Young Writers Society

This was a bad idea.

Getting old friends involved was a bad idea. Getting anyone involved was a bad idea. Getting involved with Gregor in the first place had been a bad idea. It was like every living, breathing moment James was reminded of every time things had gone south. Being alone had never objectively been any safer, but at least it didn't put other people in harms' way.

James just didn't want to imagine what would happen if - or when - he was recognized by Hild. If she decided he was too much trouble for Caspar (which would be a fair assessment) and decided to turn him in, he didn't want to imagine the messy fallout that would cause with Caspar. He didn't want to imagine any of the mess, and yet he was already imagining every possible hypothetical outcome of this situation. And, naturally, every outcome ended poorly.

He kept his bandanna up over his face, self aware that at this point, it only told Hild that he had something to hide. But he didn't care anymore. She wasn't interested in being friendly to him, and he wasn't interested in appeasing her. She clearly wasn't trying to be warm to anyone but Caspar, and James didn't want a warm welcome.

He just wanted to get out of this fishing town as soon as possible before another bounty hunter or money-desperate wannabe-hunter showed up at Hild's door with a weapon.

James went to the horses.

It had been a long, stressful three days of travel - he knew especially so for Eir, who wasn't used to being woken up in the middle of the night to flee. So he tended to her first.

There was a small shed near the trough that had some horse tack hung up and James hoped it was alright to use for storage so that he could free the horses of it to let them breathe for a moment while he brushed them down.

He'd just finished taking off Eir's saddle and blanket when he saw Hild approaching from the house, eyes set on him.

He only gave her a short glance before he returned his attention to Eir, dipping a rag into the trough water and using it to wipe her down, clearing away dust, sweat, and dirt from her side.

Though intentionally ignoring Hild's approach, he was aware that she was coming closer. He noticed Eir's ears flick attentively towards Hild, who came all the way up to James's side, sparing him no personal space as she held out a tin mug.

He paused, and pulled the wet rag away from Eir's side, taking the mug with his free hand.

For a moment, he looked up into Hild's eyes, trying to search them.

He knew it sounded stupid to think she would try slipping something into a glass of water, but he didn't put things like that past people anymore.

But it was more likely that she offered him water to get a full look at his face. Smart, but he wasn't going to fall for it.

"What's got you two so banged up?" she asked bluntly.

James stared at her evenly, and then splashed the water from the mug on Eir's side. Best not to waste it, anyway. He started scrubbing Eir again, handing the mug back to Hild.

"I appreciate that you're concerned about Caspar," James said. "As a good friend should be. But we'll be out of your way as soon as possible. The less you know about me, the better."

Taking the mug back, she folded her arms and tilted her head. "You think I can't keep a secret? Or see one when it's staring me in the face?"

"Apologies if it seemed I was insulting your intelligence," James said, focusing on Eir and the task in front of him, but watching Hild through the corner of his eyes. "But not all secrets need to be known. That's why they're secrets. And - I mean this with all due respect - I don't know you like Caspar does. I have no reason to trust you."

"You didn't answer my question," she said, undeterred.

"Didn't mean to," James retorted.

She stepped back, out of his space. "What did you do before Gregor's ranch?"

She could keep asking questions, but it would be stupid of her to expect any completely honest answers from him.

"I was a line cook," he said. "Got fired because I can't cook. You can laugh at that if you'd like."

It was half true. He was a bad cook, and he had been working in a kitchen, but he wasn't fired. He ran away. That was the usual story.

She smiled only a little, and even then it was forced. Hild turned to Eir and held out her hand. Eir gave her a sniff, then turned away, disinterested.

"What do you know about Caspar?" Hild asked, lowering her voice. "How much has he told you about himself?"

"Kind of hard to share that information when I don't know what you know," James said matter-of-factly. "Wouldn't want to betray his trust by oversharing on his behalf, you know."

Hild's brows furrowed, just a little. "Good answer."

"If it puts you at peace, though," James said. "I know enough about him for him to have earned my trust. Let that mean what it does, for you."

"And how much have you told him about yourself?"

James flicked his eyes over to her, moving his way up to Eir's neck, still scrubbing.

"Enough," he said.

"And everything you have told him," she pressed on, "is all true?"

James pursed his lips behind the shield of his bandanna.

"Yes," he said plainly.

The truthful answer was no, but he frankly didn't care to invite Hild down that rabbit hole.

Hild gave him a once-over, expression blank. Then she held aloft the empty tin. "You're welcome, by the way. Caspar's probably done, so go scrub down." And with that, she turned and left.

James looked over his shoulder, watching as she left.

Whether Caspar was done or not, James was going to give him some more time just so that he didn't intrude. That, and he wanted to finish scrubbing and brushing Eir down.

He reached around to her head, giving her mane a gentle scratch. Her ears relaxed and she seemed to release some of the tension she'd been holding all day.

"There you go," he said softly. "It's alright."

It wasn't of course, but felt no sting of guilt in his soul for lying to a horse who couldn't understand him anyway.

After a few more pets, he picked up his pace, scrubbing the rest of Eir down, then moving on to brushing. When he was done, he left her tied to the post to dry off in the warm sun while he split off to head out back to the well.

He knew he'd had to fill up the tub again. He and Caspar were filthy, and he wasn't going to use old bath water with all of his open wounds.

He sighed.

He wanted this to be quick, but he had to be careful. The last thing he needed was an infection, or to irritate anything. Everything already hurt enough.

When he walked up to the back porch with a large bucket full of water, he saw Caspar was already dressed and fast approaching.

"Gods, I keep forgetting," Caspar said, taking the bucket. "You can't keep pushing yourself like this."

James, frankly, hadn't given it that much though. It was depressing to think he was used to this, but he really had come to accept it. Everything just hurt. All the time.

James reluctantly accepted the help, not fighting Caspar as he took the bucket from him.

"It's not that heavy," James muttered in return.

"That's not the point," Caspar countered, dumping the water into the recently emptied tub.

James sighed, looking at the back porch.

"I see you cleared it out already," he commented idly, scanning the porch and everything in view. There was a window that faced the back porch, but the curtains were currently drawn. The back door was shut, and there was a wooden bench with a clean towel folded up, presumably for his use.

He'd... have to make sure he didn't get any blood on that.

He glanced back out over the yard behind Hild's house. It was a field with thicker trees out in the back, near the well. The trees provided a bit of a natural fence for anything beyond it, but there was a small window of open space on the side of the porch where he could spot the back of the neighbor's house. It wasn't facing Hild's, but still.

This was going to be annoying. But he knew he need to thoroughly clean his wounds again anyway. He'd put it off too long.

He turned, watching as Caspar started walking back towards the well to fill up again. James wanted to help to make things go faster, but he had a feeling Caspar would fight him on it.

Still, he hurried to catch up to him, grabbing a smaller bucket by the door, probably for smaller trips. Maybe if he wasn't carrying as much Caspar wouldn't fuss as much about it.

He fell into step beside Caspar, having to take two steps for Caspar's one.

"What are you doing?" Caspar asked.

"Trying to speed things up," James answered.

"You should sit down. Let yourself heal properly." He glanced at James as he refilled. "Did Hild try poking at you while I was away?"

"Yeah," James said, glancing back at the house. "She doesn't trust me. It's mutual."

"We don't have to stay long."

"That would be for the best," James commented, waiting for Caspar to pull up his bucket before tying his to lower it down.

Caspar took the smaller bucket from him, giving James an almost-glare, and lowered it himself.

That was probably the meanest look he'd seen Caspar ever give him, which was saying something. James let out a reluctant sigh and gave up for now. Fine. It wasn't that important.

He leaned on the side of the well as he watched Caspar pull up the bucket, hoisting it up and turning to carry both towards the house. James followed, this time in silence.

"No one's around, I think," Caspar eventually said. He dumped the contents of both buckets into the tub. "You should be able to wash up unnoticed."

James pressed his lips together tightly.

"Yeah," he said unenthusiastically.

James sat on the bench and waited back on the porch while Caspar made a few more trips, and the tub was soon full again. He set the buckets aside, then hesitated when he moved to leave.

"You should, um..." Caspar scratched the back of his neck. "You should have help cleaning some of your cuts."

James finally pulled down his bandana, looking down into the tub.

There was a tense, awkward silence as he continued to stare into the water, trying to clear enough space in his head to form words, and muster up enough courage to say them.

"You... saw everything already," he said faintly. "So I guess it wouldn't surprise you."

Caspar cleared his throat and averted his gaze. "I tried not to."

"I appreciate it," James said. "But I know you don't always have the privelige of privacy when someone's trying to keep you from bleeding out."

Caspar stepped off the back porch. "I'll be here," he said stiffly, turning his back to James.

James nodded, but he was already distancing himself from the moment. He was so tired of getting hurt, and being seen, and being the subject of curiosity whether people said anything to his face or not. He just put it out of his mind, letting his mind go numb. Sometimes it happened naturally, but sometimes he had to choose it - and at least now, he knew how.

He took off his jacket, and his button-up, and his shirt, peeling away all of the upper layers like they were skins of their own. When all that was left were the sweaty bandages that had glued themselves to his skin, he knew he looked as disgusting as he felt. Bloody, grimy, and bruised all over. Now that he was seeing it all in the daylight, he could see the deep dark black and blue spots all over his torso and arms.

He looked like how he felt.

Like had the living daylights beat out of him.

He had been lucky to not sustain any significant damage in their second run-in with Alexander. He wondered if it had been in part to him being more prepared this time. He knew Alexander was coming.

He just had to stay on guard.

His thoughts drifted off as he sat for a moment on the bench, his upper body exposed. Things were starting to feel fuzzy as he took off his shoes and his socks. The gun, his weapons - where they were all hidden. Little by little, everything came off until he was down to his boxers, and he wasn't going to part with those until Caspar was gone.

He stacked it all in a pile next to him on the bench and found himself staring at his leg. There was a stain of dried blood where the graze was on the side of his thigh. For a graze, though, he felt like it still managed to take a small chunk out of him. Just a few centimeters over and it likely would've lodged into his muscle.

Lucky. Yeah. He'd keep saying that.

He glanced at his bag. He'd brought it over from the horses and set it at the foot of the bench. He saw that Caspar's was underneath the bench, tucked away.

He pulled his bag over, pulling out a roll of bandages.

"You might as well turn around," he said distantly.

He didn't brace for it. He wasn't going to look at Caspar. Now that he was in daylight, he knew all his scars were clearly visible, and he was trying his best not to look at himself too closely aside from the wounds that were in need of current attention. He didn't have energy to spare for the old ones.

He started unwrapping the bandaging around his leg, and even as it shifted around the open wound it started to sting and ache.

The floorboards of the back porch creaked as Caspar wordlessly approached.

When James threw the old bloodied bandage to the side on the floor, he tilted his head to the side, twisting his leg slightly to get a better look at it.

Had he not seen far worse on other men and on himself, he might've made a face, or even felt disturbed. But as it stood, it at least didn't look infected, and it wasn't actively bleeding. It did look irritated, though. He felt that, too.

"How familiar are you with bullet wounds?" James asked, though he wasn't entirely invested in the answer. It was more to fill the agonizing silence that still somehow felt so loud.

Caspar sat down on the bench beside him, eyes trained on the bandage as he carefully uncovered James's neck. "I've had a few myself," he answered simply.

James hummed, keeping his eyes down.

"Likewise," he said quietly.

Caspar sucked in a breath through his teeth, grimacing. "He only really nicked you with the knife. The needle, though... It's pretty bruised. You should keep that covered for a bit."

James sighed with a breath through his nose. It would be visible and only draw curiosity at best and suspicion at worst. Well, that wasn't true. He could think of other things that were worse.

James only hummed in agreement and nodded, grabbing the bandage roll beside him. He could wrap his neck, but he couldn't see where the bruise was without a mirror. He only felt the effects of it.

He offered it to Caspar, letting him take it. He trusted him to cover it, not that he had many other options.

Caspar took the roll, but hesitated. "Maybe let it breathe a moment, though?"

"What's breathing going to do for a bruise?" James asked.

"For the cut, I mean."

James didn't care to fight him on it. He was already beyond uncomfortable.

"Sure," he mumbled, grabbing the roll out of Caspar's hands and setting it back on the bench beside him. Though he was actively trying not catch Caspar's eyes, he could see Caspar deflate a little as his shoulders sagged.

They needed to move on. He gestured to his thigh.

"Doesn't look bad," he said. Especially since he'd sewn it up. "Did you buy any medicinal salves or anything?"

Shifting to examine James's back, Caspar hummed. "Yeah."

James felt tension build in every muscle in his body as Caspar looked at James's back.

He knew something had happened, because the skin on his back burned. It felt raw and had been starting to itch over the past day or so, like it was starting to scab. But he couldn't see what it was. His best guess was some kind of friction burn from being dragged on the ground at gallopping speeds.

"How's it look?" he asked, having to force the words out of his jaw, which had tensed and locked until he forced it open.

"Good, given the circumstances," Caspar said. "On the right track."

James nodded stiffly. "Good," he echoed, tapping his pointer finger in minimal movements against his good leg.

Reaching around James, Caspar grabbed a wash cloth that sat on top of the towel and hung it over the side of the tub to soak. He leaned on his right hand on the edge.

Without his gloves on, and having neglected to rebandage, James could catch a glimpse of Caspar's busted knuckles and the knotted scarring that stretched over the back of his hand - a burn. James had seen many burn scars in his day, and he recognized the pattern when he saw it. He wondered if it was from magic or if it was from the mage hunters. In any case, it was none of his business to know.

James busied himself with unwrapping the bandages around his waist. His sides ached as the bandaging was pulled away. The dry bandaging had gotten stuck to the wounds with dried blood and sweat, and as he looked down at the cuts again, he couldn't help but be annoyed at how inconveniently deep they were.

It could benefit him to at least sew one of them up, but that would take so much time.

Maybe he'd wait until Caspar was gone. He could bear with Hild's scrutiny for taking a long bath. He didn't know what kind of comments she'd make about Caspar staying behind either, but she'd been smart and observant enough to know he was hurt, so she likely did the math that he was hurt enough to need assistance.

That thought didn't comfort him. That almost meant she knew he was hurt enough to be vulnerable, and could - if needed - try to hit him where it already hurt.

He hoped it didn't come to that. He tried not to think about that.

