The Mustache and The Beard

They walked into the night in silence. The air was sticky and warm, but the moon was almost full above them, casting streaks of soft moonlight through the trees with a calming glow. Crickets and other insects trilled and buzzed in the trees, filling the night with a chaotic background noise that blended together into a white noise - one that was only obnoxious if your attention was drawn to it.

James focused on the rhythm of his footsteps and the soft sounds of leaves and plants shifting underfoot, but his thoughts were cycling uncontrollably. Over and over again, he saw Butch staring at him from the corner of the tavern, looking at him like he was an animal. Up and down, as if trying to asses the risk of how healthy he was at the time, how worth it would be to try again. He could feel the squirming beneath the scar on his leg, with the pain a vibrant memory. The axe coming down on him as he fell to the ground, how he barely managed to scramble out of the way. The limp he had for months following, until he ran into the Grangor, and the healer...

The fear was what kept coming back to him.

It gripped his heart like a snake wrapped around its prey. Constricting. Getting tighter with each memory as it played back in his mind. All the while, his eyes and ears were open, actively anticipating something -anything- to happen. Someone was going to pop out of the trees eventually. He could feel it.

Persistent as the anxiety was, it was draining, and even though he was far from succumbing to sleep, his head felt like it was in a fog, and he couldn't truly think straight.

He needed to get his mind off of Butch. Off of the Tavern. He looked over to Tasha, trying to think of something to say.

"You know..." he started, looking away and out into the forest. "When you don't end up turning me in -or- the longer you travel with me, you're not going to be able to do something like that again. All of your friends... hunters... I know you're - you've probably already considered the cost. But. My frien-" he stopped, stumbling over the word, before continuing. "My friendship comes at a cost. A cost to you. Even when you break away, you'll have the danger that follows me follow you."

There were a lot of reactions she could've had. A solemn nod, a rueful chuckle, an evasion to get out of the authenticity of the question.

For better or for worse, of all the possibilities, she laughed out loud, shaking hear head. "James, I know that. I've thought it a million times. And you know what? I don't give a damn anymore. Not a single, flying f***. You think I had friends back there? All I had were people who weren't killing me at that moment in time. Dishonorable people, for the most part, and those that weren't I simply couldn't trust. You can't trust people who hunt others for a living. Frankly, I'd rather stop worrying about what people think of me in the future or what's been done in the past and just...live. You know?"

James understood the sentiment. He'd fallen into it several times, only to get dragged back into worrying about everything again.

"That's fair," he said. "I suppose hunters wouldn't make very good friends."

"They don't. I've done enough backstabbing in my time to know, that much is certain," Tasha agreed, patting Wolfsbane. "But that's what dogs are for. Ain't that right, Bane?"

James looked down at Bane. "Dogs do make good companions," he commented.

"Better than people for the most part, that much is for certain. And they aren't half-bad for hunting monsters either. Honestly, I don't know why so few people use them."

"Well, it does take a considerable amount of effort and discipline to train them as well as you have Bane. Not everyone is willing to put in the work. Horses may seem like a more worthwhile investment of time since they can also help with transportation. Or at least, that's my objective opinion."

"It's true, but it seems like it's quite worth the gain, especially for people hunting. A nose like that is unrivaled and it makes tracking a million times easier. It's true that they do take resources and make one a bit more conspicuous, though. I knew one guy who tried training gryphons, too, but I'm pretty sure one of them killed him at some point."

"Oh, yeah," James shook his head. "I don't mess with griffins. Ari and I uh - back when we were travelling together in our group - we ran into a griffins' nest. Ari wrestled with one."

She looked at him, eye widening. "He did what?"

James looked over at her. "Well we got away, obviously. Not without injury, but he's fine now."

"Why the hell did he wrestle a gryphon?! How even did he- how old even is he?! I knew he didn't have brains but by the gods..."

"He's 19," James answered. "And trust me, I told him to run, but he didn't. That was all him."

"Damn. That kid is either very brave or very stupid. Probably a mix of both."

"Both," James answered, only to quickly follow up with. "But please don't tell him I said that."