a moment, then let his hands drop again. Then he shifted so he sat on his knees and, tossing his gloves aside, splashed the river water on his face. It cooled him down, from the relentless sun, and he washed until he finally felt more presentable. Mostly.

Hild would likely contest his overall presentability, actually.

He stared down at the water for a quiet moment, trying to steel himself for the storm ahead.

Ivar had to be close if he had eyes on them. The world was wide, and they could evade him if they really tried, but this was far more than a matter of pride now. He won't be shaken so easily.

For a second time, Caspar considered meeting death head-on by himself to spare James, and now Hild.

His first challenge for now, though, was filling Hild in on all of this.

He tugged his gloves back on, and tried rolling his right shoulder. Pain seared white behind his eyes, and he bit back a curse. Ow, nope. Still not cooperating. He'll just. Not do anything with his right arm. Yes, that would work.

At last, he gathered enough energy to stand, and headed back to the group before he could talk himself out of it. As he went, he mentally practiced ways to lead into the conversation, though the chances of pulling off a smooth transition from possibly the weather to Ivar Hansen were slim at best.

Caspar's confession weighed heavy on the back of James's mind as he walked back to Hild but with only a few yards of travel by himself before he met her, he took that time to collect himself.

He knew Caspar needed some time to collect himself and his thoughts, and it would likely take time to draw up the courage and the words to say. Expressing it all over again in such a short time would be emotionally tiring.

James decided it was best not to let on that they'd had a conversation. Caspar said he wanted to take it, so James was going to let him take the lead.

Until then, he'd act normal.

With a small hop, he pushed himself forward, spotting the shapes of the three horses through the trees before he saw Hild's curly mane next to Penumbra.

He summoned a grin as he walked up to her, on the other side of Penumbra.

"Guess who didn't fall into the river?" he asked, leaning to the side, looking past Penumbra's face to Hild.

Cracking a slight grin, Hild just said, "Took you long enough to refill." Her question of 'why' hung unspoken in the air.

"I had to relieve myself, if you must know," James said a shrug.

"Yes, thank you," she muttered, "I regret ever wondering now." She glanced back to where Caspar still lingered. "And he needed to be there for that?"

"Are you sure you want to know?" James asked, raising a teasing brow.

Pursing her lips, Hild gave him a flat look and let the subject drop.

"So I was thinking about hair," James interjected suddenly as he stood up straight and looked over to Hild. "Specifically, cutting yours."

Hild straightened as well. "And?"

"I was thinking we could do it today, if you have no reservations otherwise," James proposed. "We were just in a town, I think it'd be wise if the two of you switched things up a little too."

Her lips quirked in a very slight grin, but her eyes sparked with excitement. "I'm open to that." Her grin broadened a little, and she nodded in Caspar's direction. "I can't say the same for him, though."

James looked off towards the direction of the river.

After their conversation, he had a feeling Caspar would be easier to persuade about something so small.

"I think he'll cooperate with me," James said with a slight smirk.

Hild huffed with some irritation as she turned her attention back to Penumbra. "Of course he would."

"It's not my fault that I have this irresistable charm," James said with a joking smile as he rested a hand on his chest.

"Oh gods," Hild muttered, but her amusement showed through in her smile.

Caspar came back, taking long, determined strides. Before he could attempt to greet them, Hild said overly pleasantly, "Good of you to join us, Calder. We were just making plans."

He looked to James, brows furrowed in confusion. "What kind of plans?"

James made a snipping motion with his fingers, imitating scissors, and gestured to Hild's hair, then Caspar's.

"Oh," was all Caspar said at first. He blinked. "That. Would be smart, I suppose."

Hild cast James a quick, put-off look. James only shrugged slightly in response in defense with a tiny, knowing smile. But his smile quickly faded.

He knew that Caspar needed space to say what needed to be said. He turned to Caspar expectantly, not saying anything more. Drawing his lips into a thin line, Caspar nodded.

"Hey, uh, Hild," he started, a little stiff, "can we..." He awkwardly tapped his hand on his thigh. "Can we talk for a moment?"

Turning away from Penumbra, Hild silently scrutinized him. "Of course," she answered evenly, folding her hands in front.

Ducking his head and scratching at his hairline, Caspar shuffled in place a little. Then he straightened again to meet her searching gaze and said slowly, "So, um. Back in town, I was spotted by someone. As we were leaving--"

Hild straightened as well, shoulders tensing. "What? By whom?"

"He's getting there," James interrupted softly, shooting Hild a pointed look to be patient.

Giving James an appreciative smile, Caspar waved him down to let him know it was fine. "I'm pretty sure it was someone connected to Hansen."

Hansen. Just Hansen. So Hild was familiar enough with Caspar's situation that Caspar didn't feel the need to use first names to specify which one. It was entirely possible - and very likely - that the Hansens - or Manning Hansen in particular - was the man who'd not just come after Caspar, but the Ashlund family as well. James wouldn't be surprised if it was Manning who had started the fire to her family home.

Hild nodded. Her whole frame was rigid, and they could hear her mind running miles a minute with all sorts of other questions, but she stayed quiet. Caspar looked askance, absently rubbing his right shoulder. "I, um. I'm not entirely sure what this means for us, other than being even more careful from here on out," he said quietly. "I mostly just wanted to let you know."

She tilted her head and scanned his face. "Thank you," she said, "I appreciate the heads up."

Caspar nodded. "Yup."

The conversation petered out.

Then James clapped his hands together. Caspar jumped slightly, and Hild only turned her head toward him.

"Well. I think this has been a productive conversation," James said with his hands clasped in front of him. "We continue to be careful, we continue to keep an eye out, we do the best we can, and now I get to cut hair. Who's first?"

Hild nodded. "Yes, very productive. Caspar came to inform me, and now I am informed. I suppose I can go first." She lightly bumped her shoulder to Caspar's elbow. "You should probably shave in the meantime."

Caspar didn't look entirely thrilled by the prospect, but he didn't argue.

"Do you need a razor?" James asked. "I also grabbed a small mirror while we were out."

He looked to Hild, and added: "With my own money."

"Of course," she replied simply.

Caspar set his hands on his hips. "Yeah," he mumbled, "I don't have any of those things, so. Yes, I suppose I'll need to borrow yours."

"Wonderful," James said, turning towards Elliot, where he started to dig into his saddle bag. It was just a moment of searching before he pulled out a small hand-held mirror, a straight-cut razor like the kinds he might see at the barber, and a small bottle of what looked to be after-shave lotion.

He turned around and offered them to Caspar.

"I can help when I'm done with Hild if you need," James offered.

With a lackluster smile and nod, Caspar accepted the tools. "I should be alright, thanks. If I do poorly, though, then by all means step in."

"We'll see how you do," James said with a small grin as he turned back to his bag, this time pulling out a pair of scissors.

"Where do you want to sit for this?" James asked to Hild.

Hild's posture relaxed. "Anywhere that's comfortable for you."

James pointed to a patch of grass under the trees nearby and started walking. Hild followed close behind, wishing Caspar good luck as they went. Caspar didn't seem to take much heart in it, but thanked her anyway.

James sat down at the foot of a tree and Hild followed soon after, settling down in front of him with her legs folded underneath her.

"It's a shame I don't have a sheet to throw over you," James hummed. "Though I suppose I could grab a blanket, because there's going to be a lot of hair."

Hild hummed a laugh. "There's always a lot of hair."

"You know what, wait here a second but take off your jacket so your neck is clear," James said as he got to his feet and grabbed Hild's blanket off of Penumbra. He felt she'd have less complaints about her own being used, and personally, he didn't want to find a bunch of hair on his own later on.

He hurried back with the blanket and brought it over Hild's head, bringing it around her shoulders until they were all covered.

"I know it's hot out, but you win some and lose some," he muttered as he started to pull her hair out from under the blanket and pull it back towards him, planning out the cut in his head.

"A coat for a blanket is a fairly even exchange," she mused, "not much loss or gain here."

"True," James hummed as he played with Hild's hair for a moment. "Have you ever had it short before?"

"No," she answered simply, then went on thoughtfully, "Though, thinking back, Viktor did cut some of my hair once while I was asleep. That was probably the shortest it ever got."

"I'm just thinking that your curls might get curlier when I take off length," James said. "It'll probably spring up a bit, I'm just not sure how much."

"I consider myself warned," she said lightly. "Do as you will. I trust your judgement."

James felt like that was a lot of trust. No pressure or anything.

"It can always grow back, too," she added, trying to sound reassuring, "so any potential mistakes won't be permanent."

James took in a slow breath, nodding to himself. He'd start with taking a little bit off. You could always cut more but could never bring hair back.

Well, here went nothing.

He started in the back, snipping off a few inches on the ends. There were some dead ends there that needed to go anyway.

He found himself quickly starting to get into a focused rhythm as he moved around her head, snipping little by little, comparing lengths of curls in her hair.

"Did you like being back in civilization for a minute?" James decided to ask, picking up conversation.

"Though it was a short trip, it was refreshing, yes," she answered. "I would've liked to linger a while, but I have accepted my current lot and am ready for another extended period of wilderness wandering."

"Well, at least you're not in it alone," James said.

Hild hummed warmly. "Yes, that has been a comfort."

"I'm sure we're not the best company," James joked lightly. "But hopefully we suffice."

"You've done well for company in a pinch," she teased.

"I suppose you're satisfactory as well," James teased in return. "Minor insults notwithstanding."

Hild laughed. "You'll be tougher for it."

"Oh, for sure," James said sarcastically. "Because I was such a softie before."

"Dreadfully so." There was a persisting smile in her voice.

"I'm polite to you once and you'll never forget it, huh?" James said, grinning, scooting around her side to better see the hair over her shoulder. "Ruined my whole mean-mug reputation when I asked you about reading."

She pursed her lips as she nodded very slightly. "Very revealing indeed."

"I suppose if I kept the whole act up then," James said, coming around to face her so he could see how the hair was falling around her face as he cut it. "We might be in a very different situation now. One that didn't lead to a haircut."

"Probable," she agreed, meeting his eyes with a small grin, "however, far less enjoyable."

James reciprocated the grin but quickly looked away as he focused on her hair. He let a small lull pass as he trimmed the strands around her face, snipping down the sides to layer them a bit.

"I know I've said it before," James said as he circled around Hild again to her other shoulder. "But I really am grateful for everything you gave up to help us. I know that you wanted to, but I'm also aware that it was no small thing. You've been a great help to both of us. I wouldn't still be here if it weren't for you, and I know that Caspar doesn't always let on how happy he is that you're around. And -- well, regardless of what skills you have to offer..."

James paused, flicking his eyes to catch her even expression as she listened closely.

"It's just good to have you here. You really are good company," he said.

He could've said more, but he decided to leave it at that for the moment. Hild didn't seem to respond well to too much praise at once, even though she did seem to appreciate it.

She stayed quiet, whether to process or to form a response, it was hard to say. There was no change in expression or posture. James wasn't in a hurry to fill the silence, and he waited. Eventually she placed her hand on his wrist, delicately lowering the scissors, and turned to meet his eyes again.

"It has been a true pleasure to help you both," she said, smiling softly, "and I deeply value your company as well." She inclined her head. "Thank you."

James stared at her blankly for a moment.

He wasn't sure what he expected, but it wasn't that.

Momentarily caught off-guard, James found himself quickly scrambling in his mind to respond before it got awkward. He offered a small smile in return and gently pulled his hand away from hers.

"You're welcome," he said simply.

With another nod, Hild looked forward again as she folded her hands on her lap. She seemed content to leave it at that.

James released a slow, silent breath when she looked away, and returned to hair cutting.

He tried to think of something else. Something else to say after that.

"You know," he started. "It's a shame we didn't have more time to prepare. You could've brought some books from your home. I might've been able to use them to help Caspar read further down the line."

Hild hummed. "A pity, yes. Some reading materials would have helped everyone pass the time." A pause. "How do you think he's doing, by the way? I've never seen him shave before, so I'm not entirely sure he's ever done it."

James sighed and shook his head.

"I just hope he hasn't gotten too over-confident," James said. "If he doesn't know what he's doing I hope he just decides to wait. That's better than getting nicks all over your face."

"I frankly can't imagine him over-confident," she said quietly.

"I'd definitely like to see it some day," James said. "Given the right context."

"That would be a sight," she agreed.

"Maybe I should've just told him to wait..." James hummed, trailing off as he started trimming some curls in the back, adding some layering.

"Your roots are starting to grow in," he commented idly. "A very nice shade of brown."

"Ah, splendid," she replied, touching the top of her head as though she could possibly feel the color. "I can't wait to completely grow out this blonde-like shade. It never looked right."

"I think your natural hair color will definitely suit you better," James said.

He opened his mouth to say more, but decided against it. The last time he commented on her appearance, it didn't seem to go well.

"You know, all of my brothers have nearly the same hair type," she said conversationally.

"Is that so?" James asked.

"It suited Viktor," she went on. "A wild young man with the mane to match. He liked to grow it out, too. Ulf always kept his hair short, so it coiled tightly to his scalp. Lyall despised the texture, and went great lengths to tame it." She hummed. "I think we all got it from our mother."

"Was her hair much like yours?" James asked.

"Yes. Longer and even curlier, if you can imagine it." Her voice was warm. "She would let me put small braids and beads or flowers in her hair while she read with a cup of chamomile tea."

"Now I'm just imagining a little you instead," James said with a grin.

She huffed playfully. "Desist, immediately."

"As if you could control my imagination," James scoffed, still grinning.

Hild scoffed as well, louder. "I politely request that you divert your train of thought, then."

"Ohhh, okay, okay," James said. "Well if you put it that way, then I have to. I guess I'll think about an older Hild, reading books and drinking tea."

"Yes, better," she chirped.

In truth, though, he was trying to imagine what her mother might've looked like. He wondered if she shared Hild's facial features, or if Hild got some of those from her father. He supposed he'd never really know, though. That would have to all be left up to the imagination, for him.

He leaned back for a moment, looking over Hild's head, and he leaned around both sides of her head, taking in the whole haircut. He'd taken it up several inches until it was just at her shoulders, and though her hair would spring up some after a wash, it seemed like it was already starting to a little, being less weighed down. He hummed, coming around to Hild's face again, where he started tweaking a few of the layers with a few snips here and there so that the curls turned in and out in the right places.

Hild watched him expectantly. "The verdict?"

James pulled away, and tapped the closed scissors against his chin in thought.

"Stand up and turn slowly for me," he said.

"Very well." Taking the blanket by the corners, she shook it out as she rose to her feet. She bundled it, set it aside, and turned slowly in place as instructed.

"Ah-- just a moment," James said, lifting a hand to stop her in her turn. He cut the end of a rogue curl and then indicated for her to keep spinning with a twirl of his finger. With a small incline of her head, she finshed the turn.

James took a step back and folded his arms.

He was pretty proud of himself, actually. He was used to cutting his own hair, but it was different working on other people's heads, and it'd been a minute. A smile grew on his face when Hild turned back around to face him.

"I think it really fits you," he said.

Smiling back a little, she bowed at the waist. "Why, thank you." She straightened. "I'll have to steal the mirror just to see for myself, but I'm sure it looks professionally done."

James spun the scissors between his fingers.

"Save the compliments for when you see it yourself," he said. He then turned his head to search among the trees for where Caspar had disappeared off to. As it turned out, he hadn't disappeared at all. He was standing by Eir, with his back to them.

He nodded with his head for Hild to follow, and quickly snatched her blanket off the ground for her, shaking it out again once more for good measure. Draping her coat over her arm, she walked alongside him back to Caspar and the horses.

"Cas, how's the shaving going?" James asked as they came up behind him.

Still petting Eir, Caspar looked at them over his shoulder. "Uh, finished."

Pausing, Hild crossed her arms. "I hardly recognize you, Calder," she eventually said with a teasing smile.

Caspar put his hands on his hips as he turned to fully face them. "Yeah, har har. You look nice, too."

James couldn't help but smile at the transformation. As it turned out, Caspar really did have a face under all that beard, and his jawline had softened without all the hair. It looked like he'd nicked his chin, but just a little. It'd heal just fine.

"Well, that's the whole point, Hild," James said matter-of-factly. "Now no one will recognize him."

"Just chop off some of the mop, then he'll be a completely different person," Hild said.

James tilted his head to the side, looking at said mop.

"You still have that mirror, Cas?" James asked.

"Oh, yeah. Here." Caspar searched his coat pockets, then handed it back to James once he found it.

James took the mirror and turned it to Hild, holding it steady for her to look. She held the edge of the glass with her finger tips as well and tilted it at various angles.

"Ah, I was right," she said, letting go and casting James a small smile. "It looks quite professional. You'll be in good hands, Calder."

Caspar nodded with a warm smile of his own. "I'm sure I will be. You look great, Hild."

Looking very pleased, Hild stepped away to visit Penumbra. James threw her blanket up on the back of the saddle for a moment before stealing Caspar's instead, waving him over to the spot he'd sat at with Hild. He moved a few steps away from it though to avoid the fallen curls in the grass.

Caspar stood awkwardly with his hands in his pockets. "Do we sit?"

"Yes," James said, gesturing to the ground in front of him as he sat down.

Taking off his jacket, Caspar rolled it up and set it aside as he settled in front of James. He fidgeted, and scratched the back of his neck. James tossed the blanket around Caspar and brought it taut around Caspar's neck.

"Do you have anything in mind?" he asked.

He had a feeling Caspar didn't, but he didn't want to assume.

Caspar drew in a breath. "Nope, nothing in mind." He drummed his hands on his knees.

"Alright," James said. "I'll just keep it simple, then."

He felt more confident with Caspar's hair, having done similar cuts many times before. He started trimming the back with ease.

"Do you prefer the summer or winter?" Caspar asked idly.

"Summer," James said. "You?"

"Ah. Winter." He scratched at his chin.

"What do you like about winters?" James asked simply.

"Um. The air feels...clearer, easier to breathe. And snow is nice." It seemed Caspar was fighting the urge to turn to look at James. "What do you like about summer?"

"I don't have to shovel snow or worry about freezing to death," James said, probably too-casually.

Caspar huffed a laugh. "Yeah, both are bonuses."

"Water's not frozen, plants are still alive, nature's easier to work around as long as you know what things to avoid," James went on.

"All very fair points."

"And in the winter I miss the sun," James added. "So there's that."

Caspar hummed. "Yeah, sun's nice."

James put his hand on the side of Caspar's head and gently turned it before he started trimming the sides.

"Did it snow much on Herron?" he asked.

"Not a lot." Caspar shrugged. "It was mostly just cold. There was a lot more snow in the wilds, though, so. I got my fill there."

James hummed faintly.

"Did you like it, in the wilds?" James asked more softly.

Caspar hesitated, then answered, "I did, actually. It was peaceful for a time."

For a time. He didn't need to elaborate. James understood enough.

"Remind me again... what brought you southward?" he asked hesitantly.

"I, uh, well." Caspar swallowed. "I figured I'd stayed long enough in one spot. And a change of scenery was probably due."

"Fair enough," James said calmly.

He didn't want to press it. Frankly, he hadn't want to ask any pressing questions at all; he'd only asked about who was after him out of necessity for all of their safety. James could deduce that Caspar's encounter with Manning wasn't too long ago. Long enough to be able to speak of it, and for Ivar to learn of his son's death, but not long enough that the trauma of it had lost its sting. Not that those things ever really left you.

A part of him did know there was more to the story than Caspar was sharing. He could hear it in the short replies, the carefully worded answers. He knew because it was what he did all the time - he was just able to mask his emotions better. Part of him wondered if Caspar had driven himself into isolation partially because he was a poor liar.

Less people to talk to, less people to lie to. That made the wilds the perfect place to hide.

Of course, he did actually like that Caspar was transparent, even if Caspar probably resented it in moments like this one.

"Well," James said, turning Caspar's head to work on the other side. "Now you've got hot and humid air and muggy forests. That's quite the scenery change."

Caspar smiled a little. "I'm still surrounded by trees, at least."

"Just stickier," James commented.

Caspar's smile faded again. He looked like he was about to say something else, but stayed quiet. James let another few long seconds pass in silence, allowing space if he needed time to find words.

"Have you ever seen the wilds at any point?" Caspar asked tentatively.

"Yes," James said neutrally. "Several years ago. About five years, I think."

Caspar hummed, and didn't ask anything more about it.

"I didn't linger long," James added carefully. "I was more concerned with getting as far as possible than settling down anywhere."

"Yeah, that's understandable."

James nodded more to himself, combing through Caspar's hair and trimming the ends on top, making sure that it fell in a way that looked natural and not choppy.

It was an easy cut, really. He was already halfway through. He just had to manage conversation a little longer, or otherwise resign to silence.

"Where else have you traveled to?" James decided to ask.

"Ah, let's see..." Caspar exhaled through his nose, then slowly answered, "I may have passed through the Outlands?"

"Hopefully you didn't run into too much trouble there," James commented.

"Not too much," Caspar said, a little haltingly.

Either there was more to unpack there, or it was best to leave the subject. James leaned towards the latter.

"That's good," he answered simply. "A lot of dangerous types out there."

He paused, then grinned slightly.

"Myself included," he added.

"Yeah?" Caspar asked curiously, then went on, slower, "Were you there for long?"

"A little under two years or so," James said with a slight shrug, though he limited it, seeing as he was still cutting hair. "I think I've seen most of it."

There was a beat of silence. "Were you able to find work there alright?"

Work. Ah. Yes.

What he had going on during that time couldn't exactly be qualified as work, but it sure was... something.

"Yeah," he said casually. "The work of the wandering around aimlessly type."

It wasn't entirely the truth, and it wasn't entirely wrong either. But either way, it was still a lie.

Caspar reached up like he was about to scratch the back of his neck, but stopped himself short and dropped his hand back in his lap. "I mostly got by with, um, exchanges of services."

"What kinds of services?" James asked.

"Usually repair work. On homes or small businesses, either for a meal or a room for a night."

"Sounds like honest work," James said.

He was finishing up on the top, and came around to sit in front of Caspar for a moment, looking it over. Caspar glanced off to the side as he quietly waited.

James ruffled the front of Caspar's hair, playing with how it fell over his forehead from the part. As he did this, Caspar pressed his eyes shut and scrunched his nose a little bit.

"You know?" James said. "I think it's done, actually. Your hair has some wave to it when it's shorter. This works."

"If you say so," Caspar replied simply.

James picked the mirror up off the ground from where he'd set it aside and faced it towards Caspar.

"What do you think?" James asked.



Caspar didn't linger on his appearance the way Hild did with her own. He quickly turned his eyes back up to James with a small smile and nod. "It looks like you really know what you're doing."

James pulled the mirror away and pocketed away all of his tools for a moment to free his hands. Then he reached out and carefully pulled the blanket free from Caspar's shoulders and shook it out beside them, sending the hairs flying the opposite direction.

"Hopefully you'll be less recognizable this way," James said, still shaking the blanket.

"I'm sure Hild will be able to best gauge that," Caspar said. He nodded and reached out a hand to take the blanket. "Uh, thank you. For the help."

"Of course," James said as he started to fold the blanket over his arms. He glanced back over towards the horses, catching a glimpse of Hild from behind Penumbra.

"Hey Hild," he called out. "Come see."

Her head popped up from behind Penumbra, then she stepped around the horse. Caspar brushed himself off as she approached.

"Well done, Mr. Hawke," she said with an approving smile. "You've made a civilized man out of him."

"All that from a haircut?" James asked as he strode past her to Elliot, tossing his haircutting tools back into the back.

"The haircut is a major step in the right direction, yes," she replied. "Next is a thorough bath and a wardrobe change."

"Ah," James said, flicking his eyes in the direction of the river. "Right. Baths. Caspar, you did restock us on soap, yes?"

Caspar nodded. "Yup."

"It would do us well to wash up," James said. "Our clothes too."

"Ugh, yes," Hild said, looking down at herself. "There are dust and sweat everywhere, it's disgusting."

He glanced back into the forest away from the river. The road was still relatively close by. He didn't think their tail was that close, but he would have more peace of mind if they waited to bathe until they were a little further out.

"Let's go a little further down the river first," James said. "Then we can wash away our stink."

"Sounds like a plan," Caspar agreed. He itched at his neck, then shook any lingering hair from his head.

James hummed and looked to the horses, bouncing on his heels for a moment.

"Well then," he said, walking over to Elliot. "Let's get going."

They rode along the river's edge for a bit, and only slowed down once the road had veered well out of sight. The trees and underbrush thickened, conveniently providing some extra cover as they set up.

After dismounting, Hild bid Caspar and James a quick farewell and led Penumbra a little farther on foot to wash up alone. Caspar just waved back by way of goodbye, then stared into the water for a moment.

Everything was sticky and odd-smelling, and he was all itchy now from the haircut, and the shimmering, chilly water was very inviting. He hesitated and glanced at James.

Caspar supposed there wasn't. Any need for him to leave as well. He shouldn't assume, though. Scratching at an itch on his back as best he could, Caspar stepped around Eir and asked, "Do you want me to wait, or step away at all?"

James pulled his saddlebag off of Elliot's saddle and looked over his shoulder to Caspar.

"I don't really care," he said with a shrug.

Caspar nodded. "Okay."