He shook his head to himself as a subtle movement and looked at his left side. There were two gashes there, but they looked alright for the most part. They were just deep enough that an overly cautious doctor might consider stitches, but James wasn't going to waste time with that.

It was the gash in his right side that needed most attention. It was the deepest, and it was starting to look a little red.

James bit down tightly, flexing his jaw from the pressure as he pushed back his frustration and tried not to say anything reactionary.

He already almost died from infection once. He really didn't want it to happen again.

"Will you need help with, um--" Caspar gestured to James's back, then let his hand drop to his lap. "It's a stupid question, honestly, but I don't want to just presume..."

James blinked.

"Help with... washing my back," he said slowly, trying to make sure he understood Caspar's choppy question.

"Uh, yes." Caspar bit his lip. "That."

James closed his eyes just for a moment.

"Is it that bad?" he asked.

"Um, it's...yeah, kind of bad."

"I guess 'good considering the circumstances' is still bad, huh," James said flatly.

"Standards have been significantly lowered, I'll admit," Caspar answered, looking apologetic. "Our current bar for 'good' is 'no signs of infection'."

James pursed his lips and looked at his right side.

"I see," he said, shifting his arm out of the way so Caspar could see for himself.

Caspar let out a breath as he studied the gash and murmured to himself, "Wish he was here..."

"Who?" James asked, knitting his eyebrows together.

Caspar shrugged a shoulder. "Ah, just. My friend. He's far more qualified to help than I am--" He looked off to the side, like a thought occurred to him, then back to James nervously.

James couldn't help but feel anxiety spin in his own gut as he tried to figure out what thought had just gone through Caspar's head.

"What?" he asked, his eyebrows knitting together even tighter.

Caspar waved dismissively. "We'll finish up here first." He grabbed the smaller pail and dipped it into the tub. Conversationally, he went on, "You know, he'd probably rant about our collective stupidity and throw big doctorly words at us if he were here."

James watched Caspar, trying to think of the best way to position himself. He was already sitting on the edge of the bench, and the bench had no arms or back, so it made sense for him to just turn with his back facing the end.

"Well," James said with a sigh. "I've had enough rants from people fed up with my stupidity to last me a lifetime. I really don't need another one, so it's for the best."

Caspar disappeared behind James, and James had to resist the urge to look over his shoulder. Still, he didn't know what else to do with himself. He stared off into the backyard, keeping an eye on the neighbor's house.

So far he hadn't seen anything. He hoped it stayed that way.

He felt water trickle down his back, starting from his left shoulder, and going across to the other. The water was cool from the well, and the itching and burning was soothed in a way it hadn't the past three days. Just for a moment, James closed his eyes, letting himself enjoy the small sense of relief, but only for a moment.

"I built boats for awhile," Caspar said idly. "With my dad, and even after leaving Herron."

James tilted his head to the side to better catch his voice. Caspar dipped the pail into the bath and slowly poured it over James's back again, and James saw he'd taken the washcloth. Caspar gently dabbed at what felt like the edges of the burn.

"Sounds like honest work," James said, though there was something about it that felt familiar. This conversation. But it was all fuzzy in his head. He didn't dwell on it too much. He needed the distraction. "Did it pay well?"

Caspar hummed. "It was a reliable job. If we weren't building new ones, we'd be repairing old boats quite a bit."

"I imagine you got a lot of business from navy vessels then," James said. "From the monster hunting fleets."

"I actually hadn't worked on one of those until I moved inland," Caspar answered, a smile in his voice. "My dad's friend took me in after the storm. Boats were his main work, his company was pretty big."

"What was his name?" James asked. "The man who took you in."

Caspar hesitated, then answered, "Felix."

James started searching his mind, reaching back into his memories in the isles. If he'd met a Felix, they hadn't been memorable enough to stick out. It didn't help that all his memories from that period were a little spotty.

Then again, that was a lot of his memory these days. He only remembered the things he had to. And well, what his mind considered important wasn't always actually important.

"What was he like?" James asked.

As he refilled the bucket, Caspar glanced at James, then stepped around behind him once more. "He was a shrewd businessman. Good at his work, and charged accordingly. A decent father to his son, Henry."

James heard what wasn't said. Felix might've been a good father to his own son, but Caspar wasn't shown the same care or attention.

"How old was Henry?" James asked, deciding to narrow his questions down to things that were more specific and manageable. Less personal.

"Around my age."

James was quiet for a moment as he reached for ways to keep the conversation going.

In any other circumstance, he would let silence fill the space between them and he wouldn't care. But he was desperately trying not to think about his exposed skin, and the terror that vulnerability always threatened to bring if he wasn't careful. He didn't want to make this situation worse than it was. He didn't want to burn the only bridge he had at the moment by saying something he didn't mean to.

But it seemed the moment he'd paused to get in his head, he got stuck there. Anxiety started to creep in past the numbness like a smoke creeping through the cracks of a closed door.

His heart started thumping a little louder, and a little harder.

Drawing in a breath, Caspar went on, "Henry was the first friend I made who was my age, and that was sometime in my teen years." There was tension in his voice, like he was pushing himself to speak, to pull James out of his head and back into the present. "Henry was a prankster, and had a generous spirit. Nothing like his stoic father."

"Did you two get along?" James asked, even though the question felt like a rather obvious one.

He was trying. But his heart was still beating faster. He just needed to hold on until Caspar was done. Then he'd have a moment to himself.

"He got us into a lot of trouble, but it was always good fun." Caspar huffed a laugh. "He tried stowing away in a navy ship once. Wanted to go out and find sea monsters for himself. He pulled barnacles for a week for it."

"Seems a suitable punishment for the worry he probably caused his father," James commented, though his heart wasn't in it. He hoped it didn't show. He was glad Caspar wasn't facing him.

"I agree." Setting the bucket down and the washcloth on the bench, Caspar stepped off the side of the back porch and cleared his throat. "You can take it from here, if you want."

James turned to look at Caspar for a moment, aware that his face was completely blank. Caspar wasn't even looking at him. He had his gaze cast off to the side, away from him.

He was done.

James would've let out a sigh of relief if there wasn't a roll of thunder building in his chest.

"Sure. I've got it," James said. "Thank you for helping."

Caspar only nodded, then disappeared around the side of the house.

James felt his nerves fraying at the edges, and the moment Caspar was gone, he could feel them unraveling. His whole body was starting to tremble uncontrollably, and his hands twitched as he reached out for the wash cloth again.

It was annoying, but this sort of thing had happened before. Things would build up, he'd keep it in, and then he'd finally be left alone and it would all surface whether he liked it or not. To say he was used to it wasn't entirely true, because he hated it every time, but he'd grown to expect it in moments like this.

It wasn't that he didn't think Caspar had good intentions. It wasn't even that he thought Caspar would turn on him. At least, most of him believed that.

James attempted to scrub around the wounds on his side, but his hands were shaking like leaves in the wind. He grit down his teeth tightly, cursing under his breath in frustration. With stubborn determination and tremors in his fingers, he pushed through and cleaned his wounds.

He made use of the salve, and wiped himself down before he even stepped foot in the tub.

He wasn't going to sit in dirty water with open wounds. So he made sure he was clean before he got in - with the only intention to cool off the burns on his back some more. Just a few minutes of relief would be worth it - and helpful, he hoped.

After scanning the backyard ten times over, he finally stripped down and got in the tub, lowering himself slowly.

Tears of relief started to glaze over his eyes as the cool water surrounded him, but before they could flow down his face, he dunked his head in.

For a moment, he was immersed in relative silence. The faint gurgling sound of water sloshed in his ears, and for once, he felt truly alone.

But the sensation didn't last long.

Panic rose in his throat after no more than a minute, and even though he knew he could hold his breath longer, he popped his head above water, taking in a shaky breath.

He wasn't drowning.

James let out a long, exhausted sigh, leaning his head back to stare at the porch ceiling.

There was a cobweb in the corner. He decided to focus on that for the remainder of his time spent in the tub.

When Caspar was deemed clean and granted entry, Hild invited him to a little table in the kitchen with three cups and a pitcher, and a plate of thick bread slices. The table legs were quite narrowly placed. Caspar sat down, but couldn't decide if tucking his knees together or sitting around the corner would be more comfortable.

Hild watched his struggle for a moment. "I don't usually host people," she said, "so it'll feel quite crowded once your friend joins us."

Caspar finally settled with his knees on either side of one of the table legs. "It's alright. I really can't thank you enough for this--"

"Don't try." Hild smiled faintly and inclined her head. "It's my pleasure."

Caspar eyed the bread, but decided to wait for James. At the same time, he caught Hild eyeing his hands. He tucked them away in his pockets.

"The subject of your current circumstances," she began slowly, sitting even straighter, "are likely off-limits for a number of reasons, so I won't ask for too many details."

Her foot tapped under the table. She itched to know everything there was to know, he knew.

"We won't stay long," Caspar assured her.

"Who's on your tail?"

"A man named Alexander."

They left the bounty hunter in...fairly rough shape. Caspar glanced down at his hands. He actually couldn't imagine him being too close behind them, but they really couldn't be too careful.

"He was armed to the teeth."

Hild nodded. "Lovely." She glanced off to the cupboards.

Caspar felt a pang of guilt. If the hunter managed to follow them here... He shook his head. The trail would've been mostly lost in town, and Alexander had many wounds to recover from.

"And Matt is?" Hild cut into his thoughts.

"A friend."

She scoffed. "Of a little over a week?"

Caspar shrugged. "We have...a lot in common."

"That's insufficient," she said plainly. "Traveling with him could be disastrous. You can fill a book with all of the reasons why."

Caspar shifted in his spot. "S'fine."

Hild looked doubtful. "Why is he even on the run?"

Looking down, Caspar picked at a grain sticking out from the table. "I'm...not at liberty to say."

With another huff, Hild stood and dug through the cupboards. "You are unbelievable. You have no clue who this man is, what he's done, and yet you're traipsing about like that's not a problem--" She shot him a hard glare. "--which it is, by the way, a very huge problem - you're putting your life in his hands! This man, who won't even show his face in this remote, backwater, disgusting fishing town where literally no one cares where anyone comes from! You cannot--" She cut herself off.

Slamming the cupboard shut, she calmly sat across from Caspar again and took his right hand. She turned it over, examining it closely. Caspar looked askance, then winced when her fingers brushed the busted skin.

"Brilliant," she muttered. "I hope you cleaned it."

"I did," he answered quietly.

Her fingertips lingered on the burn marks, sadness flashing in her eyes, then she wrapped his hand for him. Caspar fidgeted as he tried reading her face. Her features were neutral again, and her hands steady, any emotions prior forgotten or shoved aside. Once she was done, he hid his hand again.

"I won't tell you what to do," she said after a long silence. "Just be careful."

Caspar nodded. "Okay."

There was a beat of tense silence as Hild brushed her wild hair from her face and poured herself a glass of water, and Caspar twiddled his thumbs under the table. Then both turned their heads when the back door opened, and footsteps evenly and lightly made their way to the kitchen.

James entered the open doorway, stopping to lean his shoulder on the side of the frame. He'd changed his shirt, and it looked like he'd been intentional to cover up as much as possible. A fresh bandanna was tied around his neck, covering any evidence of the bandages, but now that he was inside, the bandanna was down, and he finally showed his face.

James ran a hand through his still-wet hair to push it out of his eyes and then folded his arms over his chest, setting a focused gaze on Hild. Her eyes pierced his.

Looking between the two of them, Caspar switched to the chair next to Hild. "There's, um, bread here."

"It's a little old," Hild said by way of some indirect apology, but her tone was icy. "Haven't had a chance to make any fresh."

"You weren't expecting us," James said, not moving an inch. "You don't have to apologize."

Caspar gestured to the chair. "There's water too."

James finally looked to Caspar, and his expression was unreadable. He pushed off from the door frame and walked over to the chair, taking a seat beside him. As he pulled the chair up he reached over and took a slice of bread, taking a bite. Hild filled the other two cups, then drank from her own, casting James a pointed look over the rim of her glass. James seemed to share the look with her before he slid his glass closer to himself and took a drink himself, mouth still full.

Caspar tapped his fingers on his cup. He felt like he was missing some unspoken thing here.

Hild was right. The house was small, and it felt full now that James sat in the tiny kitchen too. The silent hostility between them pushed on the walls, threatening to burst.

They didn't trust each other, nor did they have to, and trying to convince them to would be a waste of time. Caspar was banking on them trusting him enough to get through at least one night peacefully.

Caspar glanced at James.

Hild would know what to do with a forming infection. She grew up in a family of doctors, her brother was a doctor. Despite her lacking bedside manner, she helped treat all sorts of injuries and ailments, and she did it well. Lyall even begrudgingly admitted that her medical skill and insights very nearly matched his own.

Caspar watched Hild carefully tear her own bread slice in half and nibble on the edge.

James might vehemently object, and Hild would for sure despise the very suggestion.

Caspar let out a breath, drawing both of their attention to himself. He fought the urge to shrink back and try to disappear.

This was going to be hard.

Caspar sat straighter. "So, um, Hild."

She arched a brow.

"You wouldn't happen to still..."

Both James and Hild watched him intently. Caspar swallowed and scratched his chin.

"Um, do you still know how to...treat an infection?" he finished, voice dropping to a murmur as his confidence crumbled.

James went rigid. Hild's brows furrowed with concern as she scanned Caspar.

"Why, what happened?" she asked.

Caspar bounced his leg, nerves buzzing. "Uh, not for me."

Hild's eyes flicked to James, then back to Caspar. James tilted his glass and stared into the water like something inside it had caught his attention.

"It's--" Caspar started again, but Hild cut him off with a simple, "No."

Caspar raised both brows. "No?" he echoed.

"Such knowledge escapes my memory," she furthered smoothly. "I cannot treat infection at this point in time. My condolences, I do hope you get that sorted out soon."

Well, that was a poor excuse. Caspar frowned slightly. "So you just. Forgot."

"I don't practice medicine anymore," she said, raising her glass to her lips. "I am not licensed to do so."

"That's ridiculous," Caspar said indignantly, "you can still help people without a piece of paper that gives you permission to help people."

Hild only shrugged. "There's a doctor in town--"

"I'm asking you," he said firmly. "You've treated infection, very bad infection - hell, you've fixed worse! You know why we can't just go to some doctor. Matt has an infection forming. It's still preventable. It'll be an easy case, you of all people can get it done quick. Then you both can forget it ever happened and we'll be on our way by tomorrow morning."

James hadn't moved an inch. Hild set her glass back down and glanced off at the cupboard again.

"Hild," Caspar said, softer, eyes pleading.

Hild glared up, practically burning holes through the ceiling. She drummed her fingers on the tabletop as she pressed her lips into a firm line. Caspar tilted his head as he waited.

"Where is it," Hild finally said, her voice hard.

There was a several-second delay, and James kept his eyes fixed on an invisible point on the table.

"Right side," James said, sounding hollow. "Just below the ribs."

"I should look at it," she ground out, "to accurately assess."

James seemed frozen again for a moment, but suddenly pushed his chair back. As it scratched the wood floor, James cast Caspar a very brief pointed glare, like a kicked dog. But he looked away just as quickly and rose to his feet, turning his attention to Hild.

"Here?" he asked. It almost sounded like James was intentionally using as little words as possible.

Hild stepped around the table to his side. "Works for me."

Caspar could see James's jaw visibly clench as he shrugged off his jacket and set it on the back of the chair.

"I can step out for a minute?" Caspar offered.

James shot Caspar an even sharper glare, not bothering to be subtle this time as his eyes widened in intensity. Hild mirrored him almost exactly, biting back what would've been a very mean retort. Caspar withered under the heat of both their gazes. "Or not."

James turned away from Caspar and fixed his attention on the buttons of his shirt, practically fighting with them. When he finally freed the last button he pushed the sides of the shirt out of the way and rolled up the thinner shirt he had on underneath until it was up to his ribs, revealing the freshly-bound bandaging around his waist. With slow, reluctant fingers, he started loosing the bandaging to reveal the deep gash that started just below his ribs and traced down to his hip, pointing downward.

In this lighting, it almost looked redder than before. Worry bubbled in Caspar's gut.

Squaring her shoulders, Hild's aggravation quickly gave way to her usual frosty expression as she examined him with trained eyes. "The cause," she demanded.

James's jaw clenched again, and Caspar saw a flash of anger leak through as James's upper lip twitched around his nose.

"Can't say for sure," he said, his voice smooth, far too carefree compared to the tension he was clearly holding in. "I was thrown around a lot. My best guess is that it was a very sharp rock."

"I would've preferred more than a 'best guess'," Hild muttered. "How long ago?"

"Three days," he said quickly, but faltered. "Or... closer to four."

Hild's eyes wandered for a brief second, taking in any visible damage around, then honed in on the gash again. "How often did you clean it?"

“At least twice a day,” James answered.

She hummed. "Good." She folded her hands and stepped back, nodding conclusively. "I'll check if I have anything lying around. If not, I'll pay the doctor a visit."

James nodded sharply, and clearly took that as a cue to cover up again. He started re-wrapping it again. Promptly.

Caspar stood up and placed a quick, chaste kiss on Hild's forehead. "Thank you," he said earnestly.

Hild waved him away. "I might not have anything, and I don't know what the doctor keeps in stock, he's a bumbling drunk. So don't thank me yet. You." She pointed at James. "Topical application of honey helps, if you can find it. If not, eating raw garlic is also effective."

James nodded, but that was all. He rolled down his shirt immediately after.

Hild disappeared upstairs, stomping her boots as she went. Caspar breathed a sigh of relief and cast James an apologetic grimace.

"I, um, I'm sorry about that," he mumbled.

“She’s related to your old friend,” James said lowly. “Isn’t she?”

"Yeah. His sister."

James nodded stiffly and turned his eyes towards the stairwell where Hild had disappeared.

"I see," was all he said, with his face turned away from Caspar.

Unable to find anything else to say on the matter, Caspar drank some water. James didn't move from where he stood by the table, eyes on the stairwell like a watchdog. Caspar couldn't read him.

Was he mad? Did he feel betrayed at all by Caspar outing him like that?

After what felt like an eternity of silence filling the room in Hild's absence, James finally spoke up again. But he still stayed on guard, unmoving.

"She recognized me," he said lowly.

Caspar set down his cup, a little loudly. "What?"

"She recognized me when she saw my face," James said more firmly.

"She wouldn't--"

Caspar couldn't actually promise anything. If Hild felt compelled to do something, there was rarely any chance talking her out of her decision.

And she was well within her rights to, if for no other reason than to protect herself.

"What are the odds that she's actually looking for medicine and not going to report me?" James asked, his voice chillingly grave.

But Caspar trusted her. He had to be able to trust some people. What else did he have if not that?

He clenched his hand, trying to steady himself.

"I trust her," he finally said. He hated that his voice wavered.

"I don't think she'd report you," James said evenly. "I, however, am not convinced that her loyalty for you will extend to me in the slightest."

Caspar glanced over his shoulder at the stairwell. Doubt and fear crept in like poison.

"If she's not back in a few minutes," James said. "I'm leaving."

He looked at Caspar with an expression so empty Caspar was convinced James was hiding his emotions on purpose.

Caspar sat frozen in his chair, unable to say or think anything anymore. He hid his shaking hands in his pockets.

Hild descended, sounding calmer than when she left. She grabbed her coat from a hook on the wall. "I don't have anything here, so I'll check to see if Dr. Aimes does. He's only fifteen minutes out."

As she left the kitchen, Caspar hurried after her to the front door.

"Maybe I should go with you?" he suggested, trying his best to sound casual. "We can...talk more, catch up?"

Hild pulled on her coat and checked the pockets. She looked Caspar over, brows pinched slightly, then stared him straight in the eyes. Her shoulders tensed.

"I can manage a short walk on my own," she said, almost biting. She pushed Caspar back into the sitting room with a gentle hand, and softened her voice as she continued, "Hopefully I can find what your...friend needs."

She waited, eyes asking him now to relax and trust her. Swallowing, he nodded. Hild patted his chest lightly, then quietly shut the door behind her.

Caspar ducked his head and scratched the back of his neck, and shifted his weight between both feet. He scanned the sitting room, unseeing, then settled his eyes on James still in the kitchen. James had sat back down, with his elbows on the table as he held his hands interlocked together under his nose. He was staring off into the kitchen like he was in deep thought.

Caspar just stood in the front room, unsure of where he should be now.

Hild will be back, he told himself. She was going to help, she said she would.

"She's right to be upset, you know," James said from the kitchen, speaking just loud enough to be heard. "You brought trouble to her home by bringing me here. You would've been enough to worry about, but I'm afraid my bounty has been far more advertised than your own."

Caspar scrubbed his hands over his face and leaned back against the wall. His legs were suddenly weak, and his shoulder ached.

"I'm sorry to be the reason for your soured reunion," James continued, his voice growing a little quieter.

Caspar sank to the floor and stared blankly ahead.

Isolation in the wilderness was easier. Maybe he should have gone for a third year alone.

Or just let the sea finally take him too.

James had taken note of the layout of the town when they'd entered. He'd mapped it out in his mind, keeping a temporary visual reference for as long as they were there. He'd taken note of where the few shops were on the main road, and where the sheriff's office stood. He'd seen a glimpse of his own poster as they'd passed - a surreal experience he'd grown used to now, though it still made him feel uneasy in his gut.

If Hild was going to the doctor, fifteen minutes seemed right. The sheriff's office was a tad closer, but some of the extra time could've been padding for the conversation time.

James had a million doubts, but he could tell that Caspar was struggling with his own. James couldn't help but feel guilty.

Not accepting or asking for help wasn't just about a lack of trust. It was also about avoiding situations like this one, where he was putting Hild at risk by being in her home. If she didn't report him but someone else discovered his whereabouts - that she was harboring him or had been, even after they were gone - she could face consequences.

He was sure she was willing to take that risk when it came to Caspar, but it was selfish to ask so much of her on his behalf.

Especially when it was so clear she was only tolerating this because of her history with Caspar.

James stayed in the kitchen, where there were the least windows. The curtains over the kitchen window were semi-sheer, but drawn, and enough to keep prying eyes away. He let Caspar have a moment to himself in the hall, and decided to let them both wait in silence.

It wasn't like there was anything they could do about it now. They just had to trust Hild.

James leaned his elbows on the table, running his hands through his wet hair with a deep sigh.

This was his fault.

Sure, Caspar had been the one to ask for help, and Alexander was to blame for the attacks. But James was the reason Caspar got dragged into all of this in the first place. If it hadn't been for him, Caspar could've had a decent life working for Gregor, and this far out, would probably never be discovered as long as he didn't do anything to draw attention to himself. He might've even run into Hild on his own, since Gregor came into town every once in a while for supplies.

James got up and walked to the doorway of the kitchen, looking down into the hall. Caspar was sitting on the floor, leaning back against the wall.

He looked weary.

They were both tired. Running from a bounty hunter who nearly killed and captured you did that to a person.

James leaned his shoulder on the side of the doorframe, staying out of view of any windows by staying mostly in the kitchen.

"What's going on in your head right now?" James asked, looking at Caspar.

Caspar didn't look at him for a moment, like the question didn't quite register. Tilting his head up, he shrugged. "Nothing. I just need... I think I need sleep or something."

"Taking the past few days into consideration, and knowing that between the two of us, neither of us have gotten enough sleep for one person, I'd say that's a fair assessment," James said. "Sleep does wonders for a lot of things."

A pause.

"But...," James continued. "I'm sorry you're exhausted. Hopefully tonight you can get some rest. I'm sure Hild would understand if you needed a nap too, or if you just wanted to lie down."

Pushing himself to his feet, Caspar wandered the small room. "It can wait."

"Until what?" James asked.

Stopping by a small desk in the corner, Caspar picked up a book from the pile on top and paged through the text. "Until she comes back," he answered simply. He paused on one page.

James felt the tension of the space between them, with him still sticking his head out of the kitchen, and Caspar wandering the front room. But the front room had a few larger, open windows letting the daylight in.

"Were you good friends?" James asked. "You and Hild."

"Yeah." More shuffling of pages, and another quiet pause. James hoped he wasn't making things worse by asking questions.

"How long has it been since you last saw her?"

"Seven years." Caspar looked back at James for a second. "My mess started when I acquainted myself with their family."

Their family.

That meant either Hild or Lyall were mages, if not both. And maybe more in their family as well.

So they were the ones Caspar ruined his reputation for. They were the reason he was wanted. That was why Hild was so glad to see him, and probably why she felt such a strong obligation to help Caspar now. To give back.

"Is it good to see her again?" James asked softly.

Caspar turned his eyes down to the book again. "Yeah, it is," he said faintly.

James was quiet a moment.

"Well," he said. "I'll... try to give you space, then. To catch up. I'm sure you two have a lot to talk about."

Caspar just nodded. He set the book down and picked up another one.

"Do you read?" James asked after a beat.

He felt it was better to shift the topic, now. He'd exhausted the Hild conversation, and could tell Caspar didn't seem to want to talk about it anyway.

More page flipping, and Caspar set the book down sooner than the other one. "No." He opened another.

So he was looking for illustrations, then. And if there weren't any, well, the book had nothing to offer him. That made more sense of the page flipping.

"Have you ever wanted to learn?" James asked.

Caspar shut that book too, and leaned heavily with both hands on the desk. "I've never needed to, and there's hardly a reason to start now."

James understood that. He'd met many people who felt the same.

"Well," he said. "If... you ever wanted to, I wouldn't mind helping you learn."

He'd taught a handful of others. Friends in the past, most of them no longer friends, and all of which he'd had no contact with for some time. But it had given them something to do, and he didn't mind teaching.

It helped pass the time when traveling in the wilderness.

When Caspar looked at him again, there was a conflict of emotions in his eyes. Like he wanted to accept the offer, like he was being given hope again. There was also reluctance, like he shouldn't, and that the endeavor would be truly pointless.

"It's an open invitation," James added. "You don't have to decide now. I know you're tired. But it's there when you want it."

Caspar nodded and looked away. "I'll...think about it."

"I'm glad that you're willing to take it under consideration," James said with the slightest smile. "Instead of just saying no outright."

A memory returned to him - from a few days ago. He thought he recalled Caspar writing in a journal, but if Caspar couldn't read, he most definitely couldn't write.

"Do you draw, then?" James asked as a continuation of his thought out loud.

Caspar straightened to stare at the wall. "Yeah."

James offered Caspar a small smile.

"That's great. How long have you been drawing?" he asked.

Caspar exhaled slowly as he thought. "A while." He hesitated, then continuted, "I started to draw more intentionally just a few years ago."

"What things do you like to draw?" James asked.

Glancing down at his toes, Caspar shuffled in place a little, self-conscious. James tilted his head to the side expectantly. Talking about himself always seemed outside of Caspar's comfort zone.

"Just. Observational sketches," he answered.

"Life studies," James said with a nod.

"Yeah." Caspar turned and leaned back against the desk. "Do you write? I've seen you with a book too."

Another nod.

"That I do," James answered. "Though, admittedly, less than I used to in times past. I try to use my supplies more sparingly."

"What do you write?"

Caspar looked less tense, though exhaustion still weighed on him.

"It varies," James said slowly. He was learning that both of them seemed to prefer to be the ones asking the questions. But for the sake of Caspar, James was going to persevere. Caspar finally seemed to relax a little.

"Sometimes I'll write poetry," James said. "Or fragments of story ideas. Sometimes songs. Whatever comes to me at the time, really."

He also wrote for strictly practical reasons: recording names, places, dates. He made maps, and journaled out his thoughts, but he'd rather the conversation's emphasis wasn't put on the latter.

"That's neat," Caspar said sincerely.

"It helps to have something to put my mind to on quiet nights," James said with a shrug. "Which I seem to have in abundance."

Huffing a wry laugh, Caspar nodded. "I understand that."

James grinned. It was forced, mostly, but he knew it didn't come off so. He was about to ask another question when he saw a shadow pass by the front window, and seconds later, the front door was opening.

Hild had returned, alone and with two small parcels tucked under her arm.

"Welcome back," James said a little too politely, given the circumstances.

She'd get annoyed by that, probably.

Hild ignored him and locked the door behind her. Caspar moved to meet her, but she crossed the room before he could stand. She handed him the larger package with a small smile. "I'm sure you could use another one of these."

She didn't wait for him to open it or even respond before turning to James. She stiffly held out the other package to him. "Dr. Aimes was shockingly stocked up on medication," she said, all warmth in her voice gone.

James gingerly took the package from her hands.