Biting his lip, he glanced back at the trees around them. He wasn't entirely sure what he thought he would find, there was literally no one else around in this stretch of wilderness.

Could he trust his senses right now, though? He'd missed things before.

He should just wash up as quickly as possible, that way they could get going again. Caspar dug through the bag still strapped to Eir's saddle for the soap. With his back kept toward the river, he stalled a little by the horses. He carefully untied the string and unwrapped the brown paper. The soap had no distinct smell. He listened as James waded into the water.

Setting the soap on the saddle, Caspar pulled his shirt off over his head and tried shaking out any lingering hairs. The rest would come off in the water, he supposed, so there was hardly a point in worrying too much about that right now. He took off his shoes as well, politely requesting to Eir that she keep an eye on them.

"Don't want them walking off on me now," he said under his breath.

Eir stared at him, either like he was stupid because boots don't walk on their own of course, or--

Ah. Right. Shave and a haircut. She must not have been so thrown that she thought him a new person entirely, because they rode here just fine. Eir gave his hair a sniff, then chuffed disinterestedly in his face. Caspar patted her side. "We'll get used to it," he reassured her.

Finally turning to the water, Caspar kept his eyes trained on the trees at the other side of the river as he stepped in. The cool water on his feet felt wonderful. He left his clothes piled on the shoreline, drew in a breath, and slipped under the water's surface before he could think himself out of it.

The water rushed around him, then cleared. His body cooled, and he felt refreshed in an instant. The river's bottom dropped deeply toward the middle. If he squinted enough, he could make out of the sharp shapes of stones and silvery little fishes weaving through the greens. Venturing just a little deeper, he spotted the silhouettes of a few fallen logs and branches resting in the muck as well.

Though tempted to explore this peaceful world below, Caspar resurfaced. He pushed his hair back from his eyes and scanned the forest. He caught sight of James just a short ways down, looked the other way, then down at himself.

Right. Getting clean.

He had to wade back to the shore to grab the soap he left on his heap of clothes. In the middle of scrubbing himself off, he paused to consider some of the...messier parts of himself. Quite a few of the old wounds probably didn't heal totally right. Hild would be mortified if she saw them. Likely lecture him too, or demand explanations.

Caspar looked around again, half-prepared for such a surprise visit. Hild was still gone, and hopefully taking her time.

Tossing the soap aside, he took another dive. About eight feet down, he turned over to face the sky. The sun's light catching on the rippling surface above looked like glass shards. The dampened sounds of the current around him filled his ears. He let out some of the tension in his chest through his nose, watched it bubble away to the surface, then closed his eyes.

For a moment, he was swimming off the shore of Herron again, after a long morning of fishing with his father. Shortly after the quick dive, he would head inside and mend nets with his mother as they ate lunch together.

Letting himself be held by the water, he felt at rest.

He surfaced again once the air in his lungs was nearly spent and shook off the water from his limbs and hair. Back on his feet, gravity pulled heavily on him again, but he felt lighter and re-energized. Once he was dry and dressed once more in fresh clothes, he sat by the water to wash out the grime from the old ones.

There was a puff of warm air on the top of his head. Tilting his head back, he was greeted with Eir's nose. She gave him another quick sniff, then settled next to him.

Caspar patted her neck. "You've probably never seen the ocean, right?" he asked idly.

Turning her head, she pressed her nose into the palm of his hand.

"It's a lot bigger than this," Caspar said, nodding at the river. "Smells more distinct too."

Eir nudged his hand intently. Confused, Caspar held his open hands up, palms facing the sky. "What?"

After another sniff, Eir rested her chin on his hand.

"I don't-- Oh!" Caspar reached back and looked through his bag. "My bad. Here."

At last satisfied with a snack, Eir dropped her head on his lap.

As he absently stroked her nose, Caspar glanced James's way, just to check that he was still faring alright. Also settled by the riverside close by, James was half-dressed and rebandaging his side. He was probably fine, then.

Caspar looked up the river when he heard Hild and Penumbra returning.

"Infinitely improved," Hild said, stopping by Caspar. "You are, I mean. There's a distinct lack of human stench now."

Shading his eyes with his hand, Caspar grinned up at her. "I aim to please."

She hummed. "Excellent."

"Basil and mint," James said just loud enough for them to hear as he sat several feet away, tying off his bandage.

Caspar blinked.

"That's the smell of the soap you handed me," James said plainly as he reached into his bag. "Basil and mint. And also river water. That's what I smell like now."

"Oh," Caspar said. "Well, that's good, I guess." Now he was confused, because the man at the Blitzmouth store had supposedly given him the unscented soaps. The soap bars were all packaged the same and without labels, though, so there could've been a mix-up.

"Yes," Hild added, "refreshing."

James only nodded as he started packing things away into his bag and pulled out a clean shirt, slipping it on. Caspar could see his jacket was still hung over an overhead tree-branch, drying.

Stepping around Caspar and Eir, Hild sat between them, tucking her legs sideways. "Your wounds are still in good order, I hope," she said.

"They're healing," James said. "Thanks to you. And clean now, too."

She inclined her head. "Perfect."

James leaned to the side for a moment and sniffed in Hild's direction. Staring at him oddly, Hild leaned away a little.

"You smell better too," James said, looking like he was suppressing an amused smile.

"Of course I do," she said flatly. "That was part of the point of washing."

"Yeah," James said, still looking like he was trying not to smile. "Yeah it was."

Hild pursed her lips, looking very unamused with his amusement.

"Settle down, kiddos," Caspar said with a smile as he flopped back on the grass.

"We're quite settled," Hild muttered, likely taking offense to the term of endearment.

The short swim in the river helped the noon sun feel more mild. Eir's resting head was a comforting weight on his lap. Caspar closed his eyes and breathed in the freshwater and the trees, and the distant notes of herbs. It was nice to just let go of the weight of their circumstances, let it all drift away down the river, and just be.

"I was just teasing," James finally said after a long pause, and it sounded like he was saying it more quietly, as an aside to Hild. "You smell fine."

"Yes, a thorough wash does wonders like that," she answered, matching his volume and with some brevity in her voice. "You have us beat in the scent department, though, with the basil and mint."

"With this humidity I doubt it'll make much of a difference for long," James said.

Hild hummed. "It's to be savored, then."

Their voices were growing fainter and their words less distinct. Caspar was drifting from the lush summer forest, back into the winter thicket. With a twinge of panic, he realized he was falling asleep. Shaking off the drowsiness, he forced his eyes open again and pushed himself upright. He tilted his ears to the trees, just in case.

Other than them, there was no one.

"What's wrong, Calder?" Hild asked, eyes scanning him.

"I didn't see anything while we were washing up," James said suddenly, as if he already understood. "Coast is clear as far as I can tell."

"Yeah, no, it's fine," Caspar said, scratching the back of his neck. "Sorry, it's nothing."

They were fine. It was just them out here, so far off the road.

He couldn't be too sure, though. They've been followed and ambushed before. His breath had shortened from the panic. He took more deliberate (but hopefully not obvious) breaths to force himself back into a state of calm.

"We can get moving if you'd like," James offered.

Caspar's heart rate gradually evened again. He shook his head. "No, s'fine."

"Or you could nap instead," James said, his tone a little lighter.

Mustering a small smile, Caspar insisted, "It's alright. I can sleep later."

He scanned the trees. They were full and green. There were some fallen leaves on the dirt and grass below them. The air was muggy, and the sky cloudless. The river ran steadily in front of them.

Grounded back in the present again, Caspar lied back down, staring at the sky.

"We should probably leave soon, anyway," Hild eventually said. "We've lingered here long enough."

James got to his feet, swinging his bag over his shoulder.

"I'll get packed, then," he said, walking away to Elliot.

Caspar folded his hands over his stomach and said quietly, "It's Ivar, by the way."

Hild paused. James's footsteps came to a halt. With a grimace, Caspar squeezed his eyes shut for a moment.

"I, um, forgot to mention which Hansen it was," he continued faintly, turning his head toward Hild.

She stared hard into his eyes. Swallowing, Caspar managed to hold her searching gaze.

"What happened to Manning?" she asked, tone and face unreadable.

Caspar stared back up at the sky. She could probably guess just fine, but she shouldn't have to.

"Manning is..."

He didn't want to have to repeat, 'I killed him'. It was bad enough that Manning's blood would always stain his hands, no matter how times he tried washing himself of it in the river.

Caspar wasn't sure what Hild would think. Would she look at him differently, like she thought less of him? He didn't think he could bear that. And she might dig for more details, for the full context, to better understand. But what good would knowing the full context do for anyone?

But Eindride deserved to be remembered.

He also thought James had gone farther than he actually did. Caspar was just hoping to clarify for Hild without bringing this mess back to the forefront of his mind as well. Because if James thought much more about it, he could very well come to his senses and--

He could just walk away. Both of them could. And just the thought of that tore Caspar up inside.

"Manning is...?" Hild pressed.

Caspar pressed the heals of his palms against his eyes. He shouldn't have said anything.

"Dead," he weakly finished.

Silence sat thickly between them. Hild was likely piecing things together on her own. She shouldn't have to, but Caspar was too terrified to further explain.

"I haven't met Ivar before," Hild finally said, slowly. "What are we looking out for, then?"

Caspar couldn't tell if she figured it out; she was taking them another, slightly unexpected direction here.

"He's..."

Caspar felt like he couldn't sufficiently describe how the man looked. Words seemed to fail him a lot when it mattered. He could try drawing Ivar, he just. Hated the prospect of recreating the man's face.

"An older man," James started after a beat of silence. "He's in his fifties, I believe, but still strong. A little taller than I am. Sharp features, with slicked-back dark hair. He may look a little different if he's trying to keep a low profile. He'd be well armed. A man of his status would come well prepared."

Hild nodded. "Thank you." She looked back to Caspar, adding, "Both of you."

Clenching his jaw, Caspar managed a small nod in turn. "Of course."

She stood without another word and went to address Penumbra. James likewise went to Elliot. Caspar turned his head to look the other way, back up the river, and just listened as they prepared for the road again.

He needed to work on his timing, possibly.

Caspar eventually gathered his things as well and packed up.

They expected to be out of society for another few weeks. More of the same at this point. For the first few hours back on the road, though, they rode in silence.

Hild was very likely still turning over what little information about Manning that he did divulge. If she was waiting to broach the subject again once they were out of earshot of James, Caspar was okay with that. He was sure he would be, anyway, once he had some time to muster the courage and proper words again.

They fell back into routine. Riding tips and lessons were easily given on the road as well as when they set camp. With James back on his feet, Caspar was able to step aside and simply observe. Hild learned commands and cues and how to effectively communicate them very quickly, and she and Penumbra became quite in tune with each other.

When they stopped to rest in the afternoons, Caspar and James would pick up writing and reading lessons as well. They steadily worked through the rest of the alphabet and phonetics, and Caspar was able to read most of the names on the map of their area without issue.

His journal filled up life sketches and studies. It also gradually filled more and more with the names of the plants and animals that he spotted along the way. His handwriting improved the more he practiced.

He and James went through whittling lessons, and quickly reached the point where close guidance wasn't needed anymore. It wasn't such an intense endeavor that anyone would need the close help for long, anyway. Caspar would give a pointer or two on strokes and techniques, and what attributes to look for in wood that would best suit carving, but pretty much stepped back.

James's technique rapidly grew from amateur to expert, and he was eventually able to carve out complete figures without hitting any knots in the grain and causing any splitting. He soon gifted Hild with a sitting cat, and Caspar a pointing dog.

He carefully turned the dog over in his hands with a soft smile when James gave it to him. The shapes of its form were excellent and the surface almost perfectly smooth. Caspar made sure to safely tuck away the little dog in his bag.

With Hild's go-ahead, they began splitting the night watch into three shifts. Caspar was on first again, James on second, and Hild third. She stopped caring which shift she took. No matter which part of the rotation she was in, she figured she was still under-rested and that she may as well be up and ready come morning at that rate.

Caspar still fought sleep where he could. Which, of course, wasn't really very wise, in neither the short nor the long term.

Every night as he stared up at the darkened trees, the full weight of their situation slammed into him. He worried that he may have missed something out there among the trees, that he allowed someone else, maybe even Ivar, to sneak up on them.

As the silence would drag on, and he determined for the hundredth time that no one else was out there, fear would quietly shift and take another form during James's watch.

Caspar did eventually pull Hild aside one night shortly after Blitzmouth to finally explain that he was the reason that Manning was gone, and that Ivar was out to settle a personal score more than anything else. Unable to meet her eyes, he stared down at his shoes during the silence that followed.

Hild offered him a soft, earnest reassurance that he did what he had to for survival. She was right, of course. She was always logical like that. Caspar just hated that his survival costed someone else theirs. And the lingering self-hate for choosing that way started to nag at him nightly again now that Ivar was on the front of his mind.

As he kept pushing off sleep, he would worry that this camaraderie and the connections they made here with each other wouldn't last. Hardly anything lately was very certain of course, but he feared that maybe he would wake up one day and just find himself alone again.

Though he wouldn't blame them for it. If he could escape his own company too somehow, he would.

Then he would worry that it did last. Suppose they did stick around? He didn't deserve it. And if anything, they should want to leave him. If the pattern of his life thus far was anything to go by, death was coming for James and Hild next.

He couldn't bear to be the cause of their demise too.

The temptation to head out into the sea rushed in on him again, but Caspar couldn't just leave them with his mess. Ivar probably had at the very least working descriptions of James and Hild. He would find them. He would go through them, without hesitation, to get to Caspar.

He supposed that death may have to come in another form, then. Letting the sea take him would be almost poetic, but falling to Hansen's bullet would only be right. He just had to figure out a way to say a final goodbye without James and Hild knowing that it even was goodbye.

The moment the pain in James's body leveled out to a bearable and tolerable amount, life became exponentially easier. The amount of freedom James experienced in being able to move as he needed to and wanted to was incomparable. It was a breed of elation that he'd grown familiar enough with to welcome like an old friend, and he found that - though temporary - it greatly increased his mood overall.

Maybe it was the unsettling but exhilarating thrill of surviving another near-death experience. Maybe it was the comparative ease of travel with good company and others being able to share the load. Or maybe it was denial, and he was dissociating from the weight of everything that had transpired.

Logically, he had enough self-awareness to know the latter was likely the most true. But it was rare that he ever experienced a boost in his mood that lasted more than a few fleeting moments, so he let it last for as long as it would stay. If it meant putting off the hailstorm of dread and every other emotion hidden in the clouds then he wanted it.

The next week of travel was easy.

He was carving little figurines out of wood, Caspar was steadily improving in reading and writing, Hild was making leaps and bounds with Penumbra, and he was finally starting to feel the fullness of his strength return again.

Finally being entrusted to keep watch at night allowed him to exercise away from Hild's watchful eye, and it helped him to flush out the excess energy buzzing in his bones. He also was happy to take the time to journal in silence on the nights they kept the fire going and he had some light.

It felt good.

That said, he was well aware of the imminent threat Ivar posed to all three of them, but it didn't feel like anything new. He'd long since trained his mind to be on guard at all times, and it only felt like a confirmation of what his senses always tried to prove.

Someone was after him. Someone was after Caspar. It felt one and the same. And, well, if (or when) Ivar did find them... that would be an interesting reunion for him too.

Though interesting wasn't quite the word for that.

Regardless, he slept with one eye open.

After a week and a half of routine travel, there was a strange shift in the weather. Though it didn't rain, the sky clouded over, leaving them with an overcast curtain for the entirety of the day.

Caspar seemed to enjoy the blocked out sun as it also provided them with a cool breeze coming from the south, and the sun was no longer beating down on their necks. James noticed that both Hild and Caspar seemed to have more energy in light of their brief respite from the sun, and found that it made Hild even chattier and Caspar more relaxed, but present.

When they made camp for the evening, the sky was still a dull grey, but it was still light out. Though they couldn't see the sun peeking through the clouds, Caspar's little pocket watch informed them that they had at least three hours of light before sundown.

Falling into a rhythm, they each took responsiblity for different tasks. Fetching water. Taking care of the horses. Laying out supplies and preparing for dinner.

Eventually everyone came back around to the small clearing they'd settled into. It faced the river at level ground, offering a pleasantly flat section of grass and clover relatively clear of thistles and underbrush. It was possible the clearing occured naturally in nature, but James had a feeling this spot became a place many people and creatures settled into in the passing years. Though it was very much alive and there were no signs that anyone was there recently, it felt lived in.

They opted not to build a fire for the night, seeing as it wasn't needed for heat, and being more exposed in the clearing, it would act more as a beacon than anything. So instead of gathering around a fire pit, the three of them settled near the edge of the river while the horses stood a small ways off, each tied up and nibbling at the clearing's lush grass.

For a moment they watched the river gurgle past them in silence, but James found himself feeling strangely restless.

Running through the past few weeks in his mind, James sorted through things he'd tucked away in his mind to bring back when the moment was right.

Eyes brightening slightly, he turned to look at Hild, who sat to his right, between him and Caspar.

"Are you tired?" he asked.

Hild immediately glanced him over, trying to gauge what brought on such a question. "No, I feel appropriately awake."

"Wonderful," James said as he started to get to his feet. He looked down and extended a hand to her.

"Then I think it's about time I asked you to dance," he said with a small grin.

Eyes lighting up, Hild stood and lightly took his hand. "This is an acceptable proposition."

"I'll take that as a 'Yes, I would very much like to dance' from you, then," James said as he turned and gently tugged on her hand, leading her into the center of the clearing. "Ms. Ashlund."

With a small smile, Hild assumed position for a waltz and politely inclined her head. "Mr. Hawke. Would you like to lead, or shall I?"

James dipped his head and looked up to her.

"May I?" he asked.

Hild nodded, her smile growing with excitement. "You may." Over her shoulder, she said, "Watch closely, Calder. Perhaps take notes as well."

James glanced over at Caspar, catching his grin as he settled back, content to just watch from the side.

"Sure thing," Caspar replied simply.

James gave Caspar a small nod and then turned his attention back to Hild. He'd seen the kinds of dances she'd led Caspar in, and he knew she'd been looking forward to a real dance. So he intended to give her one.

It had been a minute since he'd done a real waltz, since most of the dancing he did in the Outlands were social dances with groups, so he knew he'd be a little rusty, but he was determined to impress her as much as he could.

Taking in a breath, he straightened up, righting his posture as he kept Hild's hand in his and reached his other hand behind her back.

"A shame we don't have any music," he said with a small smile. "But I guess we'll leave it up to our imaginations."

"We'll have to make do," she agreed. "Unless Calder knows a song with the right tempo."

"Maybe he'll surprise us," James said as he slightly turned his head, and signaled with a dip of his hand for them to begin.

Hild was clearly eager and quick to catch his signals as he started out at a moderate pace, taking them in simple steps at first around the grass. Schooling her expression, she followed as he pulled away and started to take her into a few turns, and they both moved fluidly, falling into a typical waltz rhythm of three beats, like they were swinging back and forth, leaning into it.

Eventually he sped up his movements so that they were gliding around the clearing, rotating around in circles. Caspar came in and out of view in James's peripheral, but he kept his attention on Hild.

Try as she might, she couldn't maintain an even expression. She would break out into bright smiles sometimes as they turned in graceful arcs, and bite her lower lip to recompose herself enough to focus on her form.

He signalled for a spin, and she twirled three times before coming back in, and they turned again. For a moment, he released her hand as a cue and they both spread out their arms, turning with one another in opposite directions before they came back around and met again, falling back into place, hand in hand.

They traveled more across the field, and he gradually added in a few more complex movements, pleased as she followed with ease. Unlike her, he didn't try to hide the relaxed smile on his face as he watched her face light up over and over again.

It was strange. She was always trying to keep up an appearance of being unmoved. Unmoved by anything, both positive and negative. But when she did let her genuine emotions show through, he felt like he was really seeing her.

Though she kept pushing it back, she had a radiant smile.

James led her into more spins and turns and into a careful dip, keeping her steady as he led her down and back up again, back into the motions of their feet.

He took her around the clearing a few more times, throwing in a few more tweaks just to keep her on her toes, and then finally led them back to the center once more, where he brought their arms into a small bow towards the ground, and then pulled away, giving her a full bow of his own from his waist. Hild courtsied with a dip of her head in response.

As he stood back up he met her eyes again, and he smiled wide.

"Hopefully the song in your head resolved at the same time as mine," he said.

Hild smiled fully back, and folded her hands. "Your footwork is impressive, Mr. Hawke," she said, her voice almost bubbly. "Might I inquire where you learned?"

There was a brief, second-long wrestle in his mind for how to respond.

"My family loved to dance," James said, his smile softening. "But I've had a lot of practice over the years."

He wasn't sure how to talk about anything that happened while he was in Military School without it souring a conversation, but dancing was a big part of how students would have fun and wind down.

"If you go down south you'll find we like to dance a lot down there," James added lightly. "Keeps us warm when the weather is cold."

Hild nodded. She managed to put up a more collected grin by now. "So, family and social context," she summarized, her voice warm. "That's lovely. I don't think I would've even thought to learn if it weren't for my own family. They loved to host, so they often organized parties with food, wine, and dancing and music whenever they had the chance."

"I'm sure the parties were marvelous," James said. "In another life, I would've loved to see it."

"They were." She turned, silently inviting him to walk with her back to the riverside. "My brothers maintained that lifestyle. It became like a tradition for us, and it later helped keep our mother's memory alive." Her eyes brightened with another memory. "It was actually at one such event that Lyall introduced me to Caspar."

James followed at Hild's side, glancing at Caspar at the mention of his name as they approached.

"Oh, really?" he asked. "Caspar at a party. I'd love to hear that story."

Hild tilted her head. "It was less a story and more a passing moment, sadly. We were promptly separated by a whole room full of people. I mostly spent the evening chatting up folks and dancing. I did catch glimpses of him standing at the edge of the scene. Awkwardly, as I'm sure you're imagining, and looking incredibly out of place."

They slowed as they came up to Caspar, and James sat down facing him at an angle. Tucking her legs underneath herself, Hild settled so that they formed a small circle.

"Do you remember that day, Caspar?" he asked.

Caspar nodded and cast Hild a fond smile. "Not even a minute of knowing each other, and she was already mean to me."

James shot Hild a grin.

"Mean? What did you say to him, Hild?" he asked with the hint of laughter in his voice.

"Something," Caspar answered for her with an amused grin, "along the lines of, 'Everyone was invited here, but stray dogs need to stay outside.' To which Lyall only said, 'I can't help it when they follow me home.'"

James clicked his tongue in disapproval, looking to Hild with a teasing smirk.

"So rude," he said, only partly serious as he was mostly being playful.

Hild grinned. "You should've seen the state he was in," she countered. "People from every socioeconomic strata, all of whom put some effort into looking decent, and he walks in all muddy and scruffy, wearing dingy clothes, and looking like an absolute vagrant."

"Hey," James said with a grin in return, reaching over and patting Caspar's shoulder. "That's part of his charm. Besides, not everyone can afford a lavish lifestyle."

She hummed and glanced Caspar over as he ducked his head and scratched the back of his neck.

"Both fair points," she said. "And for the better, I suppose. In not caring to dance or exchange niceties with strangers, he was able to reach my half-brother where I couldn't." Her voice softened. "Lingering off to the side, they were talking and laughing with each other. My half-brother truly smiled for the first time since our mother's passing."

Caspar glanced away to the river at this point.

"It sounds like you were a good friend to him, then, Caspar," James said, his voice softening. "And for the record, I much prefer you to be yourself. I wouldn't want you to pretend to be a socialite when you're not."

Nodding, Caspar quietly said, "Thanks." Then he just focused on the grass.

"We all have different strengths to offer, and that's the beauty of life," James said, looking back to Hild. "I wouldn't have you change either."

Hild only politely inclinded her head in response.

"You have a good heart, James," Caspar said, just loud enough for him to hear, and he finally turned his gaze back up from the ground. "No matter what comes next for you, don't let that change."

James turned to meet Caspar's eyes, and though he'd practically molded the way of conversation to allow for a comment that heartfelt, he couldn't help but feel caught off guard. Recieving any kind of genuine affirmations felt entirely foreign if it wasn't something he felt he'd earned intentionally by way of (usually) working for it. This, however, felt unearned and unsought for.

And it stung in a way he hadn't expected.

No matter what comes, had been a promise he'd made to himself years ago. When his life had only just begun to fall apart.

No matter what comes, I will always try to be a good man.

Like my father.

It was a secret, silent vow. One he never truly forgot but that often haunted him, in the back of his mind. Taunting him, like an impossible standard. One he'd already failed ten times over. One he'd had to give up on. It was unattainable.

What did that even mean? That he had a good heart?

He didn't know what kind of heart he had. The only thing he knew for sure was that he was far from good.

But despite his inward protests, James kept a calm exterior.

"Thanks, Cas," he said in like manner, offering Cas a small, brief smile.

It was fake, but even then, he found himself smiling as if on command all the time. It was a reflex. One he'd built in to appease people. To keep friendly relations. How much of it was real? The line blurred too much for him to know anymore.

Caspar could only muster a quick, awkward smile as well. His eyes were earnest, though, and he almost seemed desperate for James to know this.

James didn't know that he ever would.