"Thank you," he said with a small bow of his head. His gratitude was sincere, but he doubted she cared.

Hild's hardness in her stare eased ever so slightly, and she inclined her head likewise.

James turned to look past Hild towards Caspar, who was turning the package over in his hands.

"Hild," James said. "Caspar was wondering if it would be alright for him to rest for a bit. He's been pushing himself the past few days, and I think he would greatly benefit from a nap."

Caspar shot James a confused look, which quickly morphed into betrayal. James kept an innocent, genuine expression, but inwardly he couldn't help but want to smirk, just a little.

That was what it felt like to have someone speak for you without consulting them first.

Hild looked between the two. "That would be perfectly acceptable. I have a guest room, if you can believe it." She gestured demonstratively to the smallness of the house, then pinned Caspar with a very pointed look. "That door is upstairs and already open."

Caspar sighed, looking utterly defeated. He muttered, "I'm fine."

"You're the one who said you needed sleep," James said, as if trying to appeal to reason, even though Caspar was clearly already resigned to sleeping. Or at least, trying to.

Pushing on his back, Hild ushered him toward the stairs. Caspar didn't fight her, but cast a suspicious glance over his shoulder at both of them. "Not long, though," he said, like it was some kind of warning.

"Yeah, yeah," James said with a wave of his hand, shooing him away. "Go. Rest now."

"Go," Hild agreed firmly.

When Caspar finally relented and disappeared up the stairs, James turned to Hild.

"I was going to let him sleep as long as his body let him," James whispered. "I don't plan on waking him."

Hild folded her hands loosely in front of her. "You do plan on waiting for him, though?" She matched him in volume, and her question was surprisingly gentle.

James looked at her out of the corner of his eye. It seemed they were both playing hard to read.

"Yes," James whispered in return. "It would be cruel of me not to."

She nodded, satisfied with his answer, then stepped around him into the kitchen. She took off her coat and hung it on the back of her chair. James followed in after her, grabbing his bag from where he'd left it on the floor, and he set it on the table, along with the parcel of medicine.

"Do you mind if I use this space to take care of--" he gesture to his side. "It again?"

Hild glanced him over, then off to the side for a quiet second. "Go ahead." She grabbed a slice of bread and stepped back out of the kitchen.

He was surprised she was giving him privacy, but he wasn't going to complain about it. He was relieved.

When she disappeared, he opened up the package, looking over the medicine she'd gotten from the doctor. He made haste to get his shirt out of the way again and reveal the gash in his side once more.

He winced as it started to burn and sting more than usual.

James sat down at the table and started applying the medicinal salve little by little until it was fully covered. He still felt like it needed stitches, though, and this felt like the best chance he'd have to try.

Taking out his supplies from his bag, he prepped and sterilized the needle before going into the skin.

His side was far more sensitive than his leg.

He bit down, hard, but still let out a hiss in the back of his throat. He scrunched up his face to push back the pain, but there wasn't much that could be done for it. He just had to push through.

There came a quiet rapping from the door. Hild leaned on the frame with her back to him. "Need help?" she asked begrudgingly.

"Unless you have something to--" James started to say, still trying to sew up his skin. His voice cut out as he clamped his mouth shut to silence another pained noise. A faint groan hummed in the back of his throat, part pain, part frustration.

"It's in an awkward place for you," she continued. "I can reach it better and thus close it up faster."

James sat tensely, needle in hand and twisted to the side to try to get to the wound at the right angle.

He hated this. He hated all of it.

"It's-- I can do it," he muttered stubbornly. "I know you were only helping because of Caspar anyway. It's fine. I'll be fine."

Hild hummed. "Perhaps there's a sense of obligation to see it through now, seperate from Caspar. Finish what I started, you know?"

"For a second it sounded like you had a change of heart," James said thinly as he poked the needle in again. He wasn't even finished with the first knot.

Hild scoffed. "Hardly."

"Yeah, well, that's the thing," James said. "It's hard to trust people with something as important as sewing up a wound when I know they already don't like me. I'm sure you of all people understand trust issues."

A beat of tense silence.

"You're doing it wrong," she muttered.

James paused with the needle, his hands not as steady as he wanted them to be.

"What?" he asked, looking up at her.

"You need to be able to sit straight while stitching," she explained impatiently, keeping her eyes firmly trained ahead of her, "otherwise you'll break the thread or heal incorrectly."

James pressed his lips into a line and looked down at the first stitch.

He couldn't sit up straight and bend down and twist so he could reach the wound at the same time.

He pinched his eyes shut for a moment, pushing back his paranoia. His pride. His fear.

It didn't work, though. He still felt it nontheless.

"Fine," he said tersely. "Fine. You can... help."

There were quiet, measured foot steps. Hild knelt down beside him, hand held out for the needle and eyes focused on the gash. He handed her the needle and took in a breath as he forced himself to sit up straight, even though everything ached when doing so.

"Straighter," she instructed as she took the needle.

James had to work to keep his expression flat as he straightened up. It was like his blood started flowing again, and it all rushed to his bruises, making them throb and ache.

His neck especially felt like it'd been wrung out.

Hild worked in quick, precise movements, as though this was second nature. James felt the piercing and tugging of his skin, in and out, over and over. He focused his tension in his fist on the side opposite Hild, clenching it tightly.

"I'm sure Caspar told you a little about me," Hild said.

In, out, in, out...

"Only a little," James said. "But he seems very fond of you and happy to see you."

She hummed again, warmer this time. "Did he mention the family practice?"

"Yes," James answered. "You come from a line of doctors. He mentioned your brother."

"Good. Saves me time and energy," she said matter-of-factly, then declared, "Patient confidentiality." She tugged on the thread, slowly closing the gash up. "As far as anyone else is concerned, you were never here to begin with."

Hild finally looked up at him, expression even but eyes sincere. "You have my word."

James found himself caught off guard.

Slowly, he released the tension from his fist once the stitching was done, but he found himself frozen as he met Hild's eyes.

A different kind of pain stirred in his chest, like a claw around his heart.

Guilt sunk in, deeper this time.

Not waiting for him to respond, Hild looked back down and expertly tied off the stitches. Taking a pair of embroidery scissors from her pocket, she cut the thread and stepped back.

"I'm sorry," James said quietly. "I know the risk you're taking to help me. I hope you know that I am truly grateful. If there is anything I can do to repay you for your kindness--"

She held up a hand to stop him. "Like you said, I understand that trust is hard to come by."

James flicked his eyes to ground and grabbed his bandaging to re-wrap the newly stitched and medicated wound.

"Thank you," James said again, though he knew it wasn't necessary.

Hild nodded. "My pleasure." Then she left the kitchen as quietly as she came.

James finished wrapping up his wound quickly, and buttoned up his shirt again, and put his jacket back on as well. After packing everything back into his bag, he got up and poked his head out of the kitchen door, into the hall, looking for where Hild had gone.

To the left, he saw her in the front room, sitting at the desk where Caspar had formerly been flipping through books. She looked to be reading.

James warily eyed the windows in the front room, along with the curtains that had been pushed open. Outside, there really wasn't anyone walking around closeby. Anyone out and about was likely in the heart of the town at this time of day.

On light feet, James stepped into the short hall and into the sitting room.

Knowing now that Hild wasn't going to turn him in at least put his heart at peace about her. He couldn't say the same for the rest of the town, though.

"There's a chair in the other corner," Hild said without looking up. "No one outside can see it."

James glanced into the other corner. There was, indeed, a chair against the front wall, out of view of the window, facing away from it.

James moved across the room quickly and sat down.

"If you're busy," James said. "I don't want to bother you."

Hild closed her book and turned sideways in her seat to face him. "Just some leisure reading."

"Ah," James said. "It must be nice to have a handful of books to read."

He was nervous. He didn't know how to steer this conversation in the way he wanted. He barely knew Hild.

She stared at him like he'd grown another head, but chose to politely answer, "It passes the time."

"Do you not like reading?" James asked, pushing back the temptation to fidget. He forced himself to at least appear calm.

"I wouldn't do it if I didn't like it." Her brows furrowed. "Did you hit your head on the way in?"

James blinked.

"What? No. I-- why do you ask?"

"Small talk just doesn't seem like..." She pursed her lips. "...your thing. Nor are you very good at it. A concussion would be a plausible reason for such a change in behaviour."

James smiled weakly and scratched the back of his neck.

Okay, so his shift in behavior wouldn't have made sense to her. He didn't think that through. Hell, he wasn't thinking a lot of things through.

It would be awkward to have to explain himself, but he could deal with awkward. He'd take that over hostile any day.

He shrugged.

"I just... you know, it helps that it doesn't feel like I'm in danger any more," he said. "At least, from you."

Hild nodded, seeming to fully understand now. "Well, don't feel obligated to chat. I don't mind the quiet if you're not up for conversation."

Maybe he should just rip off the bandage.

"I don't mind the quiet either, usually," he said. "But I... well, I thought it only fair that you know. Caspar told me what he was wanted for, and why he's been on the run all these years. Of course, he only told me the gist of it, so I don't know the details. But I did the math enough to put two and two together when it comes to you and your family."

He paused only to take a breath, but continued before Hild could speak. She visibly tensed up, though. Her hands fisted the fabric of her skirt, and her eyes flicked to the hallway.

"I just wanted to make it known that I have nothing against magic or mages," James continued. "What the kingdom does to oppress them is horrific and disgusting, and has caused generations of needless suffering. I know my opinion holds no weight considering my life circumstances, but I did want to be transparent. You assured me of my safety. So I just wanted to assure you of yours. At least... when it comes to me. That's all."

Hild closed her eyes, letting out a quiet breath. The tension in her frame slowly melted again. When she looked at him once more, her composure had cracked, letting a long-worn sorrow and immense relief show as she earnestly whispered, "Thank you."

James's expression softened, and he offered her the first genuine smile he had in a while. He nodded lightly in return.

"I'm sure life had been beyond difficult for you, and I wouldn't want to jeopardize what you've made for yourself here," he said. "So I'll be sure that Caspar and I are out by morning."

Hild barked a bitter laugh. "I have hardly a life here, but I appreciate it."

James hesitated, glancing off to the side.

"I take it being in hiding hasn't been... ideal," he said slowly.

Hild turned away slightly to wipe at her eyes. "What I've built is nothing more than a house of cards, really." She faced James again. "You understand, I'm sure. It's safer to be untruthful, make half-connections. Quicker to burn bridges that were never fully built in the first place."

James's eyes fell to the floor and he nodded slowly.

"Yes," he said soberly. "I know that life well."

That had been his last five years to be exact.

"Though I didn't gain it from something out of my own control, like being born with... you know," he added quietly.

"You strike me as the noble sort," Hild offered.

"No one should think me noble," James said, only glancing up at her.

He didn't like the conversation turning back to him. He could feel his nerves acting up again, like pins and needles.

"Well," she said comfortably, seeming to read his uneasiness, "since you already know: I don't actually have what our mother liked to call 'the gift'. Only my half-brother."

James looked back up at her.

"So you're in a similar boat as Caspar, then?" James said. "Just..."

Less wanted? Better adjusted? He didn't make any more assumptions.

"Wanted by affiliation?" She nodded. "Yes. But also for the possibility of continuing a tainted bloodline."

James sighed.

"You're wanted in the Isles, namely, right?" he asked. "Which is why you're way out here?"

"Yes."

James nodded. It must've been nice not having your wanted status reach beyond your home's borders. But he knew better than to say that out loud.

Hild went on, "I would be, anyway. I actually got lucky and was presumed dead after a house fire."

Maybe that meant Lyall was presumed dead as well.

"Lucky indeed," he said quietly. "Though I can imagine starting life over would be a challenge of its own."

She shrugged. "The only real challenge was acquiring a job. I don't do up close and personal anymore."

James looked off to the side of the room.

"Likewise," he said distantly. "It keeps things simpler."

And lonely. But he was used to loneliness.

"Alone is easier," she agreed. She glanced at the stairway. "For some."

James didn't follow her eyes, but he followed her train of thought. Caspar didn't seem the type to do better alone. Though he was more quiet, he clearly cared a lot about people and valued connection.

"I... worry about him," James said quietly. "Being with me. I draw more attention than he does this far from the Isles."

Hild studied him as she slowly asked, "Do you plan on parting ways?"

James looked to the floor.

"I don't have plans yet," he said quietly. "But I've thought about it every day. I thought about leaving him here, with you. I tried to leave him already, at the ranch, but he... he intervened. And..."

James took in a deep breath.

"He's safest without me," James said firmly. "Everyone is."

Leaning forward with her arms folded on her knees, Hild tilted her head. "I haven't seen him in seven years," she said softly. "I don't know what he's gone through since..." She turned her eyes up to the ceiling, finding the words. "I can't say how he'd take it. You're probably in a better position to judge."

James found himself staring at the floor, thinking back to the last few days.

Caspar, ripping him away from Alexander. Pounding away at him with a bloody fist past the point where Alexander had long lost consciousness.

Caspar, bargaining with his life by admitting to being wanted just to keep James from getting taken by Alexander.

Caspar, bearing long with him as James tempted death and tested his sanity when he was completely and utterly useless, drugged to the point of violent hallucinations and ongoing fever.

Caspar, patiently and carefully tiptoeing around any subject that made James even remotely harsh or cutting.

James didn't like how small it made him feel, sitting in the corner of Hild's reading room, suddenly overwhelmed by the intensity of how far Caspar was willing to go not to lose him, even though they'd know each other for such a short time.

He hadn't realized he'd hunched over, curling in his shoulders as if to physically decrease his presence in the room until he glanced back up at Hild, who was observing him. Her eyes were tinged with concern.

How long had he gotten lost in thought?

"I..." James stared, his voice uncertain. "I don't know. I..."

No. He felt he did know.

If he left Caspar would be devastated.

"I just-- if he died because of me-- because of someone--" James stuttered, trying to form a complete sentence for the life of him without getting outwardly emotional.

"I could never forgive myself," he finally said.

And he meant it. He knew he never could because he still hadn't forgiven himself for everyone else who had ever been hurt for helping him, or protecting him, or just being with him.

"He tried to get me to leave," James said. "Once. After we'd escaped-- the first-- the first time..."

James kept his eyes glued to the floor.

"I should've taken it then," he said, just above a whisper. "He might've... he might've been at peace with it then."

Hild finally looked away. "Even if you did leave then," she said carefully, "I'm sure your memory would've stuck with him."

That didn't make him feel any better. That made him feel worse, actually.

"I never meant to have him get dragged into all of this," James said wearily.

He never meant it when anyone did. But it kept happening, and people kept getting hurt.

He preferred it that he was the only one to get hurt. He could handle it.

James slouched over in his chair, leaning forward with his forearms crossed and resting on his knees as he stared at the floor.

This wasn't even what he came to talk about. He'd said his piece. He didn't like how Hild kept pressing. At least she was only asking in relation to Caspar and not about James personally.

Hild sat straighter and searched him for a moment. James didn't like how it felt, like she was somehow seeing through him.

Why was it that he seemed to be getting both better and worse at keeping it all together?

"We're all well-acquainted with sacrifice," she said gently. "No one will hold your decisions against you."

James let out a faint, sad, bitter laugh.

"We must not have met the same types of people," he said.

Hild grinned wryly. "No one here, anyway."

That should have been a relief, but it was strange. A wave of deep sadness washed over him, and he didn't even know where it came from.

Was he starting to feel safe? Things always caught up to him the moment he stopped worrying, and then things would get even worse.

He depserately wished Hild would give him another reason to be suspicious or on guard. Something to push him back into survival mode. Something to keep him from feeling, so he could function.

He pushed himself to his feet, feeling pressure build in his head like a ticking bomb.

"Would you excuse me a moment," he said, failing to say it as a question.

She watched him, expression closed off again. "Of course."

James dipped his head in acknowledgement and turned down the hall, making a bee-line for the back porch.

When he closed the door behind him he pulled his bandana back up and leaned heavily against the door.

He was trembling again, and this time it came so suddenly he didn't know how to stop it. Tears started welling up in his eyes, and even though he blinked them away, they kept coming.

He couldn't see. Everything was even more blurry than normal.

He slid down the door and tucked up his legs, ducking his head between his knees. He tried so hard to stifle the sobs that fought to come out at the back of his throat, but that only ever served to make it worse.

He should've known better by now.

He should've been bettter by now.

He should've been dead by now.

Carter had been wrong about a lot of things, but he was right about one thing. It would've been better if he'd never been born. Then he wouldn't be causing so many people so much pain.

James brought his arms around his knees and wept, hating that his cries became audible, enough that someone might be able to hear him.

But maybe that would be the push he needed to leave. Not logic. Not guilt. Not obligation.

Shame.

The handle turned and the door cracked open, just a little. Panic shot through him, and he jumped to his feet, wiping his eyes as he quickly turned away for a second to compose hinself.

It wasn't going to be enough.

His heart was pounding.

"James?" Caspar said softly, opening the door wider.

"Caspar," James said with a wavering voice, not looking towards him. "You're supposed to be asleep."

Stepping out, Caspar eased the door shut again. "I, um, tried for a bit."

James kept himself angled away. Caspar's hand brushed his shoulder, and it made him flinch. His heart was still beating like the sound of a herd of gallopping horses, and his eyes were raw, taunting him with new tears at any second.

"Sorry if I woke you," James said weakly.

"S'fine," Caspar murmured, "don't worry about that." After a moment's hesitation, his hand rested more warmly on James's shoulder. "What's wrong?"

Even though James knew it was only Caspar, terror shot through him like a bullet, and he started trembling again. Too noticeable to hide. It made him want to run and hide somewhere, but where would he go? He couldn't go too far.

"I just need... I just need a moment. Alone," James said, trying to say so firmly, even though his voice started to waver again.

Caspar didn't do anything more, but didn't pull away either. He stayed quiet.

"I'm fine, Caspar," James insisted. "It just -- just the sleeplessness is all. It's getting to me too. I'll shake it off."

He wasn't confident about that. His shoulders were starting to shake from suppressing the building urge to cry again.

Caspar only stepped closer so that they were side-by-side, and his arm rested partially on James's back.

James ripped away, but his lips were starting to tremble.

"Don't touch me," he said in a harsh whisper that he knew Caspar didn't deserve. Guilt sunk its claws in even deeper.

James folded his arms across his chest tightly, turning his face away. He felt like a child, now, but he was running out of options that didn't involve sprinting off elswhere, which was arguably the most childish response he could resort to.

Swallowing thickly, Caspar followed him, keeping close. He placed his hand back on James's shoulder, light and loose to keep him from feeling trapped. James hugged himself tighter, trying to shoot Caspar a glare, but he regretted it. He only saw Caspar for half a second and it stupidly made his eyes water.

He tore his eyes away.

"I said not to touch me," James repeated again, his voice warbled by oncoming tears.

He didn't even blink and they started falling down his cheeks. Caspar still didn't say anything. He just stood there, hand on James's shoulder, a silent, steady presence.

James kept trying to fight it, but he was failing. He tried to muster up the strength to finally look at Caspar, and to collect himself. He willed his tears to stop falling and sniffed, finally turning to look at him.

Caspar was looking right back at him in return, and instead of pity, all he saw was genuine empathy and compassion. He offered a small smile as he tilted his head to better look at James.

A knot wedged in James's throat, and everything came welling back up again at full force. His wounded leg felt weak, and his body was tired, and everything hurt. Snapping his eyes shut, James gave up, and sat back down, practically falling on his knees.

He was just being dramatic. He was overreacting. He was being ridiculous.

Tears flooded down his cheeks as he curled over, turning his face away from Caspar.

"Just leave me alone," he said, his voice breaking as he tucked his knees up again and hid his face in his arms.

Easing himself down beside him, Caspar rested his arm around James's back again. Slowly, as though he'd simply break if he wasn't careful enough. And maybe he would. He should've broken a long time ago. Then again, maybe he already had.

"Take your time," Caspar murmured, an echo of James's own gentle words.

His sniffles started turning into muffled sobs, and he curled up tightly into a ball, trying to ignore everything around him. Trying to let this storm pass.

It felt like the weight of his whole life was crashing down on him, and he didn't know how to handle it.

"It's okay to not be fine," Caspar said earnestly, "after everything you've been through."

James let out an ugly sob that rose up like a groan from deep inside his belly. Caspar didn't even know the half of it. James hadn't been 'okay' for a very, very long time, and it was all because of choices he'd made. It was his own fault. He brought all of this upon himself because of his own cowardice. His inability to do anything right. He wasn't noble, or good, or a decent person in any sense of the word. He was just a boy that strayed far, far, away from home and would never be able to return.

Everyone would be better off without him. Caspar included. He should've left him when he had the chance. Maybe now he'd still be with Alexander, finally on his way to the kingdom, to be handed over to Carter.

It was what he deserved, after all.

"You should've never come for me," James said through tears and weeping. "You should've just let me go. It would've been so much easier for you. I'm not worth you-- you sacrificing everything--"

James curled up even tighter, were it even possible.

"You don't even know me," James whispered, on the verge of another sob. "You wouldn't want to help me if you knew what kind of person I was."

Caspar gingerly pulled him close into his side. "Maybe I don't know you very well," he said, "but you can't fake a good heart. I don't regret coming for you."

"You should," James shot back, desparate to try to convince him otherwise, even as a heap of tears.

"James, I'm here with you because I chose to be," Caspar said, more confident than ever. "I'm not going anywhere."

James didn't know how to recover from this anymore. He didn't have any well-crafted arguments, and Caspar didn't seem like he'd even want to hear them. James didn't respond, and instead let the waves of tears roll over until they finally started to subside.

He wasn't sure just how long he waited before he finally wiped his eyes with his sleeves and looked up, out into the backyard. He didn't think he could look Caspar in the eyes after this.

Still hugging his knees, James stared ahead of him with an unfocused gaze.

"You should really try to get some sleep," James mumbled, barely audible.

With his arm still loosely draped around him, Caspar hummed. "I'm okay for now. It can wait." Even though they were sitting close, he let his gaze wander the other way to perhaps give James some sense of privacy.

James was trying and failing to think of a way to get Caspar to leave. Words were failing him, and he rested his chin on his arms, still staring out emptily in the following silence. Caspar waited next to him.

He expected Caspar to say something, or get up at some point, but he didn't move, and instead seemed content to just sit with him. But James didn't want to sit with this feeling. Not like this.

He cleared his throat, and leaned forward, starting to get up. Caspar withdrew his arm and watched James stand.

"I should... go see to Elliot," James said.

Caspar nodded. "Okay."

James nodded stiffly in return, and he stepped down the porch, adjusting his bandana over his nose. He didn't look behind him as he walked away, and instead tried to focus on the small task ahead of him to care for the horses.

Running a hand through his hair, Caspar lingered on the back porch for a few moments, unsure of what to do with himself now that James had moved on. He stared at the well for who knew how long before finally pushing himself to standing and headed back inside.

Hild still sat at her desk, and looked up expectantly when he entered. Caspar just nodded by way of reassurance that things were alright for now. Relieved, she ushered him back upstairs.

As he stepped into the guest room, it hit him that he really still didn't know James all that well. He didn't know what pushed James onto the road in the first place, though Caspar never asked. He didn't know just how deep his scars ran, but he didn't want to pry.

Caspar dropped back down onto the bed. It bowed under his sudden weight.

James hid a lot of himself. Which he had every reason to. For his own safety, and he very likely did it more so for others'. Caspar just wished that James would let someone in, for James's own sake.

As much as he insisted sleep could wait, it absolutely refused to. Now physically exhausted and emotionally drained, Caspar was immediately dragged under.

Way under, beneath the dirt with rabbit burrows and a coffin with his kid's name on it.

When he opened his eyes again, he wondered if he was actually awake. The room was dark. A light from downstairs faintly lit the hall. He stood before his eyes had a chance to adjust, and the room spun. He still felt heavy, not completely ready to be up, but he didn't want to sleep anymore.

Pushing away from the forest in his mind, he took slow steps down the stairs into the sitting room. It was empty. He shuffled down the small hallway to the kitchen, following the pungent scent of frying fish.

James sat at the little table in the kitchen with his nose stuck in one of the books from Hild's desk. Hild stood over a pan greased with oil and filled with white fish fillets. Caspar pulled out the chair next to James and dropped into the seat, trying to suppress a grimace.

"Catfish," Hild said, glancing over her shoulder with a shrug. "It's the cheapest thing around here."

Caspar shook his head. "That's fine."

Hild just smiled knowingly.

Caspar poured himself a cup of water. James was busy, so he opted to stay quiet for now. He wasn't sure how to approach him right now, anyway.

Hild eventually plated the fish with some bread and set the dishes on the table. Caspar nodded with a tight smile. "Thank you."

"Getting to watch you choke down fish is thanks enough," Hild said pleasantly.

Fantastic.

Caspar poked apart the fish for a moment, looking for any lingering bones, then took a bite. And was immediately repulsed by the texture and reminded of all the nights his father similarly made him eat fish with no signs of remorse as well.

Pushing his plate closer to him with one hand, Hild plucked the book out of James's grasp with her other. "Food," she said simply.

James stared at her for a moment, looking like he'd just been ripped out of one reality and back into the present.

"Sorry," he said, turning his attention to the plate in front of him. Quietly, he started eating.

Caspar kept his eyes turned down to his fish. He swallowed another bite and quickly washed it down with water. In his peripheral vision, he caught Hild's smirk.

"Since we're all here and know about...the incident," Hild said suddenly, breaking what felt like an awkward silence to Caspar, "you might appreciate being informed that my half-brother was not immediately caught after the fire."

Caspar sat straighter. "So he's... still out there?"

Hild stabbed at her fish. "I last received word from him a few years ago. He wisely never divulged much information, but I was able to take some comfort in the fact that he could send letters."

She must have been worried, then.

Caspar nodded. "His, um, his kid?"

Hild shrugged. "Again, not much information."

Between the worry settling like stones in his gut and the horrid fish, Caspar felt sick. Not the status update he'd hoped for.

They ate in silence again.

Caspar wondered if the kid was a boy or a girl, and which parts of their parents they got, if they were healthy, if their whole family was still alright. Where would they have settled, if anywhere? Could they start over so easily? Would they be consigned to travel for the rest of their days until they were at last pushed to the wilderness, as far away from society as possible?

That kind of life didn't suit anyone, least of all a child. Gods knew Caspar tried.

When he caught a tremor in his hand, he gripped his fork tighter to steady it.

"The last letter he sent sounded hopeful, though," Hild added, a bit stiffly. It was a reach, they both knew, but he appreciated her attempt at comfort.

Caspar nodded. He set his fork down and hid his hand in his jacket pocket. "What about you? You've been here awhile, but has it been treating you well?"

Hild studied him closely as she answered, "Needle Point has been consistent, if nothing else. It's dirty and sorely lacking in any bright future, and it always has an excess of fish." She glanced off in thought. "Though the tailoring business has been nice, actually. Keeps my needlework from slacking."

Caspar mustered a grin. "On point, you could say?"

James let out a brief huff through his nose, but otherwise went back to eating. That loosened something like a knot in Caspar's chest.

Hild stared at him flatly. "No."

Caspar bit back a smile.

"I'm considering moving," Hild said. "I can't stand it here anymore."

"No, please," Caspar said, "no more puns, you can stay."

Unamused, Hild continued, "Though it's been very easy to lay low here. It's out of the way to any major cities, and no one here cares about where anyone comes from." She glanced at James, and let the 'mostly' remain unsaid.

James briefly met her eyes, but quickly looked back down to his plate.

"You two are still set on leaving tomorrow?" she asked.

"I guess," Caspar said slowly. "We probably should leave sooner rather than later."

"That would be wise," Hild agreed.

And with that, the conversation ran out of fuel. Hild resumed eating. Caspar looked down at his fish again, feeling a little dismal. Mostly about having to leave, but also slightly about the fish.

Before Hild or Caspar were even halfway through their plate, James set his fork down with a faint clatter and reached for the book on the table again. His plate was clean. Pushing it to the side, James flipped back to where he was before and started reading again.

Caspar picked up his own fork again, sternly telling himself he shouldn't waste food that a friend took time to prepare for them, and choked the rest down. Hild finished at a slower, less distressed pace.

She stacked the empty plates, then pushed them to Caspar. "I cooked," she said plainly.

Caspar nodded as he took the plates to the sink. "That's fair."

As he washed off the dishes, Caspar wondered where they would even go from Needle Point.

The age-old question, only he'd found it had shifted once more.

'Where are we going?' a small voice asked in his head

'Not much farther,' he could hear himself answer, tired and feeling like a broken record.

He shook his head and scrubbed the plates with more vigor.

He was back to referring to a 'we', which felt slightly strange. He wasn't sure how to feel about how easily he'd slipped back into it.

Caspar glanced over his shoulder when it dawned on him that Hild had willingly and without fuss taken the seat next to James.

They weren't. Staring each other down.

James was reading one of Hild's books. Actually, there was a whole pile of her books in front of him. And she took no issue with that?

Caspar looked back at the sink. He was cleaning the dishes, which meant Hild didn't feel compelled to delegate the chore out of any lingering hostility toward James. Because she would've, right?

He looked back at the two. Absolutely no tension. The silence between them was comfortable, but when?

Caspar turned around and leaned back against the sink. "Did I...miss something?"

Hild innocently stared back at him. "It's very likely. You can't exactly clean dishes effectively when you're not even looking at them."

Caspar pointed between them both. "What is... What happened while I was asleep?"

James finally glanced up from his book, giving Caspar a look of confusion. He flicked his eyes to Hild, but didn't look at her for more than a second.

"Hm?" he hummed. "Nothing."

Caspar loosely folded his arms. "'Nothing' couldn't have magically--"

"How is it even an issue?" Hild cut in.

"Besides," James said, looking back to his book casually. "There's no magic in this room."

Hild rolled her eyes and shook her head, muttering, "Honestly," under her breath.

Caspar gaped at them for a moment. Then turned back to the dishes.

Hild was right, it wasn't even a problem. He'll take it. With the dishes out of the way now, Caspar gave the two one more odd look - because, seriously, what the hell happened? - then quietly slipped out into the sitting room.

He'd left the package Hild gave him unopened on her desk. He weighed it in his hand, then turned it over. Once he felt he had pondered the brown paper long enough, he slowly unwrapped it.

A blank leather bound book with some new writing utensils. He ran his fingers along the binding and flipped through the empty pages. It was sturdy and the pages were smooth.

He hadn't had the chance to draw something in months, and itched to create something new.

He peeked down the hallway. Hild had also picked up a book, and all he could see of her was the book cover and her frizzy hair popping out from behind it. With James in the seat next to her, Caspar had a very good view of his profile from the desk chair in the sitting room.

Caspar opened the journal a couple of pages in - he liked to leave the first two or three pages blank when starting - and started with rabbits to warm up.

The scratching of a pencil on paper was a familiar sound that he sorely missed. Soon the page was full of little jackrabbits that dashed and hopped about in every direction. The lines were a little wobbly; his hands weren't as steady as they used to be. But the sketches were legible, and just being able to draw again felt nice, so he was happy.

He peered down the hallway again.

Neither had moved, save for Hild switching out books.

Quietly turning the desk chair to face the kitchen at an angle, Caspar tilted his head as he studied the lines of James's face.

He began with light, quick guidelines, blocking in rough shapes and proportions. Once the rough sketch was satisfactory, he tied down the sketch, starting with the bridge of James's nose.

Once he was finishing with a few sweeping arcs for the hair that fell around his face, a shadow fell over the page. Caspar straightened and snapped the book shut. Hild leaned on the doorway with her arms folded and a slight smile.

"Glad you like it," she said.

Caspar nodded, feeling awkward. "Yes, thank you."

"You probably didn't sleep long enough."

Caspar sighed. "I'm fine, really."

"You look far from fine," she countered. "I, for one, am not set on slowly but surely destroying myself by denying my body basic necessities like an idiot."

Caspar frowned, feeling more than a little insulted. Stiffly patting his shoulder, Hild headed for the stairs, softly bidding him goodnight. He opened the journal again to James's profile to add a few details and maybe shade in a little.

He believed less was more, as far as his own artwork went, so he finished rather quickly. Satisfied with the portrait, he turned to a new page and blocked in the fish storehouse on the river that first welcomed them to Needle Point.

Water was probably the easiest thing for him to draw. The lines rarely had to be straight or perfect. He actually felt that the imperfections of his sketchwork often lent themselves to the rolling and tossing of waves, the crawling tides on a shoreline, or the rush of a winding river.

He found himself soon drawing, not the storehouse, but his old home on the rocky shore in Herron. He stared at the page and tapped the pencil on the edge, a deep ache slowly carving out his chest.

He shut the journal again and set it on the desk. He glanced back toward the kitchen. James was right where he last saw him, but instead of sitting upright, he was leaning forward on the table, with his face flat on its side. He was still holding a book under his face, but he looked to be fast asleep.

Caspar padded back to the kitchen and couldn't help but smile fondly.

The guest room only had one bed. That was fine, Caspar had slept on worse than a wooden floor.

He gave James's shoulder a gentle tap to wake him. When he didn't stir, Caspar slowly and gently eased James back in his seat and silently debated where to go from here. As James sat upright, still fast asleep, his head slowly leaned back, hanging backwards. His mouth hung open a little as his head rolled to the side.

Biting back a smile, Caspar decided that it might be best not to wake him. He pulled the chair away from the table and, slipping his arms under James's knees and shoulders, slowly lifted him.

James didn't even stir. He was out like a light, breathing soft and steady like a tide.

The only trouble Caspar had was angling both himself and James to fit up the narrow stairway without bumping anything. Once the stairs were successfully cleared, he eased James down onto the bed, then settled himself on the floor.

Moonlight trickled into the room through the tiny window, making the ceiling above them dark blue like a starless sky. It made for a seamless transition back into the dark of sleep.

It felt like no time had passed when he woke again. But time had very clearly passed actually, because the glare of the morning sun reflected off a frame on the wall and burned right through his eyelids.

Caapar sat up, scrubbing the sleep and sunspots from his eyes. He stared blankly at the room for a moment, trying to reorient himself.

Hild's house. Guest room, specifically.

James fell asleep. Caspar took the floor.

Caspar turned his head, and found James right where he'd left him in the exact same position. Sleeping like a log. Good. Hild's house was thankfully free of creaky floorboards, which helped with Caspar's quiet exit.

Hild was already up, ever an early riser. She had a coat laid out flat over her desk and was mending the sleeve. With her attention fully focused on her work, Caspar snuck up behind her and placed a quick kiss on the top of her head. Dropping the needle, she shooed him away and leveled him with a tight-lipped glare.

"I'm glad you rested," she said sternly, "but excessively sunny moods will not be tolerated."

Caspar huffed a laugh. "Duly noted."

"Help yourself to breakfast," Hild said, dismissing him with another wave of her hand. She picked up the coat sleeve and needle again. "And pack something for the road."

Caspar obliged and grabbed a small bread roll from a bowl by the sink. He didn't want to take more than he needed at the moment, even if Hild insisted. She'd been beyond generous by just inviting them in the first place.

He leaned back on the counter, scanning the kitchen.

The dishes used from the night before were still sitting in a small rack, now dry. The books were piled on the table, and the one James had been reading was open mid-chapter, waiting to be picked up once more. The pitcher was re-filled, and three glasses stood at ready around it.

Hild worked in the other room, softly humming an old song that her brother used to play on the piano in the Ashlund home. James was likely still asleep upstairs, Caspar hadn't heard him rouse quite yet.

For a moment, Caspar let himself sink into the feeling of standing in a house, safe and among friends again.

It felt like a home for a split second.

Caspar exhaled shakily and wiped the wet from his eyes with the back of his hand.

They were leaving. Hild would stay put in Needle Point. Hopefully she could truly settle into this life soon.

James had helped him restock on medical supplies as promised, and was on the mend. How far would they get until James decided he wanted his space again, and insist on parting ways for both their sakes?

Caspar huffed through his nose, trying to be firm as he told himself that he'd be fine, that everyone would be fine. That this was a nice break from the lonely wilderness, but only just that. This was never meant to last anyway.

No matter how hard he tried to steel himself, though, and no matter how many times he was made to, his heart was never ready to say yet another final goodbye.

The small pail sat on the counter by the sink. He poured just enough water from it in his hand and scrubbed his face. It tempered and washed away the hot tears welling up. He took another breath, steadier this time, and drew himself to his full height.

Time to pack.

Something pricked the crook of his arm, digging into the vein. James felt a heavy drowsiness weighing on him to the point that he couldn't move, but he desperately tried to fight it.

Where was he again? It felt like he was sleeping on a bed, but he didn't remember falling asleep on one. Panic built in his chest like a bridge craning under too much pressure. He tried to push back against the numbness, against the uselessness of his limbs that refused to respond. Finally, after fighting for what felt like forever, he was able to open his eyes.

There was a shift on the bed, like someone had sat down on it, right next to him. He could feel the nearness of their leg brushing up against his side, and their hands reached for his arm, pulling it their way, bending it straight.

He couldn't pull away. He couldn't move at all.

All he could do was look up at them, waiting for his eyes to finally focus on the shadow in the dark room that hovered beside him.

Another prick, and the sensation of a needle being inserted into his veins at the crook of his arm. Whatever coursed through his blood felt like fire. Burning. Like it was eating away at him from the inside out.

He wanted to scream, but he couldn't even move his mouth, or muster up a sound. He felt like he was going to burst, and yet he couldn't move at all.

The needle dug deeper, and pain shot up his arm, to his shoulder, and then down into his chest, in his heart. It was beating so fast he should've been dead by now, but instead he was still alive, and in agonizing pain.

Finally the face of the person above him came into focus, and it was Alexander. He met James's eyes with cold indifference and an his lips stretched into an unsettling smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"Don't worry," Alex said. "I won't kill you."

His smile grew bigger.

"But you'll wish I did."

James was trying so hard to move. To will his body to respond. How had Alexander gotten in here? What happened to the others?

"You don't need to worry about them anymore," Alexander said as if reading his thoughts. "They're in a better place now."

No. No. He was bluffing. He was lying. He had to be.

James tried and tried again to move. He couldn't.

Alexander ripped the needle from James's arm. He could feel tears coming to his eyes, making everything blurry again.

"By the way," Alexander went on. "I brought a friend you might want to see. He's been dying to meet you again."

Again?

A towering, shadowy figure entered the corner of James's vision, along with flickering candlelight. When the man finally came into full view, the light was shining right below his face.

The man filled the entire room with his presence, and his eyes pierced through James.

James's pounding heart came to a stop as his blood ran cold.

Butch.

James practically threw himself upright as he woke with a start, nearly hyperventilating. His heart was still pounding in his chest, but it was daylight.

He was on a bed, in a room, and sunshine was pouring in through the window on the sheets, filtered through thin blue curtains.

He was sweating, and his whole body felt sore, and he ached everywhere. He groaned as he forcefully stretched out his arms, feeling the pull in his neck and shoulders, and even in his sides. Everything seemed to be magnified as Butch's face seared itself in the front of his mind, and he couldn't get Alexander's haunting words out of his head.

Five years. It had been five years, and he was still having nightmares about the first bounty hunter who caught and tortured him. When would he ever get him out of his head?

James took a moment to ground himself, sliding his feet off the side of the bed as he took in deep, measured breaths.

In, out. In, out.

He waited until the terror from the dream became small, condensed into a tiny pebble in his gut. Present, but manageable.

He needed to get up. It was evident he'd slept in for gods knew how long.

He got to his feet and did a few more stretches before briefly combing his hair with his fingers, just to fix the few places where it felt like his hair had fallen to different sides of its part. But without a mirror, though, that was about all he could manage to do.

He put on a neutral face as he walked into the hall, and down the steps.

He ran through the past day in his head.

He was in Hild's house. Hild was a friend of Caspar's. She had housed them for the night. She had family who were mages, but no magic herself. Her family was the reason Caspar was wanted. She was cold, but turned around when she'd sewn up his side.

He walked into the kitchen. Caspar was there, his bag slung over his shoulder and a glass of water in hand. He smiled at James.

"How're you feeling?" he asked brightly.

Caspar seemed well rested.

James himself felt better overall, at least having a clearer head. But his dream still lingered in his mind.

He easily flashed a small smile.

"Better, I think," he said.

"Good." Caspar drained the other half of the glass and set it in the sink. "Ready when you are."

"I just have to grab my bag," James said, looking to where he'd left it on the kitchen floor. He walked over and shrugged it onto one shoulder, grabbing a slice of bread off the table to go.

"Though it's a mystery how I ended up upstairs," James said, watching Caspar pointedly. "As far as I recall, I never left the kitchen."

"A mystery for the ages," Caspar replied breezily, bumping a hand to James's shoulder as he stepped out of the kitchen.

James followed behind. He wasn't going to let it go that easily.

"You know, I'm getting the feeling you like carrying people around for some reason," he muttered.

"Don't know what you're on about," Caspar said dismissively.

"I'm not a child," James said, his tone sharper. "You don't get to just... haul me around like a sack of potatoes."

"Of course not," Caspar agreed. He stopped by a side table in the sitting room to grab his journal and pencil. "I just didn't see a need to wake you."

James stopped at the edge of the room, watching Cas. Hild was deftly tying off some thread at her desk. She set down her project and rose to meet Caspar by the door.

"I don't imagine you'll come back this way any time soon," she said softly.

Caspar heaved a small sigh, smiling sadly at her. "I probably shouldn't."

He pulled her into a gentle, loose hug, stooping to rest his chin on her shoulder. Hild awkwardly patted his back, but otherwise didn't reciprocate.

James simply waited, looking off to the side, watching the window. He wanted to let them have this moment.

Hild pulled away first once she'd had her fill and stepped back. She inclined her head to James and said, "It was...nice meeting you, Matt. I wish you two safe travels."

It occured to him that he'd never told Hild his real name. He supposed that was for the best, though. Even Caspar didn't seem to know that it was James's true name. If he did suspect it, he never let on that he did. For all Caspar knew, it could've just been another name he plucked out of the air.

He kind of preferred it that way, though. No one knowing.

It felt safer.

"And I wish you safety here, in Needle Point," James said with a dip of his head. "Thank you again for your kindness and your help. It's much appreciated."

Hild offered him a slight but sincere smile and said, "You were never here to begin with."

"Ah," James said with the slightest smirk in return. "That's right."

He turned to Caspar, catching his curious glance between the two.

"I suppose we shouldn't stay here, then," James said, taking a few strides towards the door. "Let's get going."

Ducking his head, Caspar led the way out.

James paused just for a second to look back with his hand on his bandana. He met Hild's eyes and flashed a small, genuine smile. She bowed her head once more in turn.

Then he covered his face and turned away, closing the door behind him.

When he and Caspar made it to the horses, they prepped them quickly and packed their things onto the saddles. It didn't take long for them to get back on the road, and before they knew it, they were outside the town's limits once more.

No destination, just a simple goal: to survive, by whatever means possible.

They left at 7:31 in the morning. Hild would soon depart for work at 8:00, and make it for her 8:30 AM fitting with Mrs. Tarr.

Not seeing any point in dwelling on the ringing silence of her now-empty house, she sat down at her desk once more to review the repair work on the sleeve. She gave each tin button on the front a small tug. Nothing was loose, and no other threads were fraying. Her work here was complete.

She went to the kitchen and straightened the books on the table. She washed the used cup in the sink, and put away the other two in the cupboard.

Hild paused, eyes lingering on the pistol she kept hidden behind a bag of rice. Something pricked in her gut. She grabbed it and the holster rolled up beside it.

She stopped keeping it on her person a year and a month and five days ago, trying to push herself into some semblance of a settled life. Hild tucked them away again and shut the cupboard, then quickly changed into trousers for the dusty walk into town.

From what she gathered about Matt, he seemed accustomed to living a life similarly disconnected from everyone around him. The only major difference between their lifestyles was that he moved far more frequently.

Hild had less to fear, being so far out from the Isles. She never let anything about her past slip, and had crafted an entirely different backstory for herself, going as far as to create a false timeline, a completely different family and group of past friends, and their respective occupations and extended relations to mention should the occasion demand such details.

She made sure to keep a very firm grasp on her fake history. She hated that she even had to move a second time at all after foolishly confiding in someone she once considered a friend.

She frowned a little at the memory and eyed a pack of supplies under her dresser.

Trouble likely trailed close behind Caspar and Matt.

She grabbed the medical pack, slipping it into her bag beside the neatly folded jacket she just mended, and strode back to the kitchen. She strapped on the holster and tucked away the pistol, then donned a hooded sweater and a duffel coat to hide it.

Just as she pulled on her shoes and reached for the door handle, there was a light rapping on the wood. She tensed, but schooled her features in the blink of an eye and opened the door with a forcefully relaxed hand.

The man standing at the door was tall. About Caspar's height. He stared down at her with an unsettlingly thin smile behind a face that was wholly swollen and bruised. His nose looked like it had been recently reset from a clean break, creating an ugly black and blue spot under the man's light brown skin, around his eyes.

Whatever bloody fight he'd been in, it had been recent, but the bruises and light swelling looked developed enough for it to have been at least two to three days. He looked like he'd cleaned up as much as he could, but he still looked like he'd been trampled.

She noted that his jacket was closed, but seemed loose enough to hide something underneath it.

Her blood ran cold.

She furrowed her brows, putting on a show of concern. "Sir, are--"

"Sorry to disturb you, miss," the man said smoothly, not letting her finish. "I'm sure my presence is alarming, given the current state I'm in, but I don't come to solicit you for medical assistance. I'm actually here to ask about a man who was seen passing through here. Your neighbors mentioned that someone close to his description - and the description of his steed and current companion - were seen by your home. Now, I'm sure such news is as alarming to you as it would be anyone else, considering this man is a dangerous wanted criminal. But I hope to ease your mind. I've already sent word to the town sheriff of his passing through here but I assured him I'd follow any leads to make sure that he wasn't stowing away in anyone's homes or sheds without them being full aware."

He paused and looked over Hild's shoulder, but only for a second.

"I'm just going to check inside to make sure you don't have an unwanted stowaway," he said. "And then I'll be out of your hair."

Hild stepped aside. "Please do," she said earnestly.

The man stepped into her home, looking around with the eyes of a trained hunter. This was his career. This must have been the bounty hunter Caspar said was on their tail.

"The name's Alexander, by the way," the man said. "Yours?"

And that confirmed it.

Hild forced a quick smile. "Ms. Miller. It's a pleasure to make the acquaintance of someone so dedicated to the safety of our humble community."

Alexander slid his eyes over to her, and she saw a flicker of amusement on his beaten face.

"Pleasure's all mine," he said, his voice suave as he flashed her a smile. He looked down the hall.

"I'll be in here," he said, following his own finger as he pointed into the kitchen.

"Feel free to check the closet and bedrooms, too," she called after him from the sitting room.

"Where you headed off to?" Alexander asked, pausing at the entrance to the kitchen. "You'd leave a stranger wandering your home alone?"

She hummed a laugh, taking a few steps closer to the short hallway. "Hardly, Mr. Alexander. You just caught me on my way out to work. Please, take your time though."

Alexander nodded, turning back into the kitchen, where she could hear the opening and closing of cupboards. There weren't any real hiding places the size of a person in the kitchen. It was evident he was looking for something else. Traces that someone else had been there.

With ice in her veins, she remembered that the three plates from dinner were still sitting out in the drying rack.

He came back out into the hall, turning to the hall closet door.

He glanced at Hild before he opened it slowly, and she could see his hand hovering over his coat.

He was armed and ready to strike.

When he pulled the closet door fully open, he seemed disappointed, and his shoulders slouched.

With his back turned, Hild saw an opportunity. She hesitated, then decided to stand back. She realistically couldn't overtake him.

He looked over his shoulder at her with a disturbingly knowing glint in his eye, as if he'd read her thoughts.

"All clear," he said too cheerily, slamming the door shut.

Hild let out a small sigh. "A relief."

"Oh, I'm sure," Alexander said, turning around to head up the stairs. "Why don't you join me?"

She glanced at the stairway. "You would endanger a civilian in such a careless way?"

"Oh, I'd keep you safe," Alexander said with a carefree confidence. "Besides, I'm assuming all that's left upstairs is... what, your bedroom? I won't be finding him in your bed, now, will I?"

Hild visibly bristled at this. "What exactly do you take me for, Mr. Alexander?"

Alexander stood at the foot of the stairwell, giving her a long look up and down. He hummed softly.

"Can't be too sure, yet," he said. "But you're a good actress, you are. Just have to figure out why."

She suppressed a deep frown and insisted firmly, "I'm sure you can handle searching a small bedroom just fine on your own."

Alexander smiled, but his smile didn't reach his eyes. That much was clear even though his face was terribly bruised.

"Fair enough, Miss Miller," Alexander said, finally going up the steps.

Hild waited until it sounded like he'd wandered deep enough into the bedroom. Then bolted out the open door.

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

James and Elliot had led the way out of town on a road that pointed them northwest. They rode in fairly comfortable silence, Caspar supposed. He was never good at small talk, and figured they probably shouldn't try to hash out anything too personal out in the open. So he let the silence settle around them for a bit.

They went at an easy, leisurely pace. Eir was significantly calmer since a day's worth of undisturbed rest. And a wash, he gathered. Her mane was smoother than he remembered.

It seemed everyone benefited from their visit in Needle Point.

Caspar itched to draw a little more. He needed to keep his eyes forward, though, and make the new journal last a little longer this time.

"So," Caspar eventually piped up, and Eir instinctively trotted closer to Elliot, "I think now's a fair time to ask where to next?"

James glanced over at Caspar, seeming a little distracted for a moment before he nodded.

"Right," he said. "I was thinking we keep going northward. I think that general direction puts us both in a more favorable geographic location, all things considered. I don't like staying on roads too much, so I'll probably pull us off again when we hit water and follow that instead. The best alternative to going town to town is water source to water source, in so far as travel goes. We should run into the river again soon, since we're not too far from it."

Caspar nodded. "Great."

How recently had James been here exactly? He said he only passed through before.

"Do you make maps?" Caspar asked.

James's eyebrows raised just a tad.

"I do. I map out every place I've been as much as possible," he answered.

"Did anyone teach you how?"

James turned his attention back to the road.

"It was more of a hobby I picked up on my own," he said. "It became more practical later on."

"Nice." He paused, then added, "I mean, that. You liked doing it."

"I do it for survival purposes," James said. "Moving as much as I do, it helps to know where I've been so I can figure out where I'm going."

Gnawing on his lower lip, Caspar nodded again.

Everything James did seemed purely out of necessity, which left hardly any room for enjoying things for the sake of doing the things. He was barely living at this rate.

What were either of them really running for, then? To be alive? To what end?

Caspar tried shaking the thought from his head, but it latched onto him.

Once James was on his way, where would that leave them? Alone. Surviving, at best.

Caspar decided he'd have to find someone who could care for and have a need for Eir. She'd probably like a stationary home again. Once her affairs were in order, then maybe he could head to the eastern sea, take a boat out into the water.

All that kept him from doing that right now was his worry for James. He'd made it this far on his own for five years, but how much longer could he hold up? How much longer should he hold himself together like this?

Caspar opened his mouth to suggest that maybe they shouldn't split up, but stopped short.

Feet pounding on the dirt a few hundred feet behind them drew his attention back toward the town.

Hild was heading their way at an alarming speed.

James had already drawn Elliot to a stop, turning him around.

"Hild?" Caspar called, turning Eir back.

"No don't--" Hild waved furiously at him, stopping him short. "Don't turn around!"

James hastily rode to meet her and offered his hand. Grabbing his hand, Hild clambered up behind him onto Elliot's saddle. Winded as she was, she managed to articulate between huffs, "Alexander. Go. Now."

James gave a quick glance to Caspar and nodded.

"Hold on," he said to Hild, before spurring Elliot ahead of Caspar, gradually speeding up down the road.

Hild threw her arms around James's middle, and Caspar started Eir after them.

"How close?" Caspar heard James ask Hild, his voice carrying behind them.

"He arrived almost thirty minutes after you left," Hild answered, voice pitched with panic.

Caspar saw James's expression harden as he set his focus ahead of them.

"Caspar, I'm going to need you to keep up," he called out behind him. "Follow me."

James steered Elliot to the left, off the road and into the forest. Caspar followed his lead. Eir shook her head and was already turning before his cue, likely following after for James. He wasn't sure if that was entirely a good thing, but it was serving him at the moment.

The horses weaved through trees, and jumped boulders and logs, the ground blurring beneath them. Hild held onto James for dear life, unaccustomed to horseback riding entirely.

Caspar cast frequent glances over his shoulder, and listened intently over the pounding of the horses' hooves. No signs of anyone on their tail so far.

Hild eventually loosened her grip, trying to be mindful of James's injuries, even as they traveled at full speed.

They went like that for nearly an hour.

When the horses finally slowed to catch a breath, the landscape looked all the same to Caspar. He hoped James had gone this way before, or had some idea of where they were headed.

"I've met all sorts of unsavory figures," Hild said at last, still sounding winded, "but you neglected to mention just how charmless Alexander is."

Caspar thought back to the tense exchange in the woods several days ago, when Alexander had caught up the second time. The low, disturbing threats of death and the hunter's shark-like smile.

"Oh, really?" James said, laying sarcasm on thick. "I thought bounty hunters were known for their charm."

"Well, the attitude is hardly necessary," Hild sniped back.

James bristled, and looked over his shoulder with an apologetic look.

"...Coping mechanism," he muttered with a sigh. "Sorry."

Hild furrowed her brows. "So, where are we going?"

"Northward. I think it's in all of our best interests to get as far from the Isles and the kingdom as possible," James said. "The plan is to avoid passing through towns unless strictly necessary for restocking on supplies. I don't have much by way of money, but it should be enough for us to get by while we try to lose our tail. We'll stay close to the river for now, and keep moving."

Hild nodded. "Pooling our resources, I think we'll have enough money and medical supplies to last us a bit, so long as we're careful."

Eir trailed close behind Elliot. Caspar scanned the forest as they trotted along.

"When we get to a point where Alexander isn't an issue anymore," James said, seeming to scan the area as well. "Then we can discuss plans for relocating you if you'd like. But I don't imagine you'd want to get dropped off somewhere at the moment when he might show up at your door again."

"A bright imagination you have there," Hild muttered in agreement.

"I'm just trying to be realistic," James said quietly.

He paused, letting out another sigh.

"I'm sorry we--"

"Please, save your breath," she interrupted sharply. "It was my decision to bring you into my house. None of this senselessly laying blame where it isn't due."

James didn't look back at Hild, but Caspar caught a strange look on his face as he pursed his lips and looked off to the side.

"Fair enough," James said.

Caspar watched as Hild tried fruitlessly settling a tad more comfortably in the saddle. He could imagine both her and James's discomfort, not to mention Elliot.

It felt that she would be sticking around with them for a while. So much for goodbye.

"Would it help to put your feet in the stirrups?" James asked Hild.

"I don't know," she replied tensely, "would it? If you haven't guessed by now, I have absolutely no equine experience."

"I had a feeling," James said, slipping his boots out of the stirrups. "Here. You can reach them, right? It might help ground you."

Caspar had to bite back a laugh as he watched Hild reach with her toes. She planted both hands behind her on Elliot's rump as well, trying to sit back so she didn't lean against James.

"Ooookay, if you have to reach that much," James said. "It probably won't help."

Huffing, Hild let her feet dangle.

"I just don't want you falling off," James said. "If you can't reach the stirrups you'd be better holding on."

"I'd rather not," she said darkly.

James blinked as if in slow motion and looked over his shoulder, seeming unimpressed, but turned away again, shaking his head.

"If you fall I'm not catching you," he said.

Hild glared at him. "I'll sing my praises," she said stubbornly.

Caspar bit down on his lip as he turned away, trying to stifle his laughter.

When he looked back, he caught James smiling slightly, like he was trying to suppress it. He looked to the side over his shoulder with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Then he brought Elliot to a sudden stop. Unprepared, Hild jerked forward and collided with James's back with an 'oof'. James looked to already be braced for it and bit back a smile. Caspar barked a laugh, unable to contain his amusement anymore. Hild leveled them both with a glare.

"Brilliant," she muttered, "I am now dependent on two over-grown children."

"Hild," Caspar finally spoke up, smiling wide, "he knows what he's doing. You can relax a little, and maybe take his advice."

Hild glowered at him, but seemed to at last relent. Hovering her hands around James's sides, she tried deciding what might be the best way to hold on. She stiffly wrapped her arms around him again, looking heavenward as though praying for some deity to strike her down right then. Or something dramatic along those lines, Caspar always found that she and her family could easily out-drama him any day.

"You know, you're pretty fast," James commented. "Catching up with us like that."

She looked off to the side and said simply, "I run in the mornings."

Though she seemed to brush off the compliment, Caspar knew it settled her nerves a little. A small compliment was a sure way to quickly smooth ruffled feathers when it came to the Ashlunds.

"I run a lot too," James said. "Mostly from bounty hunters, but it keeps me in shape."

Hild silently gave him a flat look.

"Okay, so you're not a dark humor person," James said with a shrug when she didn't reply. "Worth a try."

"Don't bother," she said, though there was little heat in the retort.

Settling back in the saddle, Caspar watched them with a small smile. This would certainly make for an interesting trip.

They made it close to the river by nightfall. It was dark, but the air was comfortable enough that they didn't need a fire, and it would be wiser that they didn't light one if they wanted to keep the cover of darkness to their advantage. The more hidden they were, the better.

James and Caspar had some rations of food stored away in their bags, and after tying up the horses near the water where they could graze and drink as needed, they all sat down by the water sorting through it. It made sense to eat through the perishables first, so Caspar took out one of the rolls of bread he'd taken from Hild's house, and some fresh apples. They split it between the three of them and sat in silence for a moment as they all ate.

James was hungry. He was always hungry, though.

As he chewed on the bread, he looked out into the trees. The forest grew thicker by the water, which gave them more cover, but it also meant they couldn't see anyone coming until they made their presence known.

He couldn't make out much besides the emptiness of the nighttime shadows.

"How long do you plan on..." Hild hummed in thought. "...'roughing it'? How far is far enough?"

James turned to her, trying to make out her features in the darkness. He couldn't quite see her face clearly. Just the shape of it.

"Why?" James asked. "Do you have any better suggestions?"

Hild scoffed. "'Why'? Because these are terrible conditions, that's why. You two may be wilderness men, but I'm still quite accustomed to living in civilization with some basic comforts. Forgive me if I'm not eager to sleep out in the elements with animals and bugs and bounty hunters all about." She took a loud bite out of her apple.

James stopped eating for a moment and leaned back on one arm.

"I know it's not ideal," James said. "And like I said earlier, we can figure out a way to get you settled somewhere more civilized when we get the chance. But unfortunately, this is just what the cards dealt to us right now. I like living on the road feeling more prepared too, but I've long since stopped expecting to be granted that privelige."

Hild went quiet for a moment, staring at him through the darkness.

Caspar eventually cleared his throat and said, "I'm not sure we can really give you a timeline."

"We can't," James said. "Unfortunately. I know roughing it is unpleasant, and uncomfortable, but we'll do our best to make things as easy for you as possible."

"I'm not incompetent," she said, "I can pull my own weight."

"Didn't mean it that way," James said plainly. He didn't plan on babying her. He was just going to try to be considerate, since she wasn't use to this kind of life.

With a huff, Hild tilted her head back. She then sighed and tried a calmer tone as she slowly said, "I'm sorry. What I should say is, don't worry too much about me, and let me help where I can."

"Will do," James said with a nod, taking another bite of bread.

Hild nodded as well, seemingly satisfied with her correction, and looked down at her apple.

Once done eating, Caspar stood up and paced a little ways from them, likely scanning the trees. Though trying to appear idle and casual, his shoulders were slightly tensed. He was nervous. So was James, he was just hiding it better.

James knew that if Caspar saw anything he'd say something, and he knew Caspar had better eyes than he did, so he trusted him to keep watch. That didn't mean James was letting his guard down, he just knew that he wouldn't catch as much as Caspar would.

"Is this your first time encountering Alexander?" Hild asked after a long silence.

"He showed up on Gregor's ranch about four days ago," James said. "I'd never seen him before that. I only know his name because he introduced himself."

"I see." She turned her head toward Caspar. "Well?"

Caspar paused in his pacing. "Uh, same."

"Fantastic," she said, turning back to James. "He arrived looking as though he were trampled by a herd of cattle. Did either of you have anything to do with that?"

"It was a group project," James said, taking another bite of bread.

Caspar huffed a laugh.

"That was after he caught up to us three days ago," James said. "We got lucky. I took his gun, though." He patted his side where it hung on his hip.

"That gives us two between the three of us, then," Hild said.

"I can't say for sure what else has on him, though," James admitted. "He had weapons hidden all over his person, and frankly, I didn't want to risk waking him by disarming him completely while he was out. We got out of there as fast as we could."

Hild hummed. "A wise decision."

"He doesn't hold back, though," James added. "So - gods forbid we see him again, though we very well might - don't hold back in return."

"I gathered as much," Hild muttered. "Noted."

Caspar went back to pacing. James wondered if his comment fed into Caspar's anxiety.

"How much experience do you have with your gun?" James asked.

"I can operate it well," she answered, "I just haven't practiced my aim in a while."

"Well, I wouldn't want you wasting bullets just to practice," James said lowly. "It's been a minute for me as well."

And his aim was terrible in the dark.

"Caspar," he said. "What about you?"

Caspar stopped again. "Me?"

"No, another Caspar," James said flatly.

Caspar fidgeted. "Never used one before. But I've been told I have good aim?"

James hummed.

"I'll have to show you the basics later," James said, more as an audible note to himself. "It'd be better for you to know, just in case."

"Okay." And he resumed pacing.

James had a feeling that Caspar might not have been thrilled at the idea of having to learn how to shoot, but at least he was being compliant.

"Do you have any other fighting experience?" James asked, turning to look towards Hild again.

"Fencing," she said.

James raised his eyebrows a little, nodding.

"When was the last time you used a sword?" he asked.

"A few years ago."

So she was probably a little rusty. James was rusty himself, but he'd only used a sword a few months ago. Well, before he lost it. Well, it was stolen, actually, but that was a matter of semantics.

"What about you, ranger?" Hild said. "Any sword-wielding experience under your belt?"

"Several years of it, actually," James answered, being careful with his wording.

"Formal training?" she pressed.

"Yes," he said simply. "You?"

"I trained under the guidance of a private instructor."

She must have come from money, once upon a time. That could explain why she wasn't so keen on roughing it in the wilderness.

"Expensive," James commented. "Though worth it, I'm sure."

"I suppose we'll see if it comes down to fighting face-to-face with a pursuer." She tilted her head. "Who taught you?"

"Well I can't just tell you their name," James said with a smirk. "Then you could go learn from them yourself. I can't handle that kind of competition."

A beat of silence. "I didn't take you for the prideful type," she said. Her tone was even, but the pause felt like she'd been thrown for a second.

"That's because I'm good at hiding it," James said, patting his chest with a small smile. He took another bite of bread. He wasn't sure if she was buying it.

Hild leaned forward a little. "What was your teacher's line of work, then?"

"Why, are you looking to become a teacher yourself?" James asked, looking at her innocently as he took yet another bite of bread. He was running out of bread to fill in the gaps of silence. "That could be a nice career change. A sword's a lot bigger than a needle."

He knew at this point, he was only antagonizing her.

Caspar paused again and looked between the two.

Hild sat straighter, silent for another moment. "Did I phrase my question incorrectly?"

"You asked what my teacher's line of work was as if you didn't just say it in that sentence," James said with a shrug.

He was baiting her, and he knew it. But he also wasn't about to open a door into his life story.

"What were you doing around that time," Hild said, her voice taking an edge as she tried another angle, "that you needed lessons?"

"I don't know, Hild," James said, looking straight at her. Though, admittedly, he couldn't clearly see her eyes, so he had no way of knowing if he was even close of making eye contact. "How do you think I got where I am now?"

Hild threw her hands heavenward. "Well, who can say, Tiberius? You're not giving us anything to work off of."

There it was. He knew she'd been sitting on something all this time. She'd recognized him from the start from his wanted posters in town.

"You've been waiting to call me that, haven't you?" James asked with a raised brow, looking unimpressed.

"How are we supposed to trust you right now if you won't even give us your real name?" Hild shot back.

"Caspar already knows my real name," James responded. "And it's not Tiberius."

Hild immediately glared at Caspar, as if for some explanation or maybe even the truth. Caspar only shrugged.

"My real name is James Hawke," James answered finally. "Tiberius Hemming is just another alias."

Hild tilted her head, likely scrutinizing him. "Out of how many?"

"I really have lost count, honestly," James said. "But I've gone under at least ten different names consistently in the last five years. When I know it's a one-time meeting, sometimes I make up a name just because."

She went quiet again. She must have been mulling over this new bit of information. Caspar turned back to the woods around them.

"Is Hild your real name?" James asked.

"It is," she answered simply.

James nodded, taking another bite of bread, finishing it off.

Hopefully that would keep Hild from prying any more, at least for the moment. When he swallowed the bread down, he took a bite out of his apple, letting the loud crunching fill his head as he scanned the darkness once more.

Still nothing yet. That didn't give him any assurance, though.

He couldn't help thinking of how close he'd been to losing Caspar to Alexander's bullet, and there was no telling how their next fight with him would go. James had stolen Alexander's gun, but for all James knew, Alexander had another one on his horse. He didn't know how much Lumshade Alexander carried on him either, but if he'd come this far to find him and was still hot on their trail despite their last two fights, Alexander wasn't going to stop pursuing them any time soon.

It made him nervous.

He knew Caspar didn't want to abandon him or lose him in return, but the sinking feeling in his gut made him wish that Caspar would just take Hild and go while they still had a chance. Alexander wouldn't spare them their lives, and James was more than tired of people taking hits for him when it wasn't their fight.

He'd gnawed through the apple faster than he thought, already down to the core. He felt a seed catch in his teeth and he shifted it around with his tongue, spitting it on the ground. Hild recoiled in response.

James just shrugged lightly and kept eating through the core, finishing off the whole apple until all that was left was stem. He flicked it off to the side.

"You two should get some sleep while you can," Caspar said, facing them again.

"We're keeping watch in shifts, right?" Hild asked.

"Yes," James answered. "Cas, do you want to take the first watch?"

He could tell Caspar wouldn't be able to sleep for a while - if at all - anyway.

"Yeah," he answered easily. "You'll take second?"

James nodded. "Hild, do you have a preference?"

Hild glanced between James and Caspar. "Under these circumstances? Absolutely none."

"Then you'll be third," James said simply. "Did you have a chance to pack any blankets before you slipped away?"

Hild opened her bag and hummed. "I just have a client's coat." She looked up and added under her breath, "Former client."

"If you want, you can borrow mine to lie on, if you're not keen on sleeping on the ground," James offered.

She spread the coat out on the ground and lied down. "I appreciate the offer, but this will work."

"Alright," James said, lying down on the ground where he was. He didn't want to bother with the blanket at this juncture. If they had to leave suddenly in the middle of the night, it was likely to just get left in their wake. Better to leave it tied up on Elliot's saddle anyway.

"Goodnight, then," James said.

Tucking herself deeper into the coat, Hild only hummed.

"Night," Caspar replied, voice soft.

James stared up at the starry night sky, finding the tip of the archer's arrow.

They were still going north, and that alone at least gave them a direction for now. But he couldn't help but wonder if they'd make it very far.

It was a dark thought, and he hated that he had it, but he had to be honest with himself.

They'd been lucky so far. The last five years he'd been lucky. Lucky to still be alive. But he couldn't say the same for everyone that had ever traveled with him.

He looked over at Caspar, and the back of his head. Then at Hild, who, to him, only looked like a shadowy mound on the ground now in this dim light.

Everyone kept telling him to stop apologizing, but they would be right to blame him for everything. If Hild had never met him, she would still be in Needle Point, with a stable job, and a roof over her head. If Caspar had never met him, he'd be with Gregor, getting back on his feet.

But it was best not to dwell on it too long. If Alexander was on his way again, they'd need their rest.

Not that he would be able to sleep much, but he had to try.

Dead silence, no light.

Caspar kept pacing as he scanned the trees. If he kept his eyes settled on one point too long, the darkness would blur and pulsate in front of him. Already so on edge, he needed to feel like he could trust his senses.

He suddenly felt like dead weight. He'd never touched a gun in his life, and he never learned how to wield a sword. Never had the opportunity for either.

He was useless. He couldn't protect them.

Caspar glanced back where everyone settled for the night.

Aside from them, the forest was void of living creatures. As far as he could tell. He couldn't hear anything out there.

Turning on his heel, he resumed pacing, trying to keep his footsteps light and quiet.

No matter how hard he tried, he kept failing to protect people.

He lost his kid to a hunter with a pistol. He couldn't save him, wasn't fast enough, yet just made it out alive himself. Miraculously, though it still felt more like a curse than anything.

Henry died in a duel. Pride and a poorly-aimed bullet caused him to slowly bleed out. Caspar wasn't smart enough to realize what was happening until it was too late.

His father was lost to a storm. Caspar figured he wasn't enough for him. He couldn't blame Calder, he actually shared that sentiment.

Now he was facing another imminent threat, with two friends behind him.

He still wasn't good enough, to protect them, to do anything of any value.

He was dead weight.

James might've been able to completely evade the bounty hunter if he wasn't saddled with worrying about Caspar.

Hild had made something of a life for herself. She was safe.

Now she was slumming it in the woods right with them, fearing for her life.

And he wouldn't be able to protect them either.

What was he doing? Why was he holding on so tightly? No one asked for that. No one asked for him. There wasn't a reason to, he was pointless.

Setting his jaw, he looked out at the forest.

One job, he told himself, you have one job right now.

Caspar stopped pacing. His shoulder hurt. His hands shook. Whenever he looked at James in the dark, he kept seeing his boy's face, his empty eyes.

He was unraveling.

Useless. Pointless.

Something sharp pierced his leg. He grabbed for it and ripped it out. It was a thin, needle-like dart, now dripping with his blood. He frantically searched the trees for the source.

The dart slipped from his fingers as Caspar stumbled. The trees spun around him, blurring together, and the stars suddenly went out. He tried shouting, but the words died in his throat.

He was asleep before he even hit the ground.

James heard a thump, and his eyes shot open. Before he saw or heard anything else, his heart was already starting to beat faster with the rush of adrenaline. He stayed low as he shifted ever so slightly to look towards where Caspar had been keeping watch.

At first, he didn't see him. Then he looked lower. Caspar was in a heap on the ground.

James crawled over to Hild, scanning the trees. Caspar had been hit, but it couldn't have been a gun. They would've heard it. They needed to stay out of Alexander's line of sight to avoid getting hit, but as long as Alexander