The following day they were met with a warm shining sun and heavy humidity. Moisture hung in the air like a mist after a rain, and everything was sticky. They moved slower as they stopped to rehydrate more, as the heat was sapping away at all of their energy, including the horses.

James could feel the tides turning in his own soul as the humid air carried over into the coming days. They stopped more frequently to take breaks, but conversations were dry, drowned out by the heavy air. James turned his focus to teaching, and Caspar learned as James started to write down some stories for him to read so he could practice more. The first story he recorded was the one Caspar told him weeks ago.

The archer and his hound.

Though James recorded the version he knew best, despite its tragic ending. He found it difficult to train his mind to rewrite the story as Caspar did, and he couldn't fully remember how Caspar had spun it for good.

Still, the story served its purpose. Caspar was starting to get the hang of reading through sentences, and even grasping some things about punctuation and grammar intuitively, without much explantion.

Though he often stumbled his way through the longer words and more tricky spellings, he was persistent, and seemed to genuinely be enjoying his learning and growth.

It was encouraging to see. James felt like he was having to help him a little less every time he started to read aloud. He was eager on Caspar's behalf for the day he'd be able to read on his own, so he could experience the freedom that came with it.

The week passed by slowly. Hours inched by.

He was healing. His body felt better. Eir and Penumbra were both making big leaps in being more and more comfortable with Caspar and Hild.

Things were good.

And should've felt so, but as predicted, a heaviness slipped in and fell over him like a mound of blankets. Weighted. Suffocating. Creating a pressure he shouldn't have forgotten.

Like he was living through the same cycles, making the same mistakes, just with different people.

That's your problem.

You get too comfortable.

You care too much. You care too little.

And then you never say goodbye.

James stared up at the starry night sky through the trees.

Two weeks since Blitzmouth. Five weeks since Needle Point. Almost seven weeks since Gregor's ranch, since he first met Caspar.

That was over two months, then.

It was the middle of the night, and James was sitting in a patch of moonlight, keeping watch. Aside from the faint sounds of forest critters and crickets chirping and insects buzzing through the night, the most disturbing sounds he heard were the ones in his own head.

With his head leaned against a tree trunk, he looked at the silhouettes of the three horses across from him, and just a few feet away, Hild and Caspar, curled up and lying down in little mounds at his feet.

Almost two months.

That was nearing three months, which was about the longest he ever let himself stay in any place, or with any group as long as it was within his control. He couldn't help but feel an itch in the back of his mind urging him to go. To prepare himself. To prepare them.

The temptation to self sabotage the relationships he'd only just built was stronger than he ever wanted to admit.

But he feared they would see right through him if he tried.

And what about them? Would Hild and Caspar be alright with a vengeful professional mage hunter on their trail?

He glanced down at the pocket watch that hung loosely in his hand. He had to hold it up the moonlight, to his face, and squint hard to even read what it said, but when he finally made it out he realized it was long since he should've woken Hild up.

He must have misread it the last time he checked. Or he just got lost in thought for too long.

With a sigh, he got to his feet and approached Hild, who was curled up in a ball. Under her blanket, she somehow managed to look so small.

He knelt down beside her, gently reaching out to tap her shoulder.

"Hild," he whispered.

Stirring, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes as she stretched out her legs under the blanket and turned onto her back. "Morning," she murmured.

"Sun's not up just yet," James said softly under his breath.

Hild sat upright and pulled the corners of the blanket together. "Still the morning," she insisted as she folded it into a tidy square.

James only offered her a faint, weary grin.

"You know," he said. "You kind of sleep like a cat."

She arched a brow. "Is that why you gave me a wooden cat?"

James couldn't really fight the stupid, sleepy grin on his face from sheer tiredness.

"Maybe," he said.

Pursing her lips, she hummed unamused, then dusted off bits of grass and dirt from her clothes and hair.

"It's cute, though," James murmured. "How you curl up in a ball."

Hild scoffed and muttered, "I can't help how I sleep." She tucked her hair behind her ear and folded her hands in her lap. She scanned James's face. "You should probably rest now."

James's grin faltered.

His sleep the past week had been exceptionally poor. Sleeping was what his body needed, but in his current headspace, he only dreaded what horrors sleep would bring him.

Everything he tried to escape in the day caught up to him at night.

Lately, all he could see was images of Alexander's corpse, and most often, Caspar's and Hild's being added along with it. Sometimes his own, as well, and those at least were the better endings. At least they had a true ending.

James nodded faintly at Hild's words, but didn't budge.

"Could I... stay up with you?" he asked. "Just a little while?"

He would be staying up either way. It was only a difference of sitting up or lying down, and being silent or having at least the option to distract himself with conversation.

Her eyes searched him carefully, trying to decipher why, but answered softly, "It's up to you."

James nodded again, and sat himself down on the ground where he was. His limbs felt heavy with exhaustion, and he didn't really want to move.

With his legs tucked up, he leaned forward on them with his forearms crossed over his knees, letting his legs bear his weight.

He glanced over to Caspar, who slept a few feet away. Though James couldn't make out his face in the dark, he could hear Caspar's steady breathing.

He's come to learn his breathing patterns. They varied ever so slightly between sleep and reslessness.

That meant Caspar was actually sleeping.

That was good.

James's gaze drifted back to Hild, who sat in front of him. Even while close, he really couldn't make out her facial features with full clarity.

His mind drifted - reaching for words to start a conversation on something. Anything.

"One of the things I like about cats," he said lowly. "Is that they're independent. And most of them like it that way. But when you build trust with them over time, eventually... you don't always have to seek them out anymore. They come to you when they want to."

Hild tilted her head a little, and he could feel her scrutiny through the dark. "And what would you compare yourself to, Mr. Hawke?" she asked, pointedly avoiding responding to that.

"A hawk, obviously," James said. "It's obligatory."

"That's too easy," she countered, "it was literally handed to you."

"What would you compare me to?" James asked instead.

She hummed in thought. Then she scooted closer and leaned in a little to stare him right in the eyes. Her brows were slightly drawn as she studied him. He found himself unable to break away from her stare. His heartrate started to speed up.

Nervous.

"A wolf," she finally concluded. She settled back once more, out of his space, but held his gaze. "Strong-willed and adaptable."

And dangerous.

"And you do well on your own," she added after another beat of silence. "Another independent spirit. But you thrive with a pack."

James didn't know why her assessment somehow made him feel so small.

"Would you agree?" she asked softly.

He finally broke eye contact, and stared down at the ground.

"Depends on the pack," he said quietly, before realizing how that could be interpreted. "I... have not always had the privelige... of good company. Like you and Caspar."

They lapsed into another silence as Hild likely took a moment to mull over the implications of his words. He wondered if he shouldn't have said anything.

Slowly, she asked, "What kind of company have you kept before?"

It was a simple, straight-forward question. But the answer felt daunting. He found himself hesitating. Rehearsing words in his mouth before he even opened it, as if he was afraid it'd stop working if he tried.

"Have you been in the Outlands?" he asked.

He wasn't trying to dodge the question.

Well, maybe he was. A little. He had to work his way around the answer first.

"For a short time, yes," she answered easily.

"Define short."

She hummed. "Half a year."

"Then you were there long enough to see the kinds of people who live there," he said slowly.

"Yes."

"I lived there for a year," James said.

Hild nodded. "I see."

James would've felt antsy if his overwhelming feeling wasn't exhaustion, which seemed to push out any room for anxiety or reason, for better or worse.

"I... got out," he said stiffly.

"That's good," Hild said sincerely.

"It wasn't my choice," he said, and quickly continued. "None of it was."

She paused, then said softly, "I'm sure. Desperate times, and all."

James hadn't moved, but he felt like he was sinking into the ground. Or melting into the earth.

What was he even doing? What was he saying?

"Do you believe," she went on carefully, "that those years are a reflection of you in any way?"

James felt frozen, staring at the ground as his vision seemed to lose focus, but his mind sharpened at the question.

"Does what I do not reflect who I am?" he asked, answering the question with a question.

Hild nodded again and replied simply, "Then there you go."

James wasn't sure what she was getting at, but he didn't know that it was helping. He held his thousand yard stare with the ground.

"Hild," he said slowly. "Had we met a year ago, I don't think you would have wanted to be my friend in the slightest."

"You're right," she agreed, tone even. "I probably wouldn't have. As it is, though, we met in Needle Point only several weeks ago. And, like you said, you got out." Hild straightened up a little. "You've done more since the Outlands, correct?"

James only nodded.

"As well as prior to the Outlands?" she pressed on.

"I've spent many months on end trying to escape the capture of very persistent bounty hunters," James said, his voice low. "Any company I've kept for extended periods of time was almost entirely on accident."

"Was it all bad, though?" she asked.

James's stare with the ground intensified.

"Of course not," he said softly.

Before she could ask anything more, he glanced up at her.

"How long ago were you in the Outlands? Before Needle Point?" he asked.

"The Outlands was the first place I tried settling after the fire," she answered smoothly. "So, about six years ago. How recent was it for you?"

James looked away again.

"Maybe six months ago," he said faintly.

There was a beat of silence. James opened his mouth to speak, anxious to change the subject and take control of the conversation, but Hild was half a second faster.

"And what of these past several weeks?" she asked. "Sticking by Caspar, instructing me in bonding with Penumbra, assisting us with precationary measures, teaching Caspar how to read and write, dancing for the pure enjoyment of it? If you are what you do, and the company you keep, then..." She raised her hands in an expectant shrug.

"Then I've had better luck as of late than I have in a while," James finished for her.

Hild fell quiet. She tilted her head, studying him again.

"The correct answer would be that you're a better person than you're giving yourself credit for," she said gently.

James looked over to her, and he couldn't help but feel like he was far too tired to fully let any of their conversation seep in. He didn't know what Hild saw in him that he didn't. He wondered if she only saw it because she didn't see the full picture.

As if reading his initial thought, Hild murmured, "You should get some sleep."

"You're a good person, too," he said softly.

There was a small flash of white as she smiled at him through the dark. "Please rest, James."

James nodded slightly, and decided not to fight it anymore. His body felt too heavy to function, and his head was thick with fog. He got up and found his blanket again, and laid down, staring out into the darkness. His eyelids started closing on their own.

He didn't know how much of this he'd remember in the morning.

If he was any more awake, he might've had more sense to keep his mouth shut. To keep his cards closer, instead of letting Hild peek at them, even for a moment over his shoulder.

She seemed convinced that he was good, but he didn't know what good meant anymore. He'd been trying to do the right thing in an impossible situation for years, and he was tired.

Tired of losing. Tired of failing. Tired of losing himself and everything he thought he wanted to be with each passing day. Tired of never measuring up to what he was beginning to realize was an unreachable standard.

For so long he thought life was black and white, and things were simple. But when the floor fell out from under his life, he plummeted into a grey area.

He was beginning to think everything before that was just an illusion.

All he knew how to do was take it day by day. And each day, he found himself, deep down, wishing that the end would come sooner.

In his heart, he always knew he'd go out fighting.

Just like his father.

Spots of sunlight swayed on the pages spread on the ground in front of Caspar. With his legs crossed and his chin resting in his left hand, he absently scanned the letters on the map.

They were five days out from their next destination. A city, this time, called Ruddlan. It was much larger than Needle Point or Blitzmouth. He'd never been in a city, as far as he could remember. Perhaps just on the outskirts of one, but never within its limits.

Ruddlan had two 'd's. Why did it need two? He figured it just might be one of those inexplicable letter things. Wasn't worth asking, and James and Hild were preoccupied with the horses right now anyway.

His eyes traced the line of the river they'd been following up into the wilds. Sometime after Manning, Caspar had run into a river up north, but he couldn't be sure that it was the same one as now.

How far north did James plan on going?

Caspar folded the map and tucked it away, then flipped through his journal. He paused a few times to linger on some of the portraits of Hild and James, which he usually only drew once they settled for an afternoon or night.

He glanced up at the two and watched them banter as they brushed the horses down. James said something as he bumped shoulders with Hild, and she turned away laughing. Caspar's chest warmed, and he smiled fondly.

Looking back down, he found the list of plant names that he wrote himself, and practice sketches of the plants to go with them. His handwriting shrunk down to a more manageable size recently. The letters were still a tad wonky, but he felt that might be a little beyond his control.

He actually took the liberty of compiling two lists of flowers. One for himself per James and Hild's prompting, as well as one for James. Currently, he cycled through the diphylleia, edelweiss, brier, and cyclamen for himself.

Caspar's solitude and resignation in life manifested neatly in the brier and cyclamen, respectively. Upon closer re-examination, they were probably best ruled out because they were both downers, and he didn't want to kill the mood when things seemed to be going so well.

Edelweiss was a symbol of devotion, as a small plant that persisted in the harsh conditions of snowy mountains. The diphylleia's petals turning transparent in the rain illustrated self-reveal. These seemed like still insightful options, and more pleasant for conversation.

Turning to a new page and grabbing a pencil, he planned out a larger sketch of the diphylleia. The guidelines were laid down fairly quickly since the petals were simple in shape and arrangement. He roughed in the lines of the leaf, then etched out the finer details of the petal veins and flower stamen with darker pencil marks.

Any present concerns or plans of what was to come cleared from his head.

As his pencil scratched against the paper, he heard footsteps approaching from his side, and James entered his peripheral vision, standing next to him.

"What kind of flower is that?" James asked, looking down at Caspar's sketchbook, sitting down beside him.

Caspar straightened and handed James the book. "It's a, um, diphylleia."

James hummed, looking it over.

"I don't see this flower so much around here. What prompted you to draw it?" he asked.

Reaching over, Caspar quickly added a small line on the flower's edge. "It traditionally means 'baring true self' and 'honesty' in its region. It seemed fitting." He patted a hand to his own chest and awkwardly added, "For myself, that is."

James looked up to Caspar with a small smile that lit up his eyes, like he was genuinely pleased.

"That is fitting," he agreed, passing the sketchbook back to Caspar. "I see you put a lot of thought into it, too."

With a nod and small smile of his own, Caspar took the journal back and stared at it for a moment.

"I thought of some for you, too," Caspar added quickly. He paged through, then handed the journal over once more.

Spread over both open pages were the gladiolus and blackthorn. And he was actually able to spell those on his own. The names were carefully written below each plant, and he had recently finished writing out their respective meanings as well.

"Gladiolus and blackthorn," James read quietly aloud. He flicked his eyes up to Caspar. "You're getting better at spelling, by the way."

Caspar glanced down at the page and murmured, "Thanks."

James's eyes turned back down to the page, reading what Caspar had written down. Pointing to the text below the gladiolus, Caspar softly read, "'Strength of character' and 'honor'." He reached over to the blackthorn page. "'Protection' and 'hope against adversity'."

The blackthorn was admittedly picked more as a well-wish than anything. He deeply hoped for continued protection and resilience for James.

Withdrawing his hand, Caspar tilted his head for a slightly closer view of James's face. "I, um, hope you don't mind."

James was still looking down at the drawings, his expression unreadable, though it seemed he might've been deep in thought.

"Thank you, Cas," James finally said, his tone gentle. "I appreciate the amount of thought you put into it."

Straightening, Caspar nodded and simply said, "Sure."

James fell silent for a moment as he leaned away a little, sitting back with his arms propping him up. He shot a glance in Hild's direction. She was busy embroidering the corner of her blanket a ways off under a tree, with Penumbra watching over her shoulder. Caspar drummed on his knees and glanced out toward the road.

"We'll reach Ruddlan in a few days," James said. "How are you feeling about passing through a city?"

Looking back to James, Caspar shrugged. "It'd be a first for me." He couldn't help but feel nervous, actually.

"It's quite a lot larger than anything like the towns we've passed through before," James said. "Busier. Louder, too. I was thinking of sending you off with Hild as she searches for textiles. If you're not confident navigating a city, it's probably for the best. I can take care of food again."

Caspar nodded. "That works." He wondered how tall the buildings would be. He heard that buildings came taller in cities.

"Hopefully it'll be quick," James said. "We should be able to blend in with the crowd just fine. You two, especially."

That made Caspar pause. He bit his lip, then asked quietly, "What about you?"

"Hm?" James tilted his head. "Blending in, you mean?"

"Yeah. Have you been to Ruddlan before?"

Though James's expression stayed neutral, his adam's apple bob a little, like he'd swallowed something down.

"Years ago," he said. "It's been a long time, though."

"So, you think you'll go unnoticed?" Caspar asked.

James flashed a smile. It was convincing enough, but there was a slight tightness to it that made it miss the mark by only a little.

"I can only hope," James said. "But if we don't stay for long, it should be fine."

Nodding again, Caspar glanced up at the trees.

If the city was that big, he wasn't sure how quickly they'd be able to navigate it. Maybe they should just wait until another, smaller town again? Though they didn't have enough resources to last them that long. It had to be Ruddlan now.

His jaw clenched. How far out was Ivar? The man had plenty of time to network, but was likely only recently in Blitzmouth as well if he still had eyes there.

The thought that Ivar could be lurking so close by, maybe even in Ruddlan, made Caspar's nerves fray.

"Honestly," James spoke up. "You really do look very different with a clean face and your haircut. If you've had a beard for a long time, or most of your life, it will definitely help."

Jolted from his spiraling thoughts, Caspar stared blankly at him as he scrambled to make the same subject jump.

"Uh, yeah," he said, rather lamely, "I didn't. Take time to clean up very often."

The couple of times he did try, it went. Not exactly poorly, but he never heard the end of it. There were countless jokes about how he wasn't even the same person and 'What have you done to the real Caspar?' Which got boring fast, and even slightly annoying.

"No fault in that, really," James said.

Caspar gestured vaguely to James. "I'm impressed with how well you cut hair. Self-taught, and all."

"Well, I've improved over the years. I used to cut my own hair as a teenager, too. Looked a lot less neat back then," he said with a little laugh. Small as it was, it still lacked a certain fullness.

"We all start somewhere," Caspar said amiably. "Most of us, anyway. My mother was the one who cut my hair. I never tried myself after moving inland, though it may have served me well to learn."

Eindride would have agreed. Though longer hair helped a little with warmth during winter in the wilds, he didn't much like how it felt. Caspar tried cutting the kid's hair once, and they both agreed it was best he didn't try again.

"A lot of people don't know how to cut hair, or only know one way," James said with a small shrug. "You're not the only one. But if you wanted to learn, it's never too late to try. You just might need to come to terms with a few bad cuts as you start out."

He wasn't sure if that was an offer to teach, or just a general suggestion. Either way, Caspar hardly saw the point and shrugged as well with a quiet, "Maybe."

"Or you could just keep letting me cut it," James said, smirking as he lightly flicked the back of Caspar's head.

Huffing a laugh, Caspar ruffled James's hair. "That may be best."

James shook his head and patted his hair, like he was trying to fix it. Caspar bit back a smile.

"Sounds like a plan, then," James said with his a huff through his nose.

Nodding, Caspar glanced away as his smile faltered.

Three times, they should've parted ways by now: at Gregor's ranch, the river, then Needle Point. 'Goodbye' was long overdue now, but the more they put it off, the more this arrangement was starting to feel...fixed. Harder to break, like a habit.

'You've gone through a lot of changes,' he recalled Hild telling James, and she didn't mean just his appearance by that.

James had to say goodbye to people he cared about far too many times than what could be considered fair. Was putting off this 'goodbye' now subconscious or deliberate?

Looking down at his hands, Caspar drew in a breath and quietly asked, "Where will you go? After Ruddlan."

For a moment, it was as if James hadn't heard him. He sat still, looking completely unmoved. But he didn't turn to look at Caspar.

"Where will you go?" James asked, throwing the question back at him.

Caspar wasn't sure how to answer that. He wrung his hands. He shouldn't have broached the subject. Trying to fumble through an answer would make this worse.

"Nevermind," he mumbled instead.

"Caspar, what are you trying to say?" James asked, his voice calm, but neutral. "Is this your way of telling me you want to part ways?"

"No," he answered hastily, "that's-- I didn't mean--"

"Then what did you mean?" James asked.

Caspar's breath was short, and something inside of him completely crumbled. He was panicking. He shouldn't be panicking, it was an honest question. Caspar brought it up in the first place, he should be able to answer honestly, but now even he wasn't sure what he meant by it anymore.

When he lifted his hand to scratch the back of his neck, his shoulder twinged, so he let it drop to his lap again.

Temporary. This was meant to end months ago. He wanted to know why it hadn't yet, but he wasn't supposed to touch on personal things, but he did anyway because he was stupid and unthinking like that.

The silence had gone on long enough.

Caspar finally said, haltingly, "We were supposed to. After getting medical supplies in Needle Point."

James was quiet for a moment, and the silence hung tensely in the air. Caspar scrubbed his face with both hands, then paused with his face hidden, wishing he could just disappear.

"You're right. We were," James said quietly. "That was the plan before Hild got involved."

Right. Of course, yes.

Caspar hoped that James and Hild would decide to stay together, after Ivar.

"I know we hadn't spoken about it that morning we left Needle Point," James said quietly. "But had Hild not caught up with us, fleeing Alexander, I would have said goodbye a little further down the road. Things changed when she was brought into the picture and we had an immediate threat to worry about."

Goodbye was overdue.

(He'd been a dead man walking for seven years. Goodbye was long overdue.)

James paused, and Caspar could practically see the wall James held up in front of his emotions. His face was unreadable. Even his eyes revealed nothing.

"You didn't abandon me when Alexander was closing in," James said. "And you could've. The smartest thing for you and Hild to do would've been to split from me and high-tail it somewhere else. But you didn't. And I owe both of you my life."

He turned, finally looking to Caspar, his eyes locking onto him. Caspar just managed to hold his gaze.

"I cannot in good conscience leave you in your hour of worry in return," James said, his voice firm and resolute. "I know the kind of man Ivar is. He knows how to work a crowd, and how to manipulate people. Give them the illusion of safety. But he doesn't hold back when his reputation is on the line. I will not leave you to face him alone, and there's nothing you can do to convince me otherwise. I owe it to you both."

Jaw tightening, Caspar swallowed and silently nodded.

"I know you're worried about what will happen to us," James continued. "And I don't expect you not to be. You can be worried. Just don't push us away and expect us to take it."

Nodding again, Caspar let the sentiment of James's words sink in. The earnestness in his eyes and voice now didn't fully settle Caspar's fears, but quelled them just enough for him to calm his mind and think more clearly.

This was the second time he promised protection. And both times, Caspar saw past James's barriers and glimpsed his heart.

What wasn't James seeing in himself? Caspar tried telling him, but his words seemed to simply roll off the younger man like rain.

No matter what came next for him, no matter how many more times he had to change himself in whatever ways, Caspar hoped with every fibre of his being that James would never let his heart change. Because that would be a true, irreconcilable loss.

Mustering a small yet sincere smile, Caspar said, soft and simple, "The gladiolus suits you."

James stared at Caspar blankly for a moment, then tore his eyes away, turning his face partially out of Caspar's view.

"Don't go trying to make this about me," James muttered stiffly. "I'm staying after Ruddlan, until we know you're clear of Ivar. That's all."

Caspar nodded and murmured, "Sounds like a plan."

He settled back a bit, turning his eyes out to the flat horizon, trying to possibly catch Ruddlan's skyline from their distance.

Ivar would always be a threat so long as Caspar was still alive.

James was set on sticking around, that much he made very clear. With a quiet sigh, Caspar supposed he had to hold himself together for just a little while longer and go with it.

Glancing sideways again, he caught James watching in Hild's direction. He was squinting.

He did that a lot, didn't he?

"You good, bud?" Caspar asked quietly.

James's eyebrows shot up, and he glanced back at Caspar. There was a flash of confusion on his face.

"Yeah," James said.

With a slight frown, Caspar reached back into the past several weeks.

He had first assumed that, when James couldn't keep Elliot on a straight path in the dark, that lumshade may have had something to do with it. Now that he really thought about it, though, there were numerous instances where James missed something in the dark or seemed to struggle with seeing across distances.

James held maps, Caspar's sketches, and even his own writing rather close to his eyes, as well.

Caspar's brows furrowed a little.

Once by the edge of the river, he pointed out a striking goldfinch in a tree a few yards away. Looking in a completely different direction, James claimed to see it as well. Caspar assumed he was joking, but now he was concerned that James was being utterly serious.

Caspar looked Hild's way too, then back to James. He picked up his journal again, flipped to a page filled with copy work of a passage from 'The Archer and his Hound' and held it out to James.

"Can you look this over real quick?" he asked.

James flicked his eyes between Caspar and the journal, before slowly taking it from Caspar's hands.

"Sure," he said, his voice laced with mild suspicion.

Caspar watched as James leaned forward and held the journal up closer to his face, eyes scanning the pages as he read. Gently taking hold of the top of the book, Caspar pulled it out to arm's length.

"I'm not--" James started.

"Just-- Sorry." Caspar flashed him an apologetic smile. "Can you read it from this distance?"

James drew his eyebrows together, shooting Caspar a look he could only describe as incredulous. Undeterred, Caspar asked, "How does the bottom-most paragraph begin?"

Caspar watched as James turned to look at the journal, his face tense with annoyance and indignance. He squinted again.

"'Finally, they relented, and they said they would ask no more of him - except for one last task,'" James quoted in monotone.

That wasn't how the last paragraph started, but it was exactly how the second-to-last paragraph started. Word-for-word. Caspar silently held the book closer for him to see.

James instead looked at Caspar, his brows furrowing together tighter.

"What?" he asked sharply.

Caspar mirrored his indignance. "What do you mean, 'What?' James--" He pointed to the text. "--that wasn't the last paragraph."

"It's not my fault that you wrote smaller this time," James retorted, clearly ignoring Caspar's observation.

With a huff, Caspar let the journal drop to his lap. "If you want, we can get a second opinion." He nodded in Hild's direction.

James's eyes widened for a split second, but his expression returned to stubborn indignance.

"A second opinion on what, Cas?" James asked, narrowing his eyes at him.

Good heart notwithstanding, the man was supremely stubborn.

"Your eyes," Caspar finally said, gentle, if a bit long-suffering. "James, you can't see things as well. Why didn't you say anything?"

"I can see just fine," James replied in denial. "Been seeing things for years now. Still am."

"Well-- Sure--"

"And why does it matter anyway?" James cut in. "I'm able to function just like you."

"Yes," Caspar agreed, tone placating, "you do function well. It's just...good for us to know these things going forward, is all."

James pressed his lips into a line and looked to the side.

"...Well you could've just asked," he said, still snippy, but relenting a little. "Instead of threatening to embarrass me..."

Tilting his head, Caspar countered, tone slightly teasing, "I feel like I wouldn't have gotten a straight answer either way."

James looked to the side and let out a huff through his nose, but didn't dignify Caspar's (likely correct) assumption with a response.

Caspar closed his journal, retied the string around it, and tucked it away in his bag.

"Learning a lot about ourselves, here," he said softly, mostly to himself. He looked back up at James and asked, "When do we want to get going again?"

James was already getting to his feet, brushing himself off.

"Let me go see if Hild is done with..." he trailed off.

"Embroidery," Caspar supplied.

"Embroidering," James repeated in a mumble as he turned away, walking over to Hild.

Slinging his bag over his shoulder, Caspar pushed himself to his feet, tilted his ears to the trees, then sprang into step beside James.

The last time James was in Ruddlan was five years ago. He'd been on the run for three months and had narrowly avoided several bounty hunters who were fresh on his trail, but finally had made some distance. He's been sleepless, hungry, and cold from a week of persistent cloudy skies and rain. Settling in at a tavern at the edges of the city, where the walls (back then) still had scars from goblin wars, he'd finally found a place to rest.

Elliot was a little less accustomed to a consistent life on the road back then. Pushing him through days and nights was threatening to wear him too thin, leaving Elliot and James both fraying at the edges.

It stormed that night.

Lightning, thunder, and whistling winds screaming through the trees, making the walls of the leaky inn creak and moan.

James had slept for the first time in two weeks, and he slept through it all. Door locked, fully paid for the night, he was too exhausted to have a single comprehensive thought.

Late in the morning he'd gotten up, and he'd dragged himself to the tavern hall to get breakfast. All they had to offer were grits, but it was more than enough for his too-long empty stomach and his weary frame.

But fate had different plans for him that morning.

A man walked into the tavern who stood so tall he had to hunch his shoulders when he walked in to keep from hitting his head on the ceiling. Just one of his arms alone was thicker than James's skull. One glance, and James knew that he had come with intents on violence. Not just because of his size, but because of his manner. The way he scanned the room like a predator looking for prey. The way his hand hovered over the ax at his side.

It was still storming when James had leaped over the bar and out the back window. Still pouring when he weaved through tall, overcrowded buildings, in and out of shadowed alleyways.

The wind threw him around when he finally made it outside the city walls, but he hadn't made it much further.

He hadn't been to Ruddlan in five years, and the memories still lived with him. He could still remember every alley he'd slipped down. Every shopkeeper he interfaced with. Every person who looked at him longer than a half-second glance.

When Butch caught him, he obsessed over who it was that reported him.

He'd never been able to figure it out. It could've been anyone.

Anyone in Ruddlan could very well recognize him again.

As they got closer, James could feel his nerves practically humming in his veins, but he did everything in his power to keep a calm facade for Hild and Caspar. From what he could tell, they didn't catch on, and he preferred it that way.

That way they could stick to the plan. Caspar would accompany Hild while they searched for clothing, textiles, thread and the like - and James would go to the market for food. The heart of the city.

It was mid-morning when they came up over the hill that tucked Ruddlan away from the world, and once they reached the peak, they could see a clear view of the city from above.

Tall, massive walls. Four fortified city gates, each facing north, south, east, and west. Wiry buildings that stood stories high, piercing the sky with pointed roofs. From afar, the city looked even more crowded than the last time he saw it.

And at the far corner of the city, there stood a massive building, rounded on all sides, with a rounded cage-like roof atop it.

The arena for the Griffin Games.

Though Caspar didn't say anything, James could see how his body stiffened up, like he was bracing for it.

That made two of them, though James kept his anxiety behind a mask.

Hild, however, looked calm and collected as ever, if a bit excited.

Finally pulling out of the forest and back on the main road, they approached the East Gate, going downhill. Elliot and Penumbra were perfectly calm when they started to enter more traffic than they'd seen in a long while, but James noticed Eir was a little twitchy.

He figured, as a ranching horse, she'd probably never been through a city. That meant Eir and Caspar were in the same boat.

When they made it to the gate, the three of them hopped down from their horses to more easily direct themselves through the increasing foot traffic.

The roads were bustling, with people milling about one side of the road while the other side was reserved for animals, wagons, and larger modes of transportation. The last time he was in Ruddlan, the roads were a loose dust that seemed to fill the air constantly.

Now, they were either cobblestone, or the dust had been so matted down that it was hard as rock.

Scanning the rows and rows of buildings that lines the winding roads, James reoriented himself. He remembered some of the streets. The important ones hadn't changed.

Hild had inched closer to a signpost, that had several small signs with arrows pointing in different directions in the intersection.

They read: "Business District," "Entertainment District," "Mayor Hill," "Visitors District," "Residential District," etc, etc.

James eventually saw a smaller sign that said "Market."

Looking over the top of Hild's head, Caspar closely studied the signs and read the words slowly under his breath.

"Are you sure you don't want us to wait for you?" Hild asked, looking around Caspar to James. "It would be nice for you to pick some things out for yourself."

"I'm sure," James said with a deceivingly calm smile. Now that he was in the city, it came easier. The pressure of many eyes around him drew it out of him. "It would be nice, sure. But I trust your judgement. Besides, I'd rather not spend any more time than we need to here. You take care of your errands, and I'll take care of mine. I'll meet back up with you outside the South Gate in three hours. Hopefully that'll be enough time for you both."

Hild easily returned his smile with the slightest of her own. "We'll make it work."

Caspar stayed quiet, but his eyes were concerned when he nodded his own acknowledgment to James.

He knew they were all concerned. But he was determined to stick it out. This was the fastest way to get through Ruddlan.

"Well, I'll see you two then," James said with a final smile and dip of his head before he turned to walk down the road, leading Elliot behind him.

James stayed alert as he followed the flow of traffic, eventually making it to the market where the road opened up a little more, and on the edges there were lines and lines of different merchant carts. But to the right was the farmer's market, where all the produce and foodstuffs were sold, so he quickly rounded a corner to start looking at the different prices posted, comparing them.

Hild had given him some money, but every coin always needed to be spent wisely.

After stopping by a few carts and haggling vegetable and fruit prices, the bags on Elliot's saddle were starting to fill up. The last thing on their list was fortunately something small.

Hild wanted a few spices. Those were more expensive, but they made a world of difference.

Finding a more humble seller with a smaller selection, James was able to strike up pleasant conversation and work his way into a small discount, earning him some ground pepper, basil, salt, rosemary, and thyme.

Tucking the little pouches of spice away, he pulled the belted latch of the bag tight, securing the goods.

He walked around to the front of Elliot again, patting him on the neck.

"Well, I think we did a good job," James said to Elliot. "You ready to get out of this crowd?"

He scratched Elliot under his chin briefly before turning back into the flow of people. The road was getting a little stopped up around a corner, so he decided to turn around and go the other way. All of the roads intersected at some point, so it wasn't too difficult to navigate.

Pulling out into a thinner flow of people, James was able to walk at a more normal pace, instead of inching along. However, it didn't seem to last for very long. A wagon pulled out onto the wrong side of the road, causing a ruckus.

James was a few yards off, watching as the people on the road started to scramble. He slowed to a stop, waiting for it to clear up.

Off to the side, a man with dark hair and a traveler's cloak leaning on a food cart, talking with the woman selling, glanced his way. There was a split second where his eyes sharpened as he glanced over James, but he casually turned back to his conversation as if he saw nothing.

James eyed the traffic jam.

Slowly, he turned around, making his way back the other direction again. He kept view of the man in the corner of his eyes.

The man straightened and exchanged a coin for an apple, and bid the woman farewell with a pleasant smile. She waved him off with well wishes, and the man slipped in one last pleasantry as he started in James's direction.

James kept walking, not once looking directly at the man he knew was approaching. He scanned the crowd for an opening to slip away, but with Elliot in tow, he was stuck.

Either the man was going to catch up to him, or James had to make a scene.

And he really didn't want to make a scene.

He took in a deep breath as he pulled off to the side of the road, stopping in front of a gap between market booths, pretending to be checking his pockets for something.

Really, he was just making sure his gun was still concealed under his jacket.

"As I live and breathe," a silky voice drawled. "Is that you, Gerome?"

Really? Gerome? James would've rolled his eyes were it another context. James looked up, finding himself face to face with Ivar.

Flashing him a small, friendly smile, Ivar tilted his head and shifted his weight to his left leg. The cloak hid most of him, but it was made from a courser material that helped him blend in with middle and lower class settings. His icy eyes glinted like he was genuinely happy to see James. And maybe he was, but likely for reasons beyond simply stumbling across a familiar face.

James could feel his heart beginning to steel itself, growing cold and calloused with suspicion. He didn't trust Ivar in the slightest.

James could play the same game. Mirroring Ivar's smile with one of his own, he turned around with the bright-eyed surprise of someone who might've run into an old friend.

"In the flesh," James said with a flourish of his hand pointing from his shoulders to his feet. "Never thought I'd see you so far out as Ruddlan. You look well. How's travel been treating you?"

"Quite well, thank you," Ivar said with a nod. "Figured it was time I got out of the big old dusty house for a while." With the apple in hand, he gestured to James. "How long has it been? Five years since I last saw you? What have you been up to?"

"Oh, you know," James said. "Thought I'd take the opportunity to see the world. Go places I've never had a chance to see before. The thrill of adventure."

He was playing a part, of course. Everything he said was a complete and utter lie.

"Life in a gilded cage never did suit you," Ivar said amiably. "I'm glad you've had time to stretch your wings a bit."

"I'm glad as well," James said with a small laugh. "I've gotten quite good at flying."

Ivar gave James and Elliot a glance over. "You seem busy, but I was hoping you would walk with me for a moment?"

James looked around the thick crowd.

"Can't have much of a walk in this," he said, pointing back at the still-not-yet-resolved traffic jam.

Ivar casually stepped around to James's side. He set his free hand on his hip, pushing aside his cloak enough to reveal casual traveling garb and a pistol.

"Nice thing about a city such as Ruddlan," he said smoothly, "is that there's all sorts of little shortcuts between the major roads." He nodded in the opposite direction of traffic. "Come on, we can side-step this mess no problem."

James flashed another smile, but this one hid malice.

"You should've led with that," James said, resisting the temptation to throw his fist into Ivar's smug face. "You always had a way with words."

Ivar's smile broadened. He swept an arm toward the road as he stepped back out, silently beckoning James to follow.

Reluctantly, James obeyed, following as Ivar let them past a few carts before pulling into a narrow alleyway - one that just barely fit Elliot. Effectively, causing Elliot to block the exit behind him. And of course, Elliot couldn't turn around either.

Ivar led at a liesurely pace, his posture loose and relaxed. He took a loud bite out of his apple and said, mouth full, "Bold of you to come by Ruddlan again." He cast a quick smile over his shoulder. "What exactly brings you back to where it all began?"

"Am I not allowed to go shopping?" James asked, putting a hand on his chest in mock offense. "A man has needs. It's hard to find fresh basil on the road, Ivar."

"Of course, of course" Ivar replied, laughing as he held up his hands in playful surrender. Then he held the apple aloft for James to see. "Speaking of shopping. This right here? From the best batch of apples on the block. If you stick around, go see Yvonne, tell her that I sent you her way."

"I'll jot that down right next to the rest of the information I plan to forget," James said, dropping any remnants of his smile that remained.

Ivar stopped so that they were equidistant from either end of the alleyway. His smile remained, and he took another bite from his apple. "Still not very open to talking about yourself," he mused. "Very well, I'm happy to talk about myself instead." He turned his head and spit a seed off to the side.

"How magnanimous of you," James said flatly. "But I'm not interested in playing catch-up."

Ivar's smile darkened, just a little, as he countered plainly, "You should be. Lend an ear, just for a moment?"

"Under duress," James hissed through a sneer.

"Excellent." Ivar finished the apple, and tossed the core over his shoulder. As he took a couple steps closer, he searched through the messenger bag on his shoulder. "I'm actually here on personal business, as you can probably gather from my rather humble choice of attire. Trying to avoid drawing too much attention to myself as I've been searching for an old friend, see, and heard he was recently in Blitzmouth."

Ivar held out a few sheets of paper that were neatly all folded in half. James looked at him, then at the papers. After a moment of intentional pause, he took the papers from Ivar's hands, starting to unfold and look through them.

The first paper had a sketch of Caspar's likeness, pre-haircut, and exclaimed in bold text at the bottom that he was wanted dead. The other papers underneath were various wanted posters for James.

"Tempting as it is to perhaps undertake your capture myself," Ivar went on conversationally, "you're not why I'm out here scouring the hills. The man, Calderson." He pointed his chin to the papers. "We had an agreement some years ago, but he gave me nothing to show for it and ran off before we could officially dissolve the partnership. As you know, the reputation of my business can't simply be snubbed like that, not to mention that it became a very personal matter when..."

James hid any recognition from his face well. It was something he learned how to perfect long ago. He flicked his eyes up from the posters, pausing his flipping through them to look up at Ivar expectantly when he trailed off.

Ivar's smile had dropped, and his eyes were blank. When he met James's eyes again, his air of nonchalance returned in an instant, but his smile was tighter than before. "Our conflict traded in the wrong lives," he finished simply. "I seek to correct it and restore some semblance of balance. Perhaps for my silence about your presence, you would be willing to help find this criminal?"

"I don't do charity work," James said, folding up the poster of Caspar, handing it back to Ivar with a cold expression. He wadded up the posters of his own face and shoved them in his pocket.

"If you want to take me in yourself, then you're welcome to try," James said cooly. "And if you want to blow the whistle instead, I could care less. I've run from worse monsters than you before, and I'll do it ten times over. The last thing I want to do is make a deal with a hunter. And I don't care what kind."

Ivar took back the paper and tucked it away in his bag again. He smiled pleasantly. "Fair enough." He inclined his head. "I suppose I should see you out, then."

He turned and covered the last stretch of the alley, his pace faster than before. He paused at the end.

"I'm sure Butch would be delighted to hear that his white whale has made a reappearance," Ivar said as he at last stepped aside with a small flourish. "It just might entice him enough to re-enter the hunting scene."

James stared Ivar down with daggers in his eyes, and as he led Elliot out of the alley, he spat at Ivar's feet. Ivar only smiled in turn.

"It's been a pleasure, Tiberius," he said politely.

"Bastard," was all James hissed under his breath through grit teeth as he led Elliot away, hurrying into the crowd.

Ivar stayed back, but James could feel that he was being watched and followed. His heart pounded loudly in his ears as he proceeded to weave through buildings and alleys with the world flashing red all around him.

Everything was a threat. Everyone was a threat.

He shouldn't have even entertained Ivar in the first place. He should've started walking away the first moment he came up to him. Ignored him. Forced his hand to shoot him. Then at least he'd have an excuse for bringing hell on his heels with him as he left the city. At least he could tell Hild and Caspar, bleeding, that he was sorry. That he fought for something.

Or maybe he would've wound up dead in the street. It would've been his time to go, too. At least the bullet would've gotten him before Butch did. Spared him too, unlike the sick-minded butcher who was enticed by the only listing for someone wanted "alive."

He didn't have a choice, now. He had to make a run for it.

But Caspar and Hild were still in the city, somewhere. James wouldn't be able to warn him when he couldn't risk leading one of Ivar's eyes right to them. He couldn't risk being seen with them at all, now. Not now that Ivar knew that he knew who Caspar was.

But who would warn them?

Who would tell Caspar that Ivar was practically breathing down his neck?

And Ivar didn't want Caspar alive. He wanted him dead.

James neared the Southern Gate, steeling his nerves and pressing every worry down deep, buried in his chest. Buried under years of having to survive without the privelige to "process" it all.

He went numb.

To leave Caspar would be selfish, but staying was just as selfish, if not worse.

Either way, they both needed to get out of Ruddlan as soon as possible.

And poor Hild was caught in the middle. But there wasn't anything he could do about that now.

When he finally passed through the gate, he quickly checked the time.

He was late. Late by fifteen minutes. Hopefully they'd waited for him instead of going back into the city where Ivar was actively searching for Caspar.

When he looked out around the outside wall, he spotted Hild standing with both Penumbra and Eir. She caught sight of him in the same instant and waved him over.

James stiffly and subtly shook his head, sharply pointing his chin forward to the road.

Please. Follow. Take the hint.

Her eyes flicked out to the road, and Hild tensed when she looked back to him. Then she turned and lingered by Penumbra's side, hands on the saddle like she was deciding what to do.

If he was currently being followed, he didn't want Hild to join him.

He just needed her to know there was danger closeby. Casually looking around, he acted like he was simply looking back at the city.

He recognized a repeated face that had been recurring as he went about the city. They were trying to appear casual as well as they carried on business at the back of their wagon. But they kept casting quick glances his way as they counted money.

He was, indeed, being followed.

Not wanting to draw any attention to Hild, James didn't look at her again, and instead rode out down the road.

He hoped she would follow from a distance. He hoped she might choose not to follow at all. But he couldn't go over to her and talk about it, and he had no idea where Caspar was, but he hoped to gods that he wasn't in plain sight.

The road out of the South Gate went uphill, and he urged Elliot to go a little faster, pushing against gravity.

Painfully, in the back of his mind, he kept trying to push back the memories of his last time here. Scrambling up the side of the hill in the mud, in the dark, soaked to the bone. Blood pouring out of his leg, mixing with the wet earth. Elliot, abandoned at the tavern because he hadn't even had a chance to run to him.

It had been futile. He knew it had been futile when he heard the low howls of hunting dogs, and their paws clapping the muddy ground, and the snapping of their jaws. He knew it when the earth gave way beneath him and he slid into the ditch, hitting his head.

And then the shadow towered over him, blocking out the little light there was peeking through the storm clouds.

James pinched his eyes shut for a second and then opened them, furiously shoving the memory away. Further. Deeper.

He'd made it to the top of the hill. As he came down the other side, falling out of view, he took one last peek over his shoulder.

No one had followed. Not his tail from the market, or even Hild at a distance.

The terror that surfaced wasn't for himself, but for Hild and Caspar.

He felt helpless.

No.

He felt stupid.

He quickly veered off the road, seeing that it was clear and there was no one to see, and he dissapeared into the heavily wooded forest that grew beside the road.

He rode Elliot carefully but hastily down the hill, expertly threading through trees until he could start to see the city wall up ahead.

Still in the cover of the trees, James silently tied up Elliot, hidden in the shadows, and grabbed his hat and bandana. He took off his jacket. Changed his shirt. It was a poor man's last-minute disguise but hopefully enough to not be immedieately recognizable if spotted.

But just as he turned to go sneak through the trees to go find Hild again - hopefully without his tail still watching him - he saw Hild herself coming up through the trees on her horse, a ways off to his right.

Once again, Hild spotted him the same moment he did her. She hopped off the saddle and met James where he was, with Penumbra on her heels.

"Where's Caspar?" James asked quickly before Hild could get a word in.

"He left to look for you," she bit out, hands clenching in irritation. "I couldn't talk him out of it."

James knit his eyebrows together and he bit back a curse.

"Ivar's in there," James said. "I'm going back for Caspar. He doesn't know he's walking into a noose. Dragons above. I'm going to kill him when I find him--"

"Here," Hild said, unpacking a new bag from Penumbra's saddle. She threw a long duster coat at him, tossed a pair of wingtip shoes onto the grass, and dug through to the bottom of the bag.

James didn't hesitate to throw off his shoes and replace them, lacing them up rapidly before shrugging on the coat and buttoning it up.

"Look up," she ordered, suddenly standing right in front of him.

James did so, and she carefully set a pair of glasses on his face. For a moment, his eyes went wide as he stared at her, too shocked to say anything as the world came into alarming focus. As she came into alarming focus.

"Are these alright?" she asked, tone urgent. "Do they work?"

James had questions. Rebuttals. Arguments. But none of them mattered.

He threw off the hat, ripped off his bandana, and stood up straight, running his hands through his hair for a moment to pull himself and the look together.

He looked to Hild.

"Thank you," he said, his voice thin.

Hild just turned him around by his shoulders and pushed on his back. "Yes, of course, now get the idiot out of there!"

"Wait--" James said, whipping around. Without waiting for reaction or response, he tightly pulled her into a hug.

The hug only lasted a second, but... he was tired of never saying real goodbyes. And Hild deserved one. Just in case it was one. She just stood there, stiff and shocked, and without time to respond.

Ripping himself away, he turned around, zeroing his focus in on finding Caspar, and looking the part of a different man.

"Bring him back personally," she called after him, her voice stern and tight.

James didn't look back. He couldn't. He'd lose focus. He'd break. He forced himself forward, weaving his way back through the trees until the road came into view. Still in cover, he scanned the gate entrance, looking for the man who'd been following him before.

The man was still set up with his wagon, engaged with another stranger now.

That was good. James could use that. The man was already distracted with a customer. James just needed to get in unseen.

James looked to the right, spotting a covered wagon coming down the road. That would be good cover.

He waited until it passed in front if him on his side of the road and slipped behind it, walking casually alongside it on the opposite side so the man couldn't spot him. The covered wagon paid him no notice as he stayed by the covered back anyway, and he followed all the way into the gate unnotticed.

That had been the easy part.

Now he had to find Caspar in a giant city, like a needle in a haystack.

If Ivar hadn't found him first, James really was going to kill him.

James went to the business district first. He was still keeping his eye out for anyone tailing him or anyone who recognized him, but thankfully didn't spot anyone. He just hoped he didn't miss anyone. At least the glasses were helping.

He found himself retracing his steps. Apprehensively returning to the area where he'd first been confronted by Ivar, he knew Caspar would've tried to find James where he said he would be - buying food.

He passed the carts that were selling jewelry, tools, and other odds and ends, scanning the crowd. At least Caspar was tall. Unfortunately, James wasn't, so he was constantly looking up for blond haired heads poking out of the crowd.

He hit the farmer's market and his eyes were bouncing around, scanning any tall man he could pick out.

Finally, he spotted the back of Caspar's head by a cart with vegetables.

Instead of making a beeline for him and drawing attention, James continued to weave through the crowd at a casual pace, but could feel the tension in every limb in his body growing as he got closer, coming up from behind.

He came around Caspar's side, setting a hand on Caspar's back. It took everything in him not to turn it into a fist. Stopping mid-sentence, Caspar jumped slightly at his touch, and did a double take.

"There you are old friend," he said calmly, altering his voice slightly in speech pattern and pitch. "Don't worry, I took care of the vegetables. Come along with me?"

The tension in Caspar's frame quickly disappeared, and he almost looked relieved. "Uh, yeah." He glanced at the man in the booth with a small smile. "Thank you, sir, but I guess we're good here."

James shot the seller a smile and a polite nod, and then reached out to grab Caspar's hand.

Holding it firmly, he had to force himself not to drag Caspar with him as he led Caspar behind a booth when the seller was turned the other way, then down an alley. Caspar easily kept pace behind him.

"Hey, I was worried when you didn't show up," Caspar said quietly, stooping a little so that James could better catch his voice. "I thought that--"

"Had you waited just a few minutes more," James cut in lowly, his voice tempting to fray. "I'd have been there. I know you were worried. I know you-- I know, okay? Just follow me."

Caspar simply nodded.

He didn't want to tell Caspar now, in the crowds, where someone too observant could see how they were stressed, or nervous. James had to pull it together, and he had to make sure Caspar kept it together.

He pulled the mask back on tighter.

James didn't bother with conversation as he carefully and calmly led Caspar through the backways of the city, taking a different route than he took before. He kept his eyes open for anyone who spotted them or took note of them, but he saw nothing.

When they approached the gate he slowed his pace, quickly spotting Ivar's eyes for hire. He took Caspar along the inside wall and waited for traffic to flow once again in their favor and, still gripping his hand tightly, dragged Caspar along with him until they were clear to duck out into the trees.

When they finally were in full cover he ripped his hand out of Caspar's and continued marching back to where he left Hild.

If she'd stayed - by gods he hoped she'd stayed and nothing happened to her - then she wasn't far.

Caspar trailed after, gradually falling out step with him. Finally James saw Elliot, and Penumbra, and Hild's curly hair through the trees. He walked up to her, but didn't look back at Caspar as he kept walking.

"I'm getting Eir," he said, his voice hollow.

"No," Hild said. "You just came back out that way."

James came to an abrupt stop and stiffly turned to her.

"Then you go," he said.

"I plan to," Hild said plainly, inclining her head. She leveled Caspar with a glare when she ordered, "Stay put." Looking to James, she said, less harshly, "Don't kill him just yet, we're still too close to the city."

With that, she mounted Penumbra and headed back.

James stood still with his back turned to Caspar, trying to push back the wave of anxiety, fear, and anger welling up inside of him. He clenched his fists at his side, digging his nails into his palms as he took in slow, deliberate breaths.

He could feel his body shaking. Shaking with what? Probably everything combined. The adrenaline rush was still pumping through his veins, and he knew he'd be more likely to lash out if someone touched him.

He stood there for a minute, letting his heartrate slow down just a little before he slowly turned around to Caspar, piercing the tall man's eyes with his own.

"Ivar is in that city," he said, punctuating every word. "He wants to kill you where you stand and you marched in there like you were asking for his bullet."

With a trembling hand, he pointed back at Ruddlan.

"I put my life on the line for you because you're my friend, Caspar," James continued. "Maybe you thought you'd do the same by rushing in to find me. But next time give it-- give it five. More. Minutes. Before--"

James snapped his mouth shut, his lips contorting into a tight frown. Taking in a slow, deep breath, he relaxed his features.

"You know what? We both did this to each other. I was late," he snapped, glaring at the ground.

He was met with silence for a moment, then pacing.

"I wasn't--" Caspar let out a breath, and stopped pacing. He scratched the back of his head loudly.

"Did he see you?" Caspar finally asked, his voice just audible.

James snapped his eyes back up to Caspar, thinly veiling the desperation in his voice.

"We. Had. A conversation," he said lowly.

Jaw tightening, Caspar nodded. He looked off to the side, shifting his weight between both feet. Then he dropped his gaze down to the grass and swore under his breath. He went back to pacing.

"We knew each other Caspar," James reminded him lowly. "Hell, he would recognize all of us, wouldn't he? Hild included."

Caspar stopped with his hands set on his hips, facing James again. "He would," he agreed faintly. "I don't think he knows to look for her, at least. But, yeah. He'd know her if he saw her."

"You know I had people following me?" James said, gesturing back to the city. "I was late because I was trying to lose them, Caspar. For you. So Ivar wouldn't know this--" he rapidly pointed between him and Caspar, but was cut off.

Visibly bristling, Caspar shot back, "One of the drawbacks of splitting up is that I wouldn't know that, actually."

James narrowed his eyes, his gaze cold and piercing. Caspar evenly met his gaze with a heated glare of his own.

"And if we'd been together, you could be dead by now," he said cooly. "I'm glad Ivar only found me, and not you."

"If we just stuck together to begin with, maybe he wouldn't have seen any of us," Caspar countered, throwing a hand in the direction of the gate.

James pressed his lips together tightly, feeling the pressure build in his chest, in his still-pounding head. His heart felt like it was getting crushed under a ten-ton weight, tight and compounded. He found himself clenching his fists again and he flexed his jaw, looking to the side and glowering into the forest.

He took in a deep breath, and looked back at Caspar.

"I can't undo what's already been done," he said, his voice even.

"Neither can I," Caspar cut in firmly. "But I won't apologize for being concerned for you, James."

"I'm not asking you to apologize for having--" he threw his hands up in the air, gesturing pointedly at Caspar from head to toe. "--human emotions and being a normal person! I just want-- I-- gods, Caspar I feel like I'm talking to myself! Do you think I don't understand? Do you think I haven't been in your shoes?"

Caspar waved both arms at James and asked, incredulous, "If you don't want an apology, and if you understand what I'm feeling, then why are you still yelling at me? I get it! Wait five more minutes next time. And--" He swung his hands angrily again, then jabbed a finger in James's direction. "And where do you get off, lecturing me about going out on my own when I damn well shouldn't 'cause it could mean death or worse? After you've already done that? Twice!"

James knew he was right, but something inside him snapped. Channeling all of the building energy into his fist, he whipped around and punched the tree next to him, spitting out a curse under his breath as the skin on his knuckles broke, meeting the wood.

He shook his hand out, wiping away the broken bark on his skin. From the corner of his eye, he watched Caspar pace furiously and scratch irritably at the back of his head again.

"You're talking about Alexander? At the ranch I was trying to leave to spare you. That was before you knew who I was. I wasn't going to drag you into something when you--"

"Of course not the first time!" Caspar snapped, voice raised. "The two times he caught up to us, James! Both times, not to mention injured and in the dark, you threw yourself right at him like-- like--" Ducking his head, he raked his hands over his scalp and let out a low, frustrated growl. "You've got a death wish or something, because you-- I--" He bit his tongue and turned back to pacing, shaking hands clenched at his sides.

James bit back his own retort, stopping himself from saying: and you don't? As if Caspar didn't have a death wish of his own.

James let out a long, heavy sigh and leaned on the assaulted tree with his forearm, looking down at his bloodied hand.

"We're all in agreement, then," Hild's voice cut in coolly. She rode in on Penumbra with Eir in tow.

"You both have been completely idiotic," she went on, "but it's in both of your natures. It can't be helped."

She handed Caspar Eir's reins, then started Penumbra through the trees, not even bothering with an invitation. With a defeated sigh, Caspar followed Hild on foot, away from the city walls.

James lingered behind for a moment, feeling the sting of Caspar's words, and the sting of broken skin. He quickly dug into his bag and pulled out a roll of bandaging, wrapping his hand and tearing it off before shoving it back in. When he hopped onto Elliot, he caught up eventually, riding behind the two of them.

His gut was heavy with the weight of bad news.

He still had to tell them.

"When Ivar spoke with me," he said slowly, knowing it would be news to Hild - though she may have overheard, or already assumed, "He offered me a deal."

He didn't look up to see Hild or Caspar's reactions, but the weighty silence that followed was enough.

"He didn't know about us. He wanted me to help him find Caspar... or he would spread word that I was here," he said lowly.

He took in a deep breath.

"I turned him down."

He heard Caspar let out a shaky breath.

"Not much of a deal, if you ask me," Hild muttered.

James's gripped the reins a little tighter, glancing back into the trees. Scanning. Listening. Almost expecting to hear the distant howl of a hound dog already on his trail.

He could feel the pressure building again, but this time in his head in the form of tears behind his eyes. He fought them as he steeled himself once more.

"Five years ago, a bounty hunter who goes by the name of Butch caught me in Ruddlan," he said, his voice devoid of any emotion. "For two weeks he held me captive as he brought me to the nearest outpost of the Moonlight Kingdom, until I escaped."

He swallowed thickly.

"Ivar... knows about him. He lives in Ruddlan," James said, staring down at the ground.

He'd almost forgotten about the glasses. He felt them slide down his nose ever so slightly, and jerkily pushed them back up his nose with his injured hand.

A tense silence settled over them.

"The name that criminals give him is The Butcher," James added when no one responded. "Because he... normally..."

He trailed off without meaning to as his eyes locked onto his hands, losing focus.

"We'll keep an eye out for him as well, then," Hild eventually said, voice steady. "And steer clear of any towns again."

James only nodded faintly.

"I'm sorry," he said quieter. "That I wasn't smarter about-- about the deal. I know--"

"You should've just told him," Caspar said softly.

"And sell you out to a cold-hearted murderer?" James shot back, sharper than intended.

Pausing in his tracks and abruptly stopping Eir beside him, Caspar met his eyes and firmly answered, "Of course. Then you would've been spared all of this added trouble."

"And if I said that to you, I'd never hear the end of it," James said just as firmly in return. "But since we're in agreement that we're both self-sacrificial idiots, I'm going to let that slide this time."

At that, he pulled Elliot forward, passing Caspar to indicate that was the end of that conversation.

He fell into step behind Hild, and Caspar kept pace on foot again, gently leading Eir along.

A long silence passed as they rode over the hill, deeper into the woods. It grew thicker as they went on, and James and Hild had to hop down off the horses to avoid getting hit by too many low-hanging branches.

Checking his watch, only thirty minutes had passed, but it felt like hours.

"Thank you for the glasses," he finally said, his voice soft against the harsh silence, cutting through weakly.

He was deflated. His nerves were still buzzing, but the adrenaline had long worn off and left him with the exhausting lingering ache of worry that wrapped him like a heavy wet blanket.

With a subtle smile, Hild tilted her head back toward Caspar. "Calder suggested them."

James flicked his eyes back to Caspar, but couldn't meet his eyes.

"They help," he said quietly. "Significantly."

Caspar kept his gaze trained on the dirt and underbrush anyway. He nodded. "Good. I'm glad."

James released a quiet sigh, feeling the consistent ache of tension left unresolved.

He didn't know what else to say.

He'd just have to give it time. Time for them both to cool off and process, if they wanted to return to it later.

He looked back to Hild.

"I assume you got everything you intended to?" James asked. "Found everything okay?"

"Yes," she answered smoothly, "our side of the expedition went without hitch. You?"

"I got everything," he said. "Didn't even have to use all the coin you gave me."

Hild nodded and said, pleased, "Excellent."

James was quiet for a beat. He didn't even want to talk, but the worry was going to drive him insane if he sat in it any longer without distraction.

"The coat seems to fit you well, too," Hild offered pleasantly, seeming to sense that the silence needed a little bit of filling. "I wasn't sure of your color preference. Since you already have a medium-to-light brown jacket, I opted for a darker, slightly ruddy color with this one. What do you think?"

Had James not been balancing several different types of worry, he might've been more flustered. As it was, he cleared his throat and looked down at the coat for a moment.

He'd been so preoccupied by the threat of Ivar and Butch that he'd hardly taken a moment to notice. But now that he paused to pay attention, he was able to process Hild's words, albeit with a seconds' delay.

"I like it," he said. "It was a good choice. And-- the shoes. Haven't had shoes this nice in a while. I'll try my best to take care of them, given our circumstances."

Hild gave him a small smile. "I'm sure you will." She lightly tapped the frames of his glasses. "Those look nice on you, by the way."

James felt heat rise to his cheeks and he flicked his eyes away quickly, playing it off with a smile.

"Yeah. It's nice to be able to see," he said, looking ahead of them through the trees.

He pointed ahead at a squirrel, sitting on a tree branch.

"Normally I wouldn't catch that little guy," he said.

Hild hummed a laugh. "They're already paying for themselves, then."

"I didn't realize how many little details I was missing," James said, casting a timid glance back at Caspar. "Like... everything looks... sharper."

He turned to look at Hild, observing her face more closely, studying the details he never caught before. Looking ahead as they walked, she didn't seem to notice him.

He studied the arch of her brow, and how it met with the straight angle of her nose and then her lips. Her profile was sharp and well-defined, but there was a softness in her cheeks under her eyes, and he noticed how there was the faintest tint of red.

She had a defined brow, well framed by the shorter curls that bounced around her temples. But what he found himself staring at most was her eyes. Before, he'd though they were a solid warm brown, but now he could see little flecks of hazel in her irises.

Realizing he'd been staring a little too long, his cheeks burned again when she met his eyes with a knowing smile.

"Find anything new?" she asked lightly.

He looked down, still feeling his face burn hot.

"Yes," he said with a quiet clearing of his throat.

She nodded, then looked out the other way. "Gaze upon the world with new eyes, then," she said, sweeping her arm out to the woods around them. "Savor it."

James snorted and flashed a small smile. She made it sound so dramatic.

"I'll not take it for granted," James said sincerely.

Hild smiled back softly. "I'm sure." Her eyes flicked back Caspar's way, but she didn't say anything to pull him into the conversation.

James followed her glance.

"I guess I won't have to hold your sketchbook so close anymore," he said, still feeling the pull of tension. "If you want to show me anything again."

After a moment's delay, Caspar glanced up from the ground to James. He blinked, then answered plainly, "Um, yeah. That's good. I'll be sure to, uh. Share anything of interest, then."

Any tension in Caspar's frame was gone. Now he just seemed weighed down by exhaustion.

That made two of them.

James nodded, and offered Caspar a weak smile, but felt he was likely unable to hide the heaviness in his own expression.

"I look forward to it," he said more softly.

Nodding back, Caspar mustered a small smile of his own. Then he dropped his eyes down to the forest floor again.

At that, James let the conversation drop on his end, but Hild picked it back up again, mostly keeping back-and-forth between the two of them.

The day went on, and just like Hild said, they fell back into a rhythm. But the routine was not without the silent weight of worry prevalent in all of it.

He found his mind was running in circles, replaying the conversation with Ivar over and over.

He didn't trust anything Ivar said about Caspar, but he knew two things to be true: Caspar had killed Manning, and Manning was out for blood.

But one of the things that Ivar had said stuck with him, like a missing piece to a puzzle. "Our conflict traded in the wrong lives."

Trading the wrong lives. Ivar might've meant that Caspar was supposed to die instead of Manning, which would be obvious, but a trade implied it was an exchange. A life for a life. Which meant that someone else had to have died in the confrontation, and if it was an exchange on Caspar's end, it was someone Caspar had been traveling with. A companion. A friend. Whoever it was, they'd gone unmentioned, and James could only imagine that the pain of the loss had painted Caspar's view of the world a very different color. If it had been someone who had died because of being associated with Caspar and Caspar had failed to save them, he could only imagine the kind of blind panic and rage that might've sent him into to kill Manning in return.

He'd seen a glimpse of it with Alexander, when Caspar cut in with his fists flying like a silent, burning fury. Like he wasn't just fighting for James, but like he was releasing years of pent-up anger at an injustice that had never been righted, and that still continued to haunt him to this day.

The loss of a loved one he failed to protect.

No wonder Caspar was so stubbornly determind to do give himself up on James and Hild's behalf. James knew all too well the kind of guilt that pushed a man to treat his life as cheap. Easily disposable for the good and the preservation of others, without regard for the hole that their loss would leave in their wake.

James always found himself vascillating between living for the sake of all of those who'd sacrificed themselves on his behalf and dying for the very same. A sacrifice for a sacrifice felt fair and justified, but when he felt he wasn't worth the sacrifice in the first place, there was already an imbalanced trade.

"I seek to correct it and restore some semblance of balance," Ivar had said.

Balance. But if there was already a trade of a life for a life, then he wasn't restoring any balance. He was tipping the scale.

The thought made his blood boil.

He kept peeling back the layers behind Ivar's words, trying to decipher if there was any more hidden meaning. Veiled truths.

The trade of lives may have been in reference to the Ashlunds, who were presumed dead, but something about the vengeful anger hiding behind Ivar's words seemed recent. Within the past few years.

He knew from drawing reasonable conclusions that the Hansens had been responsible for burning down Hild's family home and knew enough about the Ashlunds to recognize Hild. Caspar had confirmed that for him during their argument.

Dragons above, their argument.

James had never heard Caspar raise his voice until he was shouting at James for having a death wish. Of all things, that was what broke Caspar from his typical mellow, soft-spoken demeanor. It was being impulsive, and self-sacrificing, and careless. It was being suicidal.

As much as he knew that Caspar cared, it cut open an old wound that never healed.

That was his lifelong flaw, wasn't it? It was always because of his impulsive decisions that he found himself in more trouble that could've been avoided. All because he didn't care about himself.

James could be honest with himself about it, but they were truths he kept deeply tucked away, buried under shame, regret, and guilt for pushing away dozens of hands stretched out to him to pull him out. And each time he turned them down he just sunk deeper. A self-fulfilled prophecy. He knew he had a tendency towards self-destruction, but he hated himself for how others were always pulled into it.

Every. Damn. Time.

This was why he was better off alone. This was why he was better off turning himself in. This was why he was better off dead. He just didn't have the courage to follow through himself. But deep down, he wished that Butch would catch up. That Hild and Caspar would somehow, magically get away and be spared the heartache and their lives.

But it was far, far too late.

They were going to get hurt. He'd already hurt Caspar, biting his head off for something he was guilty of himself - and he was even worse, too.

Caspar was right. James had run off to fight alone like he had to be a 'hero' twice, and all Caspar did was go look for James in a crowded city. He didn't know about Ivar. He didn't know.

How could he blame him?

He'd only made it worse.

And the problem was, James didn't know if he'd change. He didn't know how to. Whenever violence was ignited and James was forced to engage, there was a switch that was flipped in him, stuck on fight. And that was all he knew how to do.

But he was afraid. Afraid that there was a part of him that really believed he had to go out fighting or not at all. A part of him that sought that out, because he wanted it all to be over soon. He'd been waiting for it to be over for five long years.

He was so, so, tired, but he had a feeling he wouldn't be able to rest for a very long time.

The woods they wandered into were denser than it had been the past weeks. It provided a lot of shade during the day, but let hardly any light through in the evening. Since they just only came out of Ruddlan with trouble hot on their heels, they decided against building a fire for camp for as long as they could.

Staring out into the night without a light to keep anything at bay, and with so many threats looming over them, Caspar found it nearly impossible to escape the winter thicket.

Since Ivar, the dream shifted sometimes.

The trees turned dense with deep green, and the sky darkened as it poured.

He would find and tear open the coffin again. Instead of his kid though, he found James, his face still splattered with Alexander's blood and the wound in his side rotting.

It was no longer Manning's bullet that ripped through his shoulder from a distance, but Ivar's shadow that fell over him as he shot Caspar point-blank.

The faces started to blur, and he couldn't see anybody straight.

One time his spade struck a wound that was already there in Manning's chest.

Caspar would wake up with his mind a terrible mess, but having to stamp it all down like a fire before either James or Hild could notice.

James already knew that he struggled with sleep, and even shared the trouble. It just wouldn't do any good, him knowing what exactly haunted Caspar nightly, so he said nothing. Busied himself with the usual daily tasks, steadily putting distance between himself and the blurring memories until sleep came for him again.

For a couple of days after Ruddlan-- after the argument-- he and James tentatively felt their way back to steadier ground with each other.

Caspar was always hesitant to nudge boundaries. Yes, it was good and necessary, and he's endured the discomfort of finding where exactly he stood with people just fine, and even been glad for it.

Seven years of actively withdrawing from people just. amplified his anxiety trying to navigate relationships.

But the three of them were still together, and he tried to take some comfort in that, even as the tension from their unresolved argument lingered in his chest.

When they never addressed the argument, Caspar played it back in his head. The wave of terror that pushed him back into the city and indignant frustration when James refused to let it go would hit him all over again. He read his own emotions on James's face, in his words, when he threw all of their anxiety and anger into a tree.

The lack of a concrete conclusion to the whole affair knotted up inside of him. He supposed there was no way to conclude it with a few final words and be really done with it since the underlying issue at hand likely wouldn't go away anytime soon.

They set up camp again. They didn't need a fire for warmth, and they were certainly still far too close to Ruddlan, even after a week, but they at least needed something small to cook.

Though Hild and James were engaged in a friendly conversation, and Caspar was present enough to insert a hum, nod, or small comment where appropriate, his mind wandered back to the trees by Ruddlan's walls. The knot started to bunch up a little too tight, and the fear of the oncoming night pressed on his lungs, so he excused himself to find firewood.

There were spots in this forest where trees grew a little too densely. The branches vied for sunlight, resulting in strange, twisting shapes in the trunks and even dead trees that couldn't quite get a leg up over their competitors.

Caspar picked out one such tree, still standing, but otherwise passed on. The grain was completely dry, there wasn't anything living in it, and there weren't visible signs of decay. The wood was hard and well seasoned, so it would burn nicely.

Taking the ax from his belt, he gripped the handle close to the head and tested its weight. He planted both feet firmly on the ground and carefully traced a path through the air with an experimental sideways swing of the wedge. His arc was clear of obstructions, so he drew back and exhaled with the stroke. He yanked the wedge out of the wood, and repeated, notching a few inches deep into the wood.

He cleared his mind of any faces, any words. Just focused on the frustration and fear that dwelled in his gut, and channeled those into each swing. Swift, steady, gradually enabling him to chip away at any internal tension.

He quickly stepped back as the dead tree fell the other way, leaving behind a stump of a decent size. The tree was a little hollow toward the base. Standing perpendicular to the log, Caspar braced his feet to account for a potential missed mark, and first carefully practiced a down-stroke.

He actually missed on a down-stroke before. He didn't have the time to immediately treat it, though. High on adrenaline and fueled by the raw instinct to protect because his kid had screamed and needed him, he pushed through it. The bear didn't cause anymore damage beyond busting through the front door, and he scared it off without having to injure. But the depth of healing his leg required after and the sheer blood loss left Caspar down for the count for a bit.

Yup. Don't want a repeat of that.

Eindride, the champ, carefully gathered food and branches for a fire to the best of his ability, and carried water inside from a running stream close by.

He distinctly recalled the look of intense worry on his kid's face. After a week of waiting around and losing his mind and trying to the let kid feel helpful, Caspar flashed him a confident smile, shoving aside the pain in his leg, and readied his ax once more. Winter was coming soon, after all, and they needed to prepare.

With the tree now sectioned into pieces of roughly the same size, Caspar stacked as much of the solid stuff as he could in his arms and carried the wood back to camp.

He greeted Hild and James with just a nod and small smile, and dropped the logs off to the side. He didn't listen to their words, but let their voices fill his ears as he propped up one of the longer pieces and marked out an 'x' on the top.

While carefully notching out the shape, Caspar caught sight of James disappearing...upward? from the corner of his eye. When he turned, only Hild was on the ground. With a hand on her hip and the other shading her eyes, she stared up a tree with a small degree of judgement on her face. Setting the ax down, Caspar followed her gaze.

"Did you lose something?" he called up to James.

James was scaling the tree with impressive speed and ease, making his way through the winding branches.

"I'm going to get a better view," James said, calling down.

"Of what?" Hild huffed. "More trees?"

"You told me to see the world!" He said, leaning out of the tree, throwing out an arm with a sweeping gesture. "Imagine how much further I could see with glasses. Imagine a horizon that's not blurry."

Hild scoffed, and Caspar could only huff a laugh.

"You're doing great, bud," he said fondly.

"You won't think that when the idiot falls and breaks something," Hild muttered.

"I've been sleeping in trees for years!" James said from above, going even higher. "Climbing them even longer!"

Hild bristled and cupped her hands around her mouth as she snapped, "There's still room for error!"

"Oh, come on, Hild!" James shouted back with a smile in his voice. "There's room for error with everything. Let me live a little."

Craning his neck, Caspar could see James had finally stopped far up in the tree, poking his head out just enough for them to see. But he wasn't looking down at them. He was, in fact, looking out at the world.

Hild turned away, muttering that she didn't want to witness the inevitable fall.

James's head turned slowly, back and forth, like he was scanning the forest. Drinking it in. Though he was far up, Caspar caught from the ground the small, awe-filled smile on James's face.

Caspar drew in a breath and felt his lungs warm as he just stood, watching. The elation in the younger man's smile and voice filled him with this ever-inexplicable second-hand joy.

Caspar was experiencing a familiar world through a new pair of eyes again, and the feeling brought with it a hollow ache.

He missed it. He missed getting show his kid things for the first time, watching him buzz with excitement or gape in awe at something completely ordinary, but fantastic all the same. He missed how the kid reminded him with hardly a word that the world still had some wonder in it.

Caspar missed him.

Swallowing it down, Caspar set his hands on his hips and stepped back so that the leaves didn't cover James as much.

"I think if you linger up there any longer," Caspar called up to him, "you might just. Get stuck or something, because Hild is on the verge of killing you herself if falling doesn't."

"Have I incited her wrath so?" James asked in return, his voice sweeping and playfully dramatic.

Hild crossed her arms tightly and pressed her lips into a thin line. Caspar nodded.

"Um, yes," he answered simply.

"Time to meet my fate, then, I suppose," James said. "Please tell Elliot I love him and he will receive my full inheritance totaling three copper pieces. It will be of no use to to him, but he will have it as a reminder of me nonetheless."

Caspar snorted at his theatrics. Off to the side, Elliot's head popped up at the mention of his name.

At that, James pulled his head back into the thick of the tree, disappearing. Caspar saw glimpses of his figure through gaps in the branches as he made his way down, but as he got closer to the bottom, he was entirely hidden.

Suddenly, he dropped down out of the tree right behind Hild. With a shout and swatting both hands at him, she jumped away.

James laughed, but looked at her apologetically.

"Thought you saw me coming," James said with a coy smile. "Sorry, Hild. But look! I'm alive! Nothing broken!"

He spread out one of his arms at his side and placed his other hand on his chest as he bowed deeply. As he straightened again, Caspar spotted a small tear in the back of his jacket under his outstretched arm.

Hild caught it too, and grabbed James's arm to hold it aloft. "You're lucky this is the worst of it," she said under her breath.

James raised an eyebrow in what looked like genuine confusion and glanced under his arm.

"Huh," he said. "...Sorry."

Folding an arm across her chest again, Hild gave him a flat look as she held out her other hand expectantly.

"This was why I didn't wear the nice new coat for climbing," James said, slipping the coat off with a shrug of his shoulders. He handed it to Hild, shooting her another apologetic look.

"In a fleeting moment of clarity," she added, and marched over to Penumbra for her sewing pack.

James watched her walk off, and Caspar caught him drop his eyes to the ground in what looked like a much deeper sense of embarrassment than a torn jacket would warrant. But he quickly looked back up, and the expression disappeared.

"I'm glad they're working," Caspar offered, a bit awkward but his voice soft. "You look good."

James offered Caspar a tiny smile and a stiff nod.

"Thanks, Cas," he said softly in return.

Caspar glanced off to Hild. Leaning toward James a little, he ducked his head and murmured with a gentle smile, "She just. She cares, you know? S'fine."

James shot Caspar a strange look, like a mix of surprise, confusion, and almost suspicion. But the look faded, and he slowly nodded.

"Yeah," he said. "I know."

Stepping back again, Caspar nodded as well. Unsure of where to go from here, he pointed an arm to the pile of wood. "I'll just. Finish up so we can get cooking." And he turned away, not waiting for a response.

He finished notching out the 'x' about five inches deep and lit the center of the shape with some wood chips and shavings for kindling. This created a concentrated fire in the heart of the log, suitable for cooking and creating less of a smoke trail.

Hild set up with needle, thread, and James's torn jacket across from Caspar. She shook out the coat over her lap, shaking loose some papers from the pocket, then paused.

James had been hovering close by and swooped in with wide eyes, reaching to snatch the papers from her lap. Planting a hand on his shoulder, Hild fended him off as she held them out the other way.

"What are you hiding here?" she asked, voice smug and her smile thrilled. "Shall we call you 'Thomas' now?"

James reached for the papers again, only for Hild to jerk them away from his grasp again. With reluctance, he pulled away and sat down next to her, eyeing the papers with a stubborn frown. Rifling through the pages, she held one out to Caspar. He reached for it, then hesitated. He cast James a questioning look, trying to gauge how to respond.

James was looking away. He looked annoyed, and maybe a bit uncomfortable, but he wasn't fighting it now that Hild was already looking through them. He begrudgingly seemed resigned to it. Biting his lip, Caspar accepted the sheet and looked over it carefully.

In the sketch, James sported full facial hair as when he and Caspar first met, but much longer hair as well that was only partially tied back. He went by 'Li-am' at that point, it seemed. Caspar shoved down any bubbling worry as he poured over the text that declared his crime and reward.

Hild turned another one of the pages toward James. "'Mustache-man', I presume," she said with a pleased smile.

James sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Yes," he said. "Good guess."

"It was rather a 'decent 'stache', I'll agree" Hild went on, humming a laugh. She considered the page again, brows furrowing a little in sincere thought. "I think the mustache paired with your current hairstyle would be a nice look, actually."

Some of James's annoyance seemed to melt away at the comment. He glanced at Hild, then the poster. And back and forth again.

"Would you like it?" he asked.

Meeting his eyes, Hild's smile faded a little as she glanced him over. She arched a brow and asked pointedly, "Would you?"

"I'm rather indifferent about my hair these days," James replied. "As long as whatever it is, it's done well."

Her gaze sharpened a little, mulling over his answer for a split-second, and she pursed her lips. "Fair enough."

Caspar looked down at 'Li-am', then back to James. His face was slightly more relaxed now than in the sketch, and he wondered briefly if the glasses had anything to do with it.

"You didn't answer my question, though," James said.

She tilted her head, and her eyes softened again. "You have a versatile face," she said simply. "You wear many looks very well."

James seemed pleased with her answer, seeing as all he did in reply was grin genuinely and look back to the poster.

Caspar folded the paper up, hiding 'Li-am' again, and handed it back to James. "Are you carrying these for nostalgia's sake, or...?"

James looked up to Caspar, and his grin vanished. Caspar felt a pang guilt for ruining a good moment.

Taking the poster, he unfolded it and looked down at it himself, but he didn't seem to be paying much attention to the poster itself.

"Ah... no," he said quietly. "I try not to be in the habit of carrying incriminating posters on my person. They were--" he paused, swallowing. "A... souvenir. From my conversation with Ivar."

Jaw tightening, Caspar nodded. "I see."

Right. Hansen.

"They weren't exactly a gift," James said. "But he didn't fight to take them back. I think they were meant to be a threat more than anything. I don't know how he collected so many, though. He must have found some of these in the Isles before he came out here. I don't think I've seen all of these iterations."

That made more sense, he supposed.

But why would Ivar compile wanted posters of James? And so many, at that. He wasn't in the business of general bounty hunting, and had a singular goal right now. He shouldn't have any interest in James's whereabouts.

Unless.

The lapsing silence turned suffocating as Caspar sensed everyone reaching the same chilling realization.

"He has to know," James said lowly. "That we're traveling together."

When Caspar reached to check the food in the pan, he bit back a pained grimace as his shoulder locked up on him. He let his hand drop to his lap again and swallowed. He opened his mouth to--

What? What more could he add? Caspar only nodded in response.

"I should've told you sooner about the posters," James said. "Though--"

Caspar shook his head and cut in, casting him a tight smile, "S'fine. Wouldn't have changed anything."

Because it genuinely wouldn't have. They would still be camping in the woods, tiptoeing at night and traveling as fast as reasonably possible by day, and it'd been long decided that they weren't splitting up. Not until immediate threats had passed, anyway.

Caspar paused in his thoughts.

Right?

"Well," James said with a sigh, passing the poster to Hild. "We don't have to hold onto them. But if it amuses you to look at them, you can."

With a small smile, Hild aligned the poster's edges and folded it into a neat little square. "I had my fun, thank you." She then tossed the paper square to Caspar, and he caught it. "Makes for good kindling, though," she went on.

Caspar nodded and hid it in his pocket for now. Letting out a slow breath, he absently watched as Hild then scooted forward and checked the food herself.

"It looks edible," she mused.

"I can smell the basil," James said.

Hild hummed. "It should help with flavor."

"Should, yes," James echoed.

He was folding away the remaining posters and shoved them back into his coat pocket. When he got to his feet he walked over to the fire, looking down at the meal.

"You know," he said. "Sometimes I remember that there's some sketch artist getting paid to draw me scowling on a sheet of paper, and I don't know how to feel about it."

Caspar shrugged, still trying to recover from the subject of Ivar, and put on a relaxed front. "You're giving someone somewhere steady work, so."

"Ah. Yes. Happy to create more jobs by existing," James said with sarcasm.

Caspar huffed a laugh. Hild simply glared between the two of them.

"Really, though," James said. "It's unsettling how they so accurately captured my likeness. I'd be impressed if they weren't putting me in danger."

"You're a high profile case," Caspar supposed. He eased himself back against a tree so that he was leaning on his arms. "They probably have the best of the best working on these."

"I guess I should be grateful," James said, deadpanning. "They could be drawing me uglier than I am."

"Minimally," Caspar said, demonstratively pinching his fingers together. "They could be out of a job if they got it wrong."

Hild's eyes glinted, and Caspar felt his stomach instinctively turn at her pointed look.

"Well, what say you, Calder?" she asked smoothly. "Would you consider it hard capturing James's likeness?"

Caspar blinked, hard. His mouth hung open as he scrambled to put his thoughts back in order. He stared at her in dumbfounded silence. Hild evenly stared back, completely unapologetic.

James was looking blankly between Hild and Caspar, and the longer the pause dragged on, the more his eyebrows started to pinch together.

"...Am I that hard to draw?" James asked hesitantly.

Caspar's mouth snapped shut. He shifted in his spot, feeling pinned where he was.

"What would be," Caspar asked slowly, "the right answer?"

There were only two answers, and he was unsure of how either one could be taken. Could they be taken the wrong way? Probably not, but again, he couldn't be sure.

"There isn't one?" James answered, raising a brow. "It's just a matter if personal experience. It's not a right or wrong thing."

Caspar bit his lip and idly drummed on his knees. He was still reeling from the fact that Hild just outed him like this.

"...You're, um." He scratched behind his ear. "Fairly easy to draw, actually. After...a couple of tries."

Gods, strike him down now.

Hild smiled pleasantly at James. "Well, there you go. You only take a couple of tries before an artist can be considered an expert."

Caspar looked up and around at the trees to keep from glaring at Hild and desperately fought the urge to just up and flee.

"How many tries did it take to capture Hild's likeness?" James asked, looking to Hild with a raised brow.

Looking expectantly at Caspar, Hild's smile broadened with amusement. Caspar hid his face in both hands and sighed quietly.

"She was a little harder to get right," he answered, soft but still audible enough for James, "but I have figured out the shapes of her face by now."

"Maybe you could make a poster of her," James joked dryly. "Then she won't feel left out."

Hild hummed. "I'm quite fine without one, thank you. Caspar's personal drawings are plenty for me."

She looked like she wanted to ask to maybe see the sketches. Caspar wasn't about to offer out of his own volition, though, so he stayed quiet.

"How do you know about his drawings if they're personal?" James asked with a little playful smile.

"It's obvious when he's trying to hide something," she said plainly.

Not to mention the glimpse she got in Needle Point.

"I have noticed you drawing me before," James said, glancing to Caspar. "But I don't mind it."

Caspar let his hands drop onto his knees again. "Fantastic," he said dryly, "you guys may as well just look through the whole thing if I'm that obvious."

"You don't have to show us anything," James said. "I just hadn't realized you were trying to keep it a secret."

Caspar pursed his lips. "I see."

Hild straightened. "Since you offered, though, I wouldn't mind getting a better look at your portrait work."

Though Hild wasn't looking at him, James rolled his eyes with a subtle knowing smile.

Glancing back up at the trees, Caspar, a little glumly, figured it really didn't make a difference at this point, since they both apparently knew because he evidently was not discrete enough about anything he did.

"Wait here," he mumbled as he pushed himself to his feet.

Once he located his journal, he flipped through the pages, giving everything a cursory glance to ensure he hadn't recorded anything that he absolutely did not want them to see. Scenery art, writing practice, portraits of Hild and James, studies of the horses. All seemed fine, so he handed Hild the book, closed, and said, "You can just look through," as he stepped back around to the other side of their small fire.

He settled back against the same tree as before with a knife and small block of wood from chopping earlier that evening. He planned out the shapes of a new carving, just to give himself something to do other than sitting there stressed, but he did keep glancing Hild and James's way as he worked.

Hild sat closer by to James so he could see as well. She went quiet, and her expression became focused as she looked over the pages.

Tilting the book toward James, she grinned and said, "Jim and Jam."

James huffed a laugh through his nose, shooting Caspar a look of amusement before returning his eyes to the page. Caspar felt himself smile a little too. His nerves settled just a bit, watching them find enjoyment in his work.

"Have you tried drawing yourself?" Hild eventually asked, glancing up from the book.

Caspar shrugged. "I. Don't usually have a mirror or anything. So, no."

"I have a mirror," James said simply. "If you ever want to use it."

"Ah, um." Caspar scratched the back of his neck. "Thank you, I might consider it."

James nodded slightly, still looking at the sketchbook. Hopefully they would forget about the idea, and that would be the end of that. Caspar never had any interest in attempting a self-portrait.

"...Do I really sleep like that?" James asked.

Hild laughed. "Yes, you do."

"All the time?" James asked, looking from Hild to Caspar, sounding both concerned and amused.

"Just sometimes," Caspar answered with a slight grin.

"We usually give you a considerable radius at night," Hild went on, "to avoid getting smacked in our sleep."

"She's exaggerating," Caspar countered.

James looked between the two of them, like he wasn't sure who to believe.

Hild shrugged noncommittally. "Not by much."

James pursed his lips and pointedly reached over, turning to the next page.

Now that the anxiety had passed, Caspar was actually curious if they thought the portraits aligned with how they saw themselves. A few of the starting sketches were studies, to as accurately capture their proportions and shapes as possible. Once he felt comfortable with those aspects, he gradually simplified what he saw, if only to make drawing them easier for recording split-second moments.

Caspar let his carving project drop to his lap, and he hesitantly asked, "What do you think?"

Hild looked up from the book with a small smile. "I think you'd give the criminal sketch artists a run for their money."

Caspar nodded. That sounded like approval, and it made something warm well up inside of him.

"I like that you drew me doing things other than scowling," James said.

Huffing a laugh, Caspar ducked his head, then met James's eyes again. "The scowly depictions are kind of fair, you do that a lot," he said quietly. "I've just had the benefit of witnessing you 'doing other things'."

James narrowed his eyes and looked at Caspar with his lips pursed into a small frown. He held Caspar's gaze for a second before he looked away with a sigh.

"I do try," James said. "To not look so angry all the time. But I've found that most people interpret this--" he gestured to his face, relaxing it. "As angry, or annoyed. Or something to that tune."

Caspar nodded. "I know. It's--" He gestured toward James as well and finished simply, "I understand."

James flashed Caspar a small, grateful smile with a nod.

"It makes me look like a hardened criminal on the posters, though," James commented.

"Very no-nonsense," Caspar agreed.

Hild shoved the book at James and took the pan off the flame as the food began smoking. With a grimace, she poked at a slightly blackened bit. "That counts as char, right? People cook like that."

Caspar leaned forward to get a better look at it. "Sure," he chirped.

"I'll eat it nonetheless," James said with a shrug.

And they did. James seemed to genuinely have no problem with the burnt food. Hild was still displeased, so Caspar tried assuring her that it was really okay and still very edible. She didn't take comfort in his sincerity either, and only muttered about concerns about his and James's standards.

They ate, they cleaned up from dinner, and settled for the night. Caspar notched another log with an 'x' and kept it burning. It provided a subtle glow. Just for some light, for his own sanity, as the darkness quickly descended on them.

He paced, trying to stay light on his feet as he did. They had cleared a patch of the forest floor for comfort, cleanliness, and to reduce sound pollution. But the forest was dead silent, and any quiet misstep could be startling.

He leaned his left shoulder against a tree and scrubbed his hand over his face.

Now that it was quiet, the argument predictably came flooding back and the knot in his chest tightened.

When time kept dragging along by the Southern Gate, and James still hadn't shown, there were plenty of plausible explanations that didn't involve the usual dangers they'd been dodging the past months. Such as simple day traffic in a big city, getting held up bartering in the market, even getting turned around, because that happened to the best of folks sometimes (and James, he considered, possibly the best of them all).

But of course, Caspar jumped straight to the worst case scenario. And he hated that he turned out to be right. Ivar found James, and it could've gone so much worse than it already had.

It was exactly what Caspar feared would happen. That was why he didn't wait five more minutes. He didn't know about Ivar being in Ruddlan, but he couldn't ignore the alarm bells going off in his head, and everything within him screamed at him to just go, protect.

Scratching the back of his head, Caspar glanced over to James and Hild.

He and James seemed to mirror each other in that way. Both were quick to throw themselves into harm's way, unthinking almost, and yet with such singular clarity that, yes, that was the right thing. It completely overrode any sense of self-preservation.

Each felt justified in their willingness to gamble with their own lives, both stubborn in their resolve to protect the other. Caspar couldn't help but laugh wryly, because of all the things to argue over, they seemed to figure, 'Yeah, why not this?'

For a grim moment, it hit him that this mentality, this instinct could very well kill the both of them in the near future. Especially now that Ivar had pretty much seen both of them-- even knew they were together-- and was likely on his way to recruiting an extra pair of hands if he hadn't already.

Caspar hated just imagining what that Butch character was like. He wished that Ivar had found him, before James, before Ruddlan, well before any of this.

He kept defending himself in his own mind. That he truly couldn't wait, that his own inaction assuredly led to tragic consequences, and trying to wait in Ruddlan actually hurt because he couldn't help but fear the worst had already happened and that he would be too late by the time he did finally do something.

But they were where they were now, and the very worst hadn't happened. And to push back with his stance on the matter would be missing the point right now.

It was stupid on Caspar's part, yes. Trying to locate James on his own, in a city larger than life that he had only been in for a few hours, and with the possibility of Ivar lurking close by. James was right to be mad at him.

The tightness in his chest remained, even as he finally decided what he had to do about it.

His shift was over, and it was time to wake James.

James twitched, reaching for the gun in his jacket. Hand already on the handle in his pocket, he jolted at the sound of Caspar's quiet voice beside him.

Eyes barely open, James nodded, mumbling something resembling a word as he quickly started to sit up and readjust. He left the gun in his pocket, abandoning it in favor of pushing himself up off the forest floor.

The fire had long since gone out, and James couldn't see a thing. He patted his pockets and found the glasses, pulling them out and slipping them on his bleary eyes. Though they normally helped, it seemed the heavy cover of the forest above blocking out the light combined with the exhaustion headache wrapping around his skull made his eyes lose focus.

It felt like he hadn't slept at all. He'd actually managed to fall asleep sooner than usual, but still, he woke up with his nerves frayed and buzzing.

He let out a heavy sigh as he stretched out his arms and got to his feet.

Finally his eyes focused (in part) on Caspar, who stayed off to the side, leaning back heavily against a tree.

"Everything still look okay?" Caspar asked, and he gestured toward his own eyes. "With the, um, glasses."

James found himself squinting even though it didn't make much of a difference.

"It's just dark," he said lowly. "I'd be surprised if anyone could see much out here."

"Yeah, I guess."

James paused to stretch again, trying to get the blood flowing through his muscles again to wake himself up a little more. He bounced on his feet and shook his head for just a second, trying to clear his head of the headache.

It didn't help the headache, but he did feel just a bit more alert.

Taking in a deep breath, he stepped over to Caspar.

"You can go rest now, Cas," James whispered. "I can see just fine."

But as he approached, he couldn't help but notice that Caspar made no moves to go lie down. He didn't even look like he was ready to sleep yet. He looked like he was... waiting.

Waiting for him.

A small pit formed in James's stomach as he tried to prepare himself.

"Did something happen on your watch?" James asked.

He knew if something had, Caspar would've woken them, but he was too afraid to ask Caspar what was on his mind.

Scratching the back of his neck, Caspar glanced off to the side. "No, everything's good. I just, um." He looked down at his feet. "Don't want to sleep just yet."

James stood still, at first watching Caspar, but then he let his gaze drift out into the darkness.

"Alright," James said simply.

An awkward silence followed.

"If you don't mind, that is," Caspar added quietly. "I get needing space sometimes, so if. If you need space, I can--" He waved his hands vaguely toward the ground. "I don't know, I can't exactly leave or anything, but--"

"Caspar," James interrupted. "You're fine. It's okay. You can stay."

Caspar nodded. "Okay."

James bowed his head and found a tree adjacent to Caspar, leaning back as well. Sitting down would be likely to make him drift off in his current state.

He leaned his head back on the bark, staring up into the black hole of a tree above him. It swallowed up the sky, obscuring the moon and stars from view.

Though in times past, silence felt betfitting in a moment like this between the two of them, the silence felt loud. He could sense that Caspar was working towards something. He was just working up the courage or still finding the words.

With deliberate, steady breaths, James waited. Leaving space for Caspar to fill when he was ready.

Caspar didn't sound restless or fidgety as the silence drew on. He eventually took a steadying breath and pushed off the tree to stand closer to James.

"You were right," he said softly. "You were. Well within your rights to be mad at me. I should've just waited like you said, and I'm sorry that I caused you more trouble."

James slowly righted his head, standing up straight. A knot started to form in his gut.

The last thing he expected or deserved was an apology. But he knew well enough that trying to argue people out of their apologies - at least, good people, like Caspar - only made them more persistent.

"I forgive you, Cas," James said, voice even, but sincere. "And I understand why you went. Don't worry about it."

Caspar let out a breath, releasing the tension in his frame, and dropped his head so that their foreheads touched. "Thank you," he whispered.

James tensed, and gently pushed Caspar's shoulders away so that their faces weren't so close. Straightening instantly, Caspar took a couple more steps back for good measure.

James watched Caspar for a moment, seeing how he was quick to retreat. After pursing his lips and letting out a soft sigh through his nose he outstretched his arms, inviting Caspar in for a hug.

Caspar shook his head. "S'fine."

"Caspar," James said pointedly, nearly chiding. "I don't offer hugs very often."

There was a pause. Caspar took another step back and murmured, "That's alright."

Admittedly a little annoyed, James let out another sigh. He knew Caspar was a touchy person and probably touch-starved around him and Hild. He appreciated Caspar being respectful and mindful, but gods, James was trying to make an effort for once and Caspar wasn't taking it.

He was going to have to just... go up to him, wasn't he?

With a slight rolling of his eyes he marched up to Caspar and pulled him into a firm hug before Caspar could argue with him about it. There was a second where he didn't respond. He carefully brought his hands up around James's back, loosely resting them there. Caspar released a slow, worn sigh, and he sagged a little in his arms.

James patted Caspar's back lightly and stayed in the embrace, deciding to let Caspar decide when he wanted to pull away. Though hugs weren't the most enjoyable for him, he knew Caspar needed it.

Lightly tapping his back as well, Caspar withdrew another few steps. He sucked in a breath. "Thanks," he said, his voice almost thick.

"You really made me work for that, huh," James said with a light jab of his elbow into Caspar's side.

Caspar huffed a laugh. "Sorry, I just. Didn't want to..." He scratched the back of his head, letting the thought drop.

"Didn't want to what?" James asked with a tilt of his head.

Exhaling through his nose, Caspar put his hands on his hips, then tucked them away in his coat pockets. He tilted his head up in thought, then shrugged. "I don't know. Overstep, I guess?"

"But I was the one who offered," James countered gently.

Caspar nodded as he glanced off, and mumbled, "You don't have to. But, um. Thank you, anyway."

James glanced back around their camp, scanning the darkness out of habit.

"I know," he said quietly. "You're welcome."

His eyes landed on Hild for a moment. She was still fast asleep, and the forest was mostly quiet, save a few singing bugs in the distance.

Taking a small step back again, James glanced at Caspar.

"Was that all you wanted to talk about?" he asked.

"Uh, yeah," Caspar said simply, sounding genuinely content that he'd been able to say his piece and okay with leaving it there. "That was it."

James nodded slightly.

"I... I'm sorry for beating you over the head with it," James said slowly, looking at the ground.

He'd thought out something of an apology of his own for the past week, but now that the opportunity arose to say it, all of his thoughts started running together. It didn't help that his head still hurt, and sleeplessness still lingered in his frame, keeping his head in a constant fog.

Still, he wanted to try to push through it before the moment was lost.

"I was stressed," he said, still staring at the forest floor. "And frustrated. I shouldn't have taken it out on you. I'm sorry."

"It's alright," Caspar answered, soft and sure. "Looking back on it, there was...a lot going on, and I understand. There's hardly anything to forgive, really. But, um. I accept your apology."

James felt tense, and though he wasn't even looking at Caspar, he practically wanted to squirm.

He turned his face up to Caspar but avoided his gaze as he gave Caspar a tight smile and nodded his head.

"Thank you," he said, desperately wishing he knew how to resolve the tension building in his own chest. But he didn't want to address it.

He didn't want to talk about the times he'd run off to take care of Alexander himself. He didn't want to talk about his stupidity, and how he willingly threw himself headlong into every fight that came their way. He didn't want to go down that rabbit hole, but he knew Caspar was thinking it.

He knew they were both thinking it.

And he was still thinking about Ivar, too. And the few things he told him about Caspar. He wanted to ask about it -- to ask about Manning, and who it was that Manning took from him -- but how could he even ask? What gave him the right? And how could he ask any of those questions when he barely even talked about himself?

Sure, he'd answered questions on the front end when they'd all started traveling together, but once the big concerns were pushed out of the way, Hild and Caspar had stopped asking.

Well, Hild tried. Sometimes. But Caspar was always so careful.

Did it drive them mad, sometimes? To always be walking on eggshells?

Did they tire of his secrecy? He'd wondered more than once if Hild or Caspar might've at any moment tried to invade his privacy by looking through his things, but he never found any evidence of it if they had. And he-- he wanted to trust them.

He was trying.

Gods, James's head hurt.

He flicked his eyes over to Caspar, having lost track of how long the silence between the two of them had dragged on.

"Well," James said with a small clearing of his throat. "You ought to try and get some sleep, now. I don't want to keep you up my whole shift."

"Ah. Right." Caspar shifted his weight between both feet, and glanced down at the ground. "Sleep. Is probably a good idea."

Though reluctant, Caspar quietly bid him goodnight with a small smile and settled on the ground, using the rolled up blanket like a pillow.

James returned to the tree he'd been leaning on before, keeping his eyes out on th forest around them. Though his head still hurt, he felt he was finally starting to wake up more - of course, after the whole conversation had already occured.

James found himself wondering how long Caspar had agonized over their argument. How long had he been sitting on that apology? How long would he have waited?

But James hadn't brought it up either. He was just as guilty for putting it off. Frankly, he wasn't sure if he was going to address it at all.

So he was glad that Caspar did.

He just... didn't address everything.

James took in a deep sigh, and, letting his mind drift, he found it drifting back to Ruddlan.

Not the argument. Not searching for Caspar. Not the mundane wandering and shopping. Not even to his run-in with Ivar.

He was back in the tavern again. Rain pounding against the windows. Thunder roaring and rumbling through the clouds as lightning lit up the sky. Leaping out a window, leaving the rest of his food untouched.

He could still feel the mud under his fingernails as he clawed through the sludge of the forest floor, knowing he wasn't going to make it.

Butch had sliced open his lower leg, and he was already bleeding out. Crippled, he had no chance.

Chills ran down his spine at the thought of having to face him again. He didn't want to imagine it at all, but he could already see it in his head. Axes flying through the night, taking Hild down first. Then Caspar, and finally him, at the end of a blade, and at the end of his rope.

Though he already felt like he was sliding quickly to the end of it.

The memories were eating away at him. He'd buried them away long ago, and for years, they lived only as a distant echo in the back of his mind. Forcibly forgotten. But something changed after they left the Ruddlan gates. He could feel it all leaking through in little pieces. And every piece that returned to him was like a slice at the rope he was desperately hanging onto. Cutting at the threads that were holding him up.

Part of him was convinced that if he was alone that this wouldn't be happening. He'd be too preoccupied with staying on guard all the time to spare a moment's thought for what happened five years ago.

It terrified him that the problem was that he - in the smallest way - felt safe.

He shouldn't feel safe. They were the furthest thing from it.

James tried pushing it all back down again, but it wasn't working anymore. The tension lingered in his chest, only growing tighter as the night went on. As his chest knotted up his head only hurt more, and by the time it was time to switch shifts, he wasn't sure if he'd fall asleep right away from the exhaustion of the pain or stay awaken the rest of the night because of the nagging ache.

He woke Hild quietly and didn't talk much as he simply retreated to his blanket, withdrawing into himself.

He closed his eyes and found himself curling up under his blanket, letting the tension pull on his whole frame. For what felt like an eternity, he fought to sleep, but it wasn't until he was too tired to even feel tense that he finally started to slip.

And he slipped hard.

His head hit solid rock, and everything became a spotted mess of black and white. Light flashed across his vision. Thunder shook his whole being, and a towering shadow fell over him.

Consciousness slipped away as he was lifted by the hem of his shirt. Limp, like a ragdoll.

His eyes snapped open, and he was in a shed. No, a small cabin.

It was dark, apart from the roaring fireplace in front of him that cast sharp shadows across the barren room. James had every limb strapped to the arms and the legs of a small, wooden chair, and he felt that at any moment, the legs would snap underneath his weight. He was gagged with a sock in his mouth, and a bandana secured tightly between his teeth for good measure. With that alone, his breathing felt shallow.

Sitting across from him on a stool was a man with dark skin and dark hair that grew to his shoulders. He cupped his bearded chin with one hand and spun a knife around in the other, letting it dance between his fingers. He looked like he might be from the isles, but it had to have been a long time since he'd seen the sea for him to be this far up north. He looked about James's size, but a bit taller. Possible to overpower, but not like this. Not while James was bound.

At the other side of the shed, in the corner, another man was sitting on a crate. He had pale skin and didn't look like a fighter. He was built like someone who worked indoors. Someone who hadn't worked with his hands except to perhaps, stitch things up. James felt like he already understood the man's role. He was the medic, and his eyes were glued to the floor.

That would explain why James's leg was bandaged.

They didn't want him to die. Not if they wanted the reward.

Not if The Butcher wanted his money. And his claim to fame, catching the most expensive bounty in Nye.

A shudder ran down his spine as the bounty hunter emerged from behind a stack of crates, walking towards the fire.

Butch stood at least a foot taller than him, and he was broad and massive. He was a cross between an ox and a tree, and it felt like he filled up the whole room with his presence.

James's eyes flicked to the fire. At first, he thought Butch was stoking it, but then he realized Butch wasn't poking at the fire - he was pulling a metal rod out of it.

At the end of the rod was a brand. The metal curved and turned to form a sharp-edged "B" with a circle around it. James felt a wave of nausea wash over him and his eyes grew wider as he stared at the glowing iron symbol hovering over the flames. No. No. Surely, Butch wasn't so cruel as to treat his bounties like cattle.

James felt his heart beating hard in his chest. He started to wriggle and pull at his restraints. Someone in the room had to fight. Butch couldn't just get away with this.

Butch turned his head back towards James as the chair beneath him creaked under his struggling. Butch's mouth upturned into a sickening grin, making the man's underbite more prominent.

The light from the fire cast half of Butch's face into shadow, and when Butch and James locked eyes, James felt his body, involuntarily, begin to tremble.

With a swift movement, Butch drew the brand out of the fire and marched behind James. The chair tilted forward. James felt Butch push up the bottom of his shirt, exposing his lower back. He didn't know if the chill he felt was from the night air against his skin or the fear.

"It's just tradition," Butch began to say casually, like one would discuss the weather. "So that when I bring you in, they know it was me who caught you."

James whimpered, but it was barely heard through the gag in his mouth.

"Here's to the mark of a man who is no longer free," Butch said. James might've understood that Butch was saying it to the other men in the room in the same way one might raise a glass for a toast, but he was staring into the fire. The room felt hot, and he couldn't breathe, and his heart was pounding.

And then scalding metal met flesh, and he bit down on the gag as he screamed.

Except he wasn't bound anymore. The sound of his own scream of terror echoed in his ears as his whole body reacted, reliving the searing pain. His back arched backward, but his legs curled up, and he buried his face in his arms.

Trembling, he curled up even tighter, unable to reconcile the thought of either Cas or Hild seeing him like this.

Sweat was thick on his skin, and his heart was racing. He dug his fingers into his hair, holding his head down to his chest as he tried to will the pain away. As he tried not to see Butch again, or Reed, or Oliver. As he tried to block it all out like he had before.

Why wasn't it working? Why wouldn't it just go away?

Distantly, Caspar's voice tried nudging in through the panic.

"Can you open your eyes for me, bud?" he asked gently.

James still held his head, tightly shielding his face from the world. Tears started to flood through his eyes, even though they were pinched shut. They started pouring out, hot and never-ending.

He took in a shaky breath, but it hitched, morphing into a sob.

"You're alright now," Caspar said softly, "I'm right here. Remember to breathe, okay?"

Nothing Caspar was saying sounded like words. James couldn't stop crying the moment he started. It overwhelmed him, how it came like waves, pulling him under.

Still, he could see the iron brand with tendrils of smoke, flaming red and orange. Still, he could see Butch's unsettling, terrifying smile. It made James want to crawl out of his skin.

"You're in the woods right now, with me and Hild," Caspar's voice went on, "the horses, the trees, and the sun's almost up."

The last few words finally hooked into his mind. The sun. The sun was almost up. It was almost morning, and they would need to get moving. Moving along. Moving past this.

"The sky and the birds are awakening, too. The air's clear right now. Can you feel the slight breeze?"

He couldn't, but he could hear the birds. Faintly, like they were recently silenced by his previous scream.

Taking in a forcefully deep and shuddering breath, James tried to steady the ever-persistent trembling.

Despite wishing this hadn't happened where others could see, he knew he couldn't change the fact that it did.

"That's it," Caspar murmured encouragingly, "try and take it slow, if you can."

"I'm sorry," James forced out, his voice warbled by tears and the knot still in his throat. "For waking you."

"It's alright," Caspar reassured him. "It was time, anyway. Can you still smell the basil? There's pine nearby, too."

James wiped his face with his sleeves, still trying to shield it from view. He didn't know what Caspar was going on about smells -- no, he knew what he was trying to do. He was trying to bring him back to reality. To pull him out of the dream. To ground him again.

James persisted in wiping his face until it felt dry, and he pushed himself up. He sat facing away from the sound of Caspar's voice, trying to take control of his face. His voice. His eyes, that were already starting to tear up again.

"There's no rush," Caspar said. "The smell of smoking wood is still around, too. It's kind of sweet. There's grass and moss on the ground, both still cool from the night."

James closed his eyes, trying to focus on one of those things. The smell of smoking wood. The smell of dewey damp grass. The smell of pine.

He found he was holding himself, one hand rubbing an only scar on his upper arm. The first time Reed cut into him.

His eyes snapped shut tighter, and he turned his head down and to the side.

"Sun's up. I can see it through the trees."

If he sat in it for too long, it'd get worse.

James forced himself to his feet, even though he felt unsteady. His clothes clung to his skin from sweat, and the thick scabs over his still-healing wounds started to itch. The scabs had been peeling, slowly giving way to new skin. To new scar tissue.

He opened his eyes and peered through the trees, and the sun peered back at him, partially obscured by the leafy branches overhead.

James was eager to push this behind him. He bent down and picked up his blanket, starting to busy himself with folding it over his arms. He caught sight of Caspar in the corner of his eyes, but he couldn't bring himself to look at him.

Caspar idly paced a short distance away. "We don't have to go just yet."

James stiffly started to walk over to Elliot. He didn't dare speaking when he knew the knot in his throat was still there. He tied the blanket back onto the saddle. Behind him, he could hear Caspar and Hild exchange soft 'good morning's and busy themselves with packing as well.

James prepared Elliot in silence, letting Caspar and Hild take care of their own belongings. Eventually, they were back on their horses, and back "on the road." Except that they were traveling farther from any nearby roads with each passing day. James was making sure of that.

He led the way and didn't bother to strike up conversation, even when he felt like the wave of emotions had passed. The feelings of the dream - or rather, memory relived - still lingered, if not in his mind, then in his body. He still felt like he was in danger, despite their how uneventful their course through the forest had been.

And he couldn't help but feel like that was for the best. It kept him on guard, and that meant he'd be ready if and when trouble found them.

Though, he knew the trouble coming their way wasn't just "trouble."

It was life-threatening. To everyone but him, it seemed. He was never spared from pain but he was always spared his life because his posters insisted that he was wanted alive, or there would be no reward. He couldn't help but feel like that had been a cruel sentence.

At least if he was wanted dead, he wouldn't have to fight anymore.

As the day passed on, James could feel a shift in the air. Though when they woke up, the sky had been clear, there was a wind coming from the north, and it started to carry in some storm clouds in the distance. The sky darkened, and though the sun was still out, it was getting blocked out, faintly filtered through the clouds looming overhead.

As the winds started to pick up, they started to search for shelter. The forest was still thick and the trees intermingled enough to provide decent cover, but it looked like the storm was gearing up to be a long one. If they were going to need to wait it out, they wanted somewhere they could stay as dry as possible.

They'd been staying closer to the river for the sake of a water source, but further from the river, the land had more dips and curves, and hiding places. Leading them out, the ride got a little more rough as the ground became more bumpy, but James knew the patterns in the earth to look for. There were a lot of boulders and large rocky formations the further out you went. It was just a matter of finding a place that wasn't already inhabited by something else.

As the skies began to rumble, a soft drizzle started to come down, and James tried to pick up the pace. Still leading the way, he followed a dip in the earth, intuition (and hope) telling him that if they came down and around they might find some kind of shelter. The drizzle quickly developed into a rain, coming down harder and harder with each passing minute.

Thankfully, providence seemed to be on their side when they came to the bottom of the hill and found a shallow, but tall "cave." It was like someone had taken a scoop into the side of the hill, and the rocks below remained to prop everything up.

The entrance of the shelter was tall enough to usher the horses in and out of the rain, but the ceiling angled down as it went deeper. They would be able to crawl in and sit down, but there wasn't a whole lot of room to move around. Seeing as they weren't sure how long they'd be stuck there, James personally found himself preparing for what could end up being a long pause in their travels. At least several hours, if not into the night.

It took a moment for them to get the horses situated, tying their leads to a jagged rock near the entrance. Once the horses seemed to settle, the three of them retreated to the wholly dry ground and crawled in, peeling off their wet coats.

"This sets us back," Hild muttered, squeezing out her hair. "Lovely."

"It's a break from the heat, at least," Caspar offered. "A, um. Long break, it feels like."

"We'll see how the storm plays out," James said, looking out at the downpour. It was coming down heavy, now. "If it lightens up I don't mind traveling in a drizzle."

At least the rain wasn't too cold.

"I personally would mind a drizzle," Hild said, now trying to comb out the knots with her fingers. "Any form of rain is immensely inconvenient."

"The weather doesn't care about our travel plans," James said with a small sigh as he leaned back on his arms, staring out at the rain. It was loud, and echoed off the walls of the cave. "Or our hair, unfortunately."

Caspar shook the rain from his head, spraying Hild and James in the process, and leaned back against one of the rocks. He gazed out past the horses, too, and absently rubbed at his right shoulder.

Hild wiped the wet from her face with a glare. "It's far more tolerable with an actual roof, a warm hearth, a cup of tea, and a book." She folded her arms over her drawn knees, her glare giving way to something more wistful. "A book on, perhaps, innovative surgical procedures, or the classifications of birds." She nodded to James. "What would you prefer on a day such as this?"

James hummed, briefly closing his eyes.

"A warm blanket," he said quietly.

Hild pursed her lips. "We have blankets, at least. Sadly, they're cold."

"It's been a long time since I've had tea," James commented, finding his mind moving a little slow. "Tea would be nice."

"We can try to make some with pine needles sometime," Caspar suggested.

"Pine needle tea?" James asked, looking over to Caspar.

"Yeah, it tastes kind of nice," Caspar answered with a slight smile. "Made it a lot in the wilds for the cold seasons."

James hummed, nodding.

"We'll put you on tea duty, then, once the weather clears," Hild said.

"Priorities," James added in a mumble.

"In addition to the usual necessary chores," Hild said flatly. "I'm sure it won't be much trouble since he's already always galavanting about the forest for firewood and the like anyhow."

Caspar nodded. "I'll make a mental note for my next forest frolic."

"Somehow I can't imagine you frolicking," James said with a weak grin, looking to Caspar. "When we have to practically drag you into dancing."

"That's easy," Hild said, lips quirking in amusement. "Just imagine skipping with a gross overabundance of glee."

Caspar laughed, briefly flashing a wide smile, showing his slightly uneven teeth. "It probably just comes easier when I'm on my own."

"A shame we don't get to see it," James said.

"I think we'd scare him off if we tried spying," Hild teased.

"It will remain forever unseen," Caspar said, solemnly inclining his head.

James nodded again, and a silence settled between the three of them. The rain didn't seem to be letting up. As they watched it come down, it only seemed to be pouring harder, getting blown about by howling winds as thunder started to rumble through the sky. Though they couldn't see the lightning, they could see a few of the flashes breaking through the cover of the forest.

The intensity of the storm and the nearness of Ruddlan - even though it was miles and miles away, now - made James feel restless.

He didn't like that they were stuck in this weather. If it were up to him, he'd be pushing through it regardless of how he felt about being wet all day. But as it stood, it was better for all of them to take a break and stay dry, as much as his paranoia restented it.

Tense and wringing her hands, Hild shifted to sit just a little deeper in the alcove. She probably hadn't been forced to camp out in a cave before; she was unusually fidgety.

In contrast, Caspar was strangely still. He sat with his long legs stretched out in front of him and his left hand holding onto his right shoulder. With his eyes turned back out to the rain, and without conversation to focus on, he seemed distant.

While James normally found himself content in the quiet, after a considerable amount of time passed, he could sense their collective restlessness compounding.

James hugged his knees, and held his arms, finding his thumb rubbing against the old scar again.

Now, he needed a distraction.

"When you were in the -- the Outlands," James began hesitantly, flicking his eyes to Hild. "Did you have to camp much, or did you try to pass through the different settlements out there?"

Though she already sat straight, Hild managed to straighten further. "I attemped to find a place in one of the settlements," she answered. "The...lifestyle didn't suit me much, and it still felt too close to home, so I didn't stay long."

James nodded.

"Did you ever pass through the Outlands, Caspar?" James asked.

Snapping to attention, out of his thoughts, Caspar blinked, then answered slowly, "Uh, yes. On my way to the wilds, I passed through a small northern section of it."

In the north, it was mostly petty bandits and criminals who were actually trying to make a life for themselves in one way or another. The gangs didn't have as tight of a hold there, mostly because of numbers.

"Did you run into any trouble out there?" James asked.

Caspar let out a slow breath as he thought back. "There was..." He bit his lip. "I was found there. Just once."

James felt nervous.

The problem with asking questions of others was that it opened the door for others to do the same. He'd made a habit of keeping surface level relations with almost everyone - letting them share if they ever felt prompted to do so on their own, but never trying to dig deeper. It was an unspoken rule. He created boundaries and expected others to catch on and keep their distance. The problem was, those boundaries always got blurry when things got complicated. And things had already gotten complicated. And here he was - with friends - when he shouldn't have made any in the first place.

Logically, it didn't make sense to feel guilty over, but nevertheless, the feeling remained.

He stared down at his toes, eyes fixed on his mud-caked boots.

"I assume... you made it out alright?" James asked.

It was an obvious question. One with an obvious answer. A safe question.

Caspar's jaw tightened, just for a second. "Yeah, I did." he answered, mustering a small grin. "It worked out alright."

Maybe it hadn't been a safe question.

Deflated, James only nodded, deciding to back off.

"It just." Caspar waved a hand, as though beckoning the right words. "It got slightly messy because I had a friend with me at that point. But we made it out fine." He nodded and offered a more reassuring smile. "That happened toward the end of my stay in the Outlands, so we never encountered that hunter again."

James swallowed down some of his anxiety.

"How long... did you and your friend travel together?" he asked.

Caspar glanced down at his hands as he idly slotted his fingers together, then looked back up to James. "About a year or two, I think."

James quickly tried to do the math in his head. Caspar was wanted for seven years. He was with his friend for a year or two. Manning had to have died in the last year or two. That left a few years in the gap, but James didn't know where Caspar's time in the Outlands fell. But if it was as he suspected, Caspar must've traveled through the Outlands in his early years, because if he was escaping the Isles, he'd have to pass through to get up into the wilds.

The friend Caspar was traveling with might not have been the one who Manning killed.

"What was their name?" James asked quietly.

Caspar paused. He glanced out to the rain again, and shifted in his spot on the ground. When he met James's eyes again, his smile had turned tight and his eyes were sorrowful. "Endride," he finally answered.

James felt his heart drop into his gut when he met Caspar's eyes.

He'd been wrong. He could see it in Caspar's eyes.

That was who Caspar lost.

He was compelled to say: "I'm sorry," for the loss, but how would Caspar know he knew? What would he be saying sorry for? Until Caspar told him himself, it was still conjecture - just based in logical deduction.

"That's a good name," James said softly, having to pull for words. He paused, not knowing if he was pushing too far. He hoped that if he was, that Caspar would say something.

"I'd like to hear about him sometime," James said, his voice even softer.

He was giving Caspar an out by not asking a question. But also extending an invitation. Letting him know there was an open door if he wanted it. That was all.

Caspar's smile softened into something more sincere, grateful even. "Another time, for sure," he said, like a promise.

So he was right, then.

James nodded, and decided to leave it there. And as silence fell again, the storm raged on.

As he turned his eyes back out to the storm, Caspar felt Hild's piercing gaze fix on the back of his head, studying him. He managed to suppress a sigh. Now she had her answer, at least: he wasn't completely alone in the wilds.

It had been two years since Caspar said Eindride's name out loud.

James gave him an out, for which he was grateful. After those two long years, he still didn't have all the right thoughts and words in order for himself. He needed time.

But all he had was time, right? Yet he didn't, never really. None of the past seven years were ever a sure thing.

He tilted his head back against the boulder behind him, pressing his eyes shut. Old wounds that healed crooked twinged and ached. Lightning flashed across his eyelids. Thunder cracked and groaned like a mast snapping in half as it yielded to a tempestuous sea.

His implied loss weighed heavily, Caspar was sure, on James and Hild now. He was reminded of why he didn't want to even mention what happened in the wilds in the first place. They didn't deserve his problems. He wanted to spare them the unnecessary weight, but here they sat burdened with it anyway.

The storm bellowed outside of their alcove.

His father's ship disappeared in the towering waves. Calder was unburdened of his son's problems. He was spared the trouble of his son himself.

Caspar felt cold and hollow. He loosely wrapped his arms around himself, for warmth, and to perhaps shield James and Hild from his sudden emptiness.

They sat in a quiet, cold darkness. His eyes adjusted to the lack of light as the storm brewed well into the night.

With her legs crossed and her hands folded, Hild at last turned her piercing gaze away and seemed to have moved on from the subject. She picked at her nails, restless without anything to do with her hands in this dark.

James stared out into the rain, eyes unfocused and with his arms around his drawn knees. He looked small like that. Lost, even.

They all were pretty much lost, weren't they? Uprooted, unable to find anyplace to belong again.

For once, Caspar wanted to just sleep, if only to make the storm pass faster. As it was, he could only sit there feigning sleep in the hopes to usher it along.

It also stormed when Manning came. Caspar couldn't hear his approach over the rain, and Manning ambushed them from behind.

Caspar found himself having to unclench his hands, to try to let go of the utter shock, the searing rage, the blinding anguish, before he fell too deep into it all.

He'd let that rage slip out a little when facing Alexander. He didn't mean to, he was just so gripped by the need to defend.

No one asked for that, though. They shouldn't. Shouldn't want it, shouldn't want him. He couldn't save anybody. He was never enough.

Hild's murmuring about early nights and catching some sleep cut through his thoughts. Caspar could only make out her edges in the dark as she tried settling into a more comfortable position for rest.

"Night," Caspar managed to say.

Hild only mumbled incoherently as she curled up and fell into sleep with impressive speed. Caspar was tempted to reach over and give her an affectionate shoulder pat or hair ruffle even. He tucked his hands under his arms instead.

"Maybe rest if you can," Caspar said softly to James. "I'll be up for a while."

James twitched his head in Caspar's direction, like he was ripped out of a deep focus. He opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but closed it again, and gave Caspar a faint nod. Not bothering to get his blanket or take anything off his saddle, James laid down where he was, facing the exit, curled up in a corner on the cave floor.

Caspar turned his focus back to the rain. He tilted his ears to the outside, desperately hoping that nothing and no one was out there, because his trust in his own senses was dwindling, fast.

The night wore on. He made a habit of not checking the time when it crawled like this. But as he turned over the beat up pocket watch in his hands, Caspar decided it was worth keeping track of right now. For something to focus on, for his sanity.

Lightning lit up the watch face for a split second. His usual evening shift had begun by now. In a few hours he'd have to wake James for the next shift. But James was far from asleep.

So much haunted them both. Even idle, they could never trully catch their breath, because the past then always rushed them the moment they did try to rest.

Caspar hardly had the focus to talk much, but that hardly mattered. He mustered the energy to form a cohesive phrase, and then dug for his own voice.

"What's on your mind?" Caspar murmured, just loud enough for James to hear him.

James didn't move, and for a moment, Caspar wasn't sure if he actually did hear him. After a few long seconds of delay, James's voice responded in a faint whisper.

"When you're being trained to be a soldier," James said, his eyes fixed on the darkness outside amidst the ongoing storm. "One of the first things you're forced to come to terms with is death. You're told that you'll die on the field. And if it's not you, it'll be the soldier next to you. By the time you're on the borders of the kingdom, face to face with a goblin, or a monster, you know your days are numbered. It makes you fight harder. It makes you push harder than you think you could go, because every moment counts. And in the next moment, it could all be over. And if you didn't make the most of it while it lasted... then what was it all for?"

Death was hardly a stranger to them. Caspar might even go so far as to say it was like an old friend, and he was just counting the days until Death came knocking again.

He'd never been near a battle, with soldiers and swords and enemies' weapons at ready, waiting across tainted grounds. But something of the soldier's mindset resonated with him. Knowing so much more than your own life was at stake, so you had to push through, persevere, to ensure it wasn't all for naught.

Eindride's death wasn't sacrifice, though; it was an injustice. Caspar's resolve fell with his kid, and the entirety of his own life felt for naught since.

Caspar chewed on his lip, then slowly asked, "When did you begin training as a soldier?"

Again, James's response wasn't immediate.

"I was eleven," James said, barely audible.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Caspar bit out a low curse. Gods, it was far too young.

"My first time on the field I was fourteen," James added.

"I'm so sorry," Caspar said, voice thick. "That should never have happened, it's-- gods..."

"Most of the kids are 15 when they're sent out to the borders," James said, his voice distant. "They get assigned to the districts that are more secure. It's not often that they experience the front lines that young, but war is unpredictable."

To be a soldier was accepting a life of complete sacrifice.

"Their philosophy was that the earlier we gained experience on the field, the more equipped we'd be as we entered our prime," James continued, his voice hollow. "At eighteen, we would 'graduate' and receive our assignment for the next five years of our life before a promotion was on the table, if it was earned. By 23, we'd have eight years of experience."

It was abhorrent, to ask children that they give up their lives before they'd barely begun. Caspar raked a hand through his hair and bowed his head. Hot tears ran in silent mourning. For the injustice of hundreds of youths' sacrifices. For the parents who didn't even have the privilege of properly burying their children, lost to the ravages of war.

For the life James was wrongly denied for so long, and would likely never have so long as monsters like Carter held power.

"I'm so sorry," Caspar repeated, voice weak and trembling. He folded his arms and pressed his hand over his eyes, and he quietly wept for all that went wrong in their lives.

James didn't respond at first, and about a minute passed as the pouring rain filled the silence.

"I got lucky," James finally said, his voice still only just above the sound of the rain. "I was assigned to the palace guard. It was a coveted position. For all of that training, you're kept like a killer hawk in a glass cage, never to see the front lines again. Devoted to protect one man, who never leaves his palace."

"You deserved far more than lucky," Caspar said firmly as he fought to recompose himself. "You deserved a chance at a real life, a safer one. With your family. All of that was stolen from you, and from-- I can't even imagine how many other kids." His voice finally steadied with determination as he added, "You deserve better."

James fell silent again.

"You deserve better, James," Caspar repeated, softer but still resolute.

James started to move, sitting up to face the storm. It appeared he'd given up on sleeping.

"I don't... consider what I did or didn't deserve at the time," James said, his voice still hollow. Detached. "It happened. And I have to live with that."

Caspar shook his head. "What happened, happened, I know." He shifted to sit a little closer, angled so they faced each other. James turned his head, averting his gaze, so Caspar tilted his head to try to stay in view.

"James, you deserved a better childhood. You deserve a real future," he said earnestly. "And I'll do what I can to help you get that."

Even if it killed him, just as long he took down anyone he might have to with him.

James's face was somber as he stared off to the side, still avoiding Caspar's eyes.

"You know you're not responsible for that, right?" James asked softly. "For giving me a future."

Caspar's own face softened with a fond smile, and his heart swelled for a moment. Of course James wouldn't be as concerned for himself, but for someone else. The gladiolus was truly fitting.

"Maybe not," Caspar answered warmly, "but it would be a privilege to fight on your behalf."

James's adam's apple bopped up and down, and his jaw tensed.

"As long as you live on my behalf too," James said quietly, but firmly.

That gave Caspar pause. Because that was always the real challenge, and James's words were far too pointed to be coincidence. He nodded and said, almost tightly, "If that's what you want, then of course."

Finally, James turned and met his eyes with great intensity. Caspar firmly held his gaze, trying to glimpse of the younger man what he could in turn.

"If it comes to it," James said, his voice severe and steady as stone. "Put Hild first, over me."

It was strategic. James was a trained fighter. Caspar could hold his own, he'd learned to fight on the streets, and his size oftentimes lent itself to his advantage. Though armed with a pistol, Hild couldn't do much more by way of self defense if she ran out of bullets.

It was strategic, but the implication of abandoning James in a fight still felt wrong, and Caspar hesitated.

Clenching his jaw, Caspar nodded. "If it comes to it," he echoed.

James nodded sharply, and the look in his eyes intensified as he stared out into the darkness, brows knitting together. Caspar instinctively tilted his ears outward as well. Just rain, and a distant rumble of thunder; the worst of the storm was finally passing.

"You're a good friend, Caspar," James said quietly.

Caspar just turned his eyes down to the ground. He'd been told as much before, by Henry, by Lyall, even Eindride. And maybe it was true, but it often amounted to nothing more than scorched houses and misplaced bullets.

"You've already proven it ten times over," James went on. "I hope you know how grateful I am for your loyalty and your patience, and your continued persistence in helping without complaint as I was recovering. While you may think those things aren't worth noting, I've met many more people who would've left me to die than would've stopped to make sure I saw the light of the next day. You're a good man, Caspar. I'm grateful I met you, and I owe you my life. Though danger has followed us, it's been an honor to bear it with you."

It was then that James turned to look at Caspar and reached over, setting a firm hand on Caspar's shoulder. He leaned his head down and looked up into Caspar's eyes.

"You are not disposable. You are irreplaceable. Remember that," James said with the conviction of a man ready to stare death in the face.

Caspar's eyes wavered, but he managed to hold James's gaze. His words poured in, tried filling the empty in Caspar's chest. Caspar found it hard to hold onto everything, to believe everything, and just clung to what he could grasp.

He wanted to lean down, to let their foreheads touch, to share his affection the best way he knew how, but he stayed put. This was enough, he told himself.

"As long as you remember the same of yourself," Caspar said with a small, sincere smile.

James held Caspar's gaze and smiled in return, but somewhere, buried behind his eyes, Caspar could see a deep sadness.

"You're such a bright soul," Caspar continued softly. He didn't want James to ever think otherwise about himself, not anymore. "The world would be a much darker and colder place if your light went out."

James smiled a little brighter, dimples deepening as he patted Caspar's shoulder and pulled away.

"I'm sure it would--"

James stopped short. Caspar tensed, his hand reaching for his axe.

A howl erupted from the forest, alarmingly close. James's eyes opened wide and without warning jumped over to Hild, shaking her from her sleep.

"Get on your horse," James ordered, his voice somehow unshakably calm. "Now."

Leaping to his feet, Caspar edged closer to the entrance of the cave, scanning the forest and the jagged terrain through the rain. Hild behind him woke, alert in an instant and asking urgent questions in a hushed voice.

The baying followed the trail James took them down earlier, and it was drawing close. He gripped the axe handle with both hands. He tried to calculate potential retreat paths from where he stood, or how to face the threat if they couldn't make it in time.

Another howl echoed eerily through the storm, coupled with two more.

The dogs must be Butch's, which meant Ivar was swift to recruit the bounty hunter and pushed through all the elements, dogged in his pursuit. Butch was likely close behind his dogs, but that didn't mean Ivar was on the same exact path.

Hild hurriedly mounted Penumbra. She sat rigid and with her holster strapped on over her sweater. "Which way?" she asked.

James hopped on top of Elliot and gave Caspar a pointed look of urgency to follow suit. Jaw tightening, Caspar swung onto Eir, his axe held firmly in one hand still as he took the reins with the other.

In answer to Hild's question, James let the horses out of the cave and pointed.

"Go in front," he barked, no room for argument in his tone. "We'll be right behind you."

Hild nodded. She lifted her hood up over her head and started ahead without further question.

James spurred Elliot close behind her, giving Caspar a pointed wave to follow. Caspar gave Eir a quiet murmur of assurance as they followed. Eir didn't hesitate on command, and kept close behind Elliot, holding a steady pace.

The rain soaked them within seconds of stepping out. It covered their tracks, and drowned out the sounds of the horses' hooves, but it also gave Ivar and Butch the same advantage.

As they went, Caspar's stomach churned more violently. For all they knew, they were surrounded with Butch at their backs and Ivar waiting ahead, a steadily tightening noose.

As hunters, they had sharp eyes. Caspar prayed Hild's face would remain unseen.

He gripped the reins and the axe, willing his hands to steady. Instinct cut straight through dread and terror, and he kept focused and alert.

The urge to rush ahead, to stop the threat before it could meet them all in the middle, itched. His promise to James, to live as well as fight, forced him to stay close behind them.

The trees flew past them like shifting shadows as they rode hard through the night, but something pulled out in front of Hild. She held on as Penumbra reared back.

Sitting atop a massive, muscular white draft horse was a man just as large as his steed. They were only a silhouette in the stormy darkness, but even without making out the details, Caspar could see that the man was armed and at least a foot taller than himself.

As Hild turned Penumbra back, just avoiding a collision with the giant white horse, a slighter, cloaked figure with squared shoulders on a darker horse flanked her, corralling her between the two.

Quick to redirect and slow Elliot for a sharp turn, James speedily ran Elliot through the gap between the white horse and Penumbra. Reaching out his arms, he grabbed Hild and ripped her out of her saddle. She flung her arms around him, holding on tightly as they flew out on Elliot.

Urging Eir along, Caspar steered her around to the smaller figure. Ivar.

For a split second, their eyes met through the darkness. Ivar's gaze burned with an unbridled fury, but he began to turn away, to follow James and Hild. That was when something within Caspar snapped.

Swinging his axe, he flung the butt of the head into the hunter's chest, throwing him off his horse. Eir smoothly side stepped as the man fell.

Just as Caspar followed through with the swing, he felt a giant, meaty hand grab the back of his jacket and rip him off the saddle. He went flying to the ground. He scrambled back to his feet. Eir was carried off by her momentum, drifting away without his direction.

Metal sliced through the air to his left, and the blade of a hefty axe almost caught his nose as he leaned back, just dodging the swing. Caspar readied his feet as he stared up at the man he presumed to be the Butcher.

From the corner of his eye, he caught one last glimpse of Ivar's icy stare as he mounted his horse again, to pursue James and Hild. Caspar's blood ran cold.

Ivar and Butch had planned this. They did set a trap, and the three of them walked right into it.

Caspar took comfort in knowing that James and Hild were both armed.

With eyes and ears fully on Butch, he took a step back in a meager attempt to put distance between them.

Stay alive, he told himself grimly.

"The infamous Calder," Butch taunted, his voice low and menacing. "You're a lot smaller than Ivar painted you to be. This should be easy."

Without waiting for reply, Butch came in swinging again, his movements surprisingly fast for someone so large. Caspar raised his own weapon as he backed away. The steel of Butch's blade sparked off of the iron of Caspar's.

Butch reached behind him and pulled out a matching axe. He spun it in his hand as he brought it down with a matching blow. Caspar dove sideways, and the axe hit rocky soil. He threw himself back onto his feet.

His breath was short. His muscles ached around the scars.

He kept backing away with quick measured steps, eyes flicking out around them frequently as he searched for ways to turn this to his own advantage.

Butch continued to barrel his way, swinging every which direction, all directed at Caspar. He narrowly missed each time as Caspar side-stepped and jumped around trees and blocked with his axe.

Then Butch suddenly rushed in and rammed right into him with his shoulder. The force and weight threw him back, knocking the wind from his lungs and his head into a tree. It was like being rushed by an angry ox. Dazed, he lost his bearings for a moment.

Butch's knee came up into Caspar's gut, slamming him against the tree once more before he could recover. It took everything within him to keep upright. Clenching his teeth and planting his feet more firmly on the base of the tree, Caspar threw his own weight forward, shoving with his axe handle across Butch's chest. If only to give himself an out.

In the split second that Butch staggered, Caspar had enough room to wind back and throw his first offensive swing. His axe was stopped by the handle of Butch's, the blade notching into the wood with a hard thunk.

Oop.

With the axe blade stuck, Butch whipped around to wrench it from Caspar's hands. Caspar kept an iron grip on the handle as the hunter swung him around. The blade slipped from the deep notch, and he stumbled back.

Butch's other axe came swinging from the side, slicing at Caspar's chest. Caspar dropped down to the ground instinctively, and rolled out of the way of another swift down-stroke.

As soon as he popped up, one of the axes came flying through the air straight for him. He barely had time to register it. He twisted around, and the axe whizzed by. It hit another mark, firmly, the blade cutting deep into the tree he was just pinned against.

Butch barreled at him again, like a charging bull. Sucking in a breath through his teeth, Caspar braced himself as he threw his own weight downward this time, turning as he aimed his side at the hunter's feet.

As Caspar ducked down, Butch stepped over him, landing heavily on steady feet on the other side of him. Before Butch could turn, Caspar stopped himself in a crouch and sliced at the backs of Butch's legs. His blade caught on Butch's calves, but it didn't seem to deter the giant.

Whirling around, Butch drove the blunt side of his axe into Caspar's back, right between his shoulder blades. Caspar crumbled from the blow. He tried shaking the bursting stars from behind his eyes. His axe lied in the mud beside him.

Butch pushed him flat on the ground, throwing all of his weight onto him. The crushing force of Butch's boot on his back pressed down on his ribs, and pain shot up like needles from where the axe landed on his back straight to his head.

Caspar wheezed, dazed but still grasping for ways out. He felt for his axe beside him. There was a trickle of heat, from the bleeding slice in Butch's leg, that mixed with the cold rain on his back.

Butch leaned down, and Caspar felt steel bite the skin behind his ear. Squeezing his eyes shut, he hissed a low curse into the mud.

"Ivar said alive," Butch said with the sound of a twisted smile in his voice. "Not whole."

He heard the shing of metal coming down.

In a second of sheer panic, Caspar twisted and managed to dislodge himself from under the heavy boot. Butch's axe cut through his left shoulder as he turned. Biting back a cry of pain, Caspar swung his right arm, wedging his own axe into Butch's knee. The blade cracked against bone.

Butch collapsed, falling on top of him. Caspar's left shoulder gave out on him as he tried pushing the hunter off. With a pained, ferocious growl, Butch grabbed him by the neck, his meaty fingers entirely encircling his throat.

They hit the ground hard. The rocks dug into his shoulders and back. Clawing at Butch's wrists, Caspar fought for air.

Mustering what force he could, he drove his knee between Butch's legs. Butch's legs buckled, but his grip on Caspar's throat grew tighter. The storm around them grew hazy as his lungs burned.

His axe.

He reached down for where it was still wedged in Butch's knee. His fingers firmly grasped the handle, and he managed to yank it out with a swift upward tug.

Butch let out a grunt of pain and dug his thumbs into Caspar's neck. Caspar choked, mouth agape like a dry fish.

There wasn't room enough to swing. Gripping the head of the axe instead, he drove the blade deep into Butch's forearm.

Finally, Butch's grip relented. Retching and sucking in air, Caspar scrambled out from under him.

Butch let out a loud swear, spitting at the ground as he caught himself with his uninjured arm. From this new vantage point, Caspar braced himself with his back and hands flat on the ground as he sent both feet upward, straight into Butch's face.

Butch grunted again, his head recoiling, but he reached out and grabbed Caspar's foot with an iron grip, using the arm with the axe still stuck in it. Ripping the axe out of his own arm, Butch lifted it and aimed for Caspar's ankle. Caspar knocked his free foot hard into the hunter's jaw.

The swing came down, and caught instead on the side of his leg, slicing narrowly through the side of his calf. Butch's grip loosened. Biting back the pain, Caspar ripped himself from the hunter's hand and flung himself sideways.

He caught sight of Butch's axe on the ground nearby. Caspar grabbed it and finally pushed himself upright again. The world still tilted slowly under his feet.

Somehow, miraculously, Butch rose to his full height as well, though heavily leaning to one side. He ripped off his belt and cinched it over his wounded knee, staggering.

"I think Ivar will understand," Butch said with labored breaths. "That you're more useful dead."

Caspar promised James. He had to fight, to live.

He was already swinging for the hunter's face just as Butch drew what looked to be a gun.

His stroke landed as the pistol aligned.

There was a deafening gunshot that left his ears ringing. The axe lodged itself into Butch's skull with a gut-wrenching crack. Caspar let the axe slip from his hands as Butch fell in a heap to the mud.

Caspar stared with wide eyes, and swallowed thickly. His chest heaved. His legs wobbled and he stumbled back. A tree caught him.

Butch was dead, right?

Caspar couldn't trust his own senses. He couldn't even hear the rain around him; the ringing in his ears persisted.

The mud and stones around Butch's head turned black. His eyes stared up at the sky, unseeing, letting the rain wash over them. The handle of Butch's axe stuck straight up in the air, his own blade firmly wedged into the side of his face.

He had to be dead.

Caspar was torn between crumbling to the ground to sleep, and simply screaming to burn off the rest of the fear and adrenaline still pumping in his veins.

He stayed quiet, frozen where he was.

Butch was dead. One down.

Just one.

Caspar steeled himself. He made to stand on his own when his side seared white, and his head pounded. He managed to stay upright as he weakly lifted his arm. Blood bloomed like ink around a sizable graze just under his ribs. The bullet didn't lodge into anything, just tore straight through muscle.

Despite the body in the mud and himself, Caspar huffed a hollow laugh. Promise kept thus far.

His promise.

He needed to find James and Hild.

The world lurched under him again, and he lost his footing. He landed back against something softer than the tree, but sturdy just the same. A puff of warm air on his face was accompanied by a gentle nose bump.

Eir sought him out, and now supported him. Loyal, wanting to help. Caspar leaned on her with a dazed smile.

"You're brilliant," he murmured. She chuffed in agreement.

He glanced back to Butch's body. They still had Ivar to contend with.

After picking up his own axe, Caspar turned to mount Eir. The wound in his side felt like hot iron digging into him, and he flopped uselessly against her side for a moment.

Ah. Yes, he was bleeding rather badly, wasn't he?

James held onto Hild tightly, one arm wrapped around her back. His heart was pounding, and he knew that Caspar was left behind. The thought already haunted him, but he knew that either Ivar or Butch were right behind him, and the little distance he made he had to use to their advantage. Ivar was going to catch up, and they were going to have to face him. Because Ivar was coming for Caspar too.

And he wasn't going to leave him.

He weaved them through the trees and slowed until they were in thick cover. As soon as they came to a stop, he pulled away from Hild, still holding her steady with one arm as he met her eyes. With her hands hooked over his shoulders, she leaned back to return his gaze, her brows furrowed in worry.

Ivar couldn't see her. He'd know.

"Find cover and get a clear shot," James ordered. "I'll distract him until then. Now go!"

He was already moving to help her down. Hild swung off the saddle and stepped back. Casting him a stern look, she said firmly as she unholstered her pistol, "Don't die."

"I won't if you cover me," James said with a terse smile before he quickly turned Elliot around and rode away from Hild.

He could hear the faint sound of beating hooves, and he went towards it, slowing his pace as he drew his own gun. The shadow drew nearer, then veered to circle him at a distance.

"Glad I could catch you again," Ivar greeted casually.

"And here I was thinking we wouldn't see each other again," James said with a wide smile, playing along.

Ivar liked to talk and play mind games. James was banking on using this as a distraction to buy Hild time to find a good vantage point in the darkness to take him out.

"I thought you weren't interested in bringing me in," James said. "Have a change of heart?"

Ivar laughed. "No, I wouldn't quite put it that way. I just realized that you never mentioned your travel companions when we last spoke, and wanted to meet with them myself."

"Oh, how sweet," James cooed. "What a shame they're not around. I'll have to tell them you said hello. I'm sure they'll appreciate it."

"I don't mind waiting for their return," Ivar said pleasantly. A safety clicked off, and he fired a single, blind shot in the direction James came from, where he left Hild.

James lifted his gun and planted it on Ivar.

"Shoot again and there will be a lot of bullets flying," he said, his tone cutting and cold. "Would hate for you to get caught in the thick of it."

"Forgive my impatience," Ivar said, tone placating. The edges of his form remained loose and unconcerned. "I wasn't sure what to make of your female companion, and am dying to know your relation to her."

"That's good. I like that. The dying bit," James said curtly.

Ivar laughed again. "We may as well chat while our friends take a moment to make acquaintances with each other for the first time. So what is she to you? A friend? Something closer?"

"How's your family doing, Ivar?" James asked instead, his words biting and his gun still trained on Ivar, following him. "When was the last time you saw them since you've been on this vanity quest? Don't you think they'd want their father to return home instead of being consumed by vengeance?"

Ivar's horse kept pace as they circled. "We can agree, I suppose, that it's tough leaving people behind." His voice lilted with mock sadness. "Carter misses you, you know."

"Is that so?" James asked with a laugh. "I'll send him a letter. Long-distance friendship and all that."

"Ah, see." Ivar tsked playfully. "Butch has his heart set on a full reunion. It's the only way he'll get a full reward."

"Well. He can get used to disappointment," James said flatly.

"I think we've sat with disappointment long enough," Ivar replied darkly, taking aim again.

Everything happened at once.

Just as Ivar lifted his arm, a shot from a different source rang out through the forest.

James wasn't sure who shot first after Hild. He remembered pulling the trigger, and just as the bullet was released, he felt another lodge itself in his gut.

He could feel his body going into shock as he was distantly aware of Ivar's body falling off his horse, to the ground.

James felt his heart start to pound as he pressed his hand down on his stomach, feeling the world start to slow down.

This wasn't the plan.

I'm sorry.

How many times had he had brushes with death and survived? For so long, death had toyed with him. Tempting to take him, only to let him go, to suffer on the path back to normalcy only to almost die again.

But this?

Was this it?

He pressed harder on his stomach, keeling over in the saddle. His hands were wet with his own blood as it started to soak through his shirt, quickly pooling out of him.

What were the odds of someone still recovering from all of his previous injuries surviving this?

Low? He was going to guess low.

Hild appeared beside him, but he couldn't say how long she was there. At some point he was no longer on the horse, instead lying on the ground. Elliot hovered close by, like a blurry, golden shadow in the distance.

Hild was leaning over him, tearing at his clothes to find the wound. He caught glimpses of her eyes, wide and tearful, her brows drawn tightly as she frantically tried to take control of the situation.

"Hild," James forced out weakly.

"Don't speak," she ordered, but her voice trembled, "don't move, do nothing, I need to-- I--"

Hild paused, her hands shaking as they hovered over the wound. She actually looked lost, like she didn't know what to do.

James felt tears spring to his eyes, but the rain quickly washed them away.

If this was it, he didn't want to waste it.

He could already feel himself slipping.

"In... another life," James heaved, his breaths shaky and labored. "I'd... have asked you..."

"James, stop," Hild pleaded softly, her composure breaking completely. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and her lips turned in a deep frown. "I can't, not now..."

"...to dinner," he finished.

He could feel the world getting darker. Panicking, he reached out, trying to find something. Her. A hand.

As much as he fantasized about it, suddenly he didn't want to leave this world alone.

Her hands slipped around his. Her voice grew faint as she desperately begged him to hold on, just long enough for her to fix this, insisting that she will.

He was trying. He really was. But his consciousness was slipping, and he could feel the strength of his hand in hers waning.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, barely audible, with the last breath he could muster.

And then it went dark.

His hand went slack in hers, his strength gone. With unwanted emotions still streaming down her face and lodged in her throat, Hild couldn't find anymore words to try to snap him out of sleep. She couldn't calm her thoughts enough to decide a next course of action.

She couldn't fix this. Her confidence had left her completely.

Penumbra wasn't anywhere to be found.

After a moment of reeling, Hild finally found enough good sense to grab James's bag from Elliot's saddle. She needed the proper tools to begin to do anything.

With a quick mental apology and her mind fixed on finding the medical pack, she dug through the bag.

Her hands shook, and she cursed them under her breath. Her voice returned in this quick second of self-loathing. Hild babbled reassurances that this will be fixed, that he will make it, as she tried focusing her eyes on the wound in the utter dark of the midnight rain.

Another wave of self-doubt hit her. Hild froze up again, her hands hovering uselessly.

Caspar slid in on his knees at James's other side.

"I can't-- I don't know what to--" Hild started to say, but the words died in her throat when she was met with bright green eyes instead of worn blue.

It wasn't Caspar.

Soaked to the bone as she was and with curly hair plastered to his forehead from the rain, her brother scanned James with expert eyes. He pressed his fingers to James's neck, checking his pulse, as he firmly pressed a wadded up cloth over the wound.

"He's already in shock," Lyall mumbled, then asked, tone steady yet urgent, "What happened?"

She stared wide-eyed at him.

Was it really him? Had she gone completely delirious from panic?

"Hild," he snapped.

A feminine voice came from behind her.

"You know her?" it asked.

The new voice shook her surprise just enough for her to think clearly again. Hild stammered, "Uh, yes, right. Gunshot wound to the stomach, from approximately 25 feet away, just a few minutes ago. The bullet is still lodged in there."

Lyall nodded his acknowledgement, then flashed the person behind Hild a smile. "Family."

As if that word alone summoned aid, a dark-skinned woman in a long cloak knelt beside Lyall. Instead of arguing as Hild expected him to, he instantly moved aside for the woman. She set her hands firmly on James's stomach, her eyes locked on the wound in a deep focus.

"I need to stabilize him now," she said under her breath, and at that, instead of moving to grab any supplies or tools, she closed her eyes.

A warm golden light started to emanate from her hands. Hild gaped as she watched.

The light seemed to travel into James's body, seeping into his skin around the wound. Less than a minute passed before the woman pulled her now bloodied hands away with a sigh, turning her palms up to the rain, letting it wash them.

"Lyall, keep an eye on this one. I'm going to make sure Elrick didn't run into trouble," the woman said. Then she looked to Hild.

"Is anyone else with you?" she asked, her words gentle, but firm.

"Yes," Hild answered faintly, still staring at the wound. "Caspar."

Lyall's eyes sparked at the name.

"I'm assuming he's family for now too," the woman said quickly, already turning to run off into the dark forest, disappearing with the rain.

Coming around to her side, Lyall protectively wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Hild didn't have the presence to push him away.

"He'll be fine," he said reassuringly, "they can help him."

She just witnessed healing magic.

Ivar was likely dead now.

Lyall was still alive, and here and holding her.

She wondered where Caspar was. They left him behind.

James would be fine.

She turned her head to look into her brother's eyes. "I--"

Emotion lumped in her throat again, stopping the words.

Hild was used to delivering good or bad verdicts to a patient's waiting loved ones. She hated that James's well-being was out of her hands this time. She didn't want to be the one waiting.

"We'll catch up later," Lyall said softly.

Yet a tiny part of her released tension at that, relieved that it didn't depend on her again. Relieved that there were steadier, more capable hands taking care of James.

Her brother smiled gently, showing the dimples in his cheeks. "Sound good?"

Hild hadn't fully noticed just how much she missed her brother. She spent so much of her life seeing the worst in him. Out of jealousy and self-loathing, then after the fire just so the separation hurt less.

Now that he was actually back, sitting beside her, she just felt safe. Like she could let go of her fear, let her guard down a little, and be taken care of again.

She nodded quietly. Her brother pulled her more fully into his side. She didn't fight him, just wearily rested her head on his shoulder.

She used to lean on him a lot, she realized. Her chest ached from the goodbye and swelled in a rush of relief.

Lyall pressed a chaste kiss to the side of her temple and murmured idly, "Your hair's a nice length. It suits you."

Hild only heaved a trembling sigh.

James would be fine. They were in good hands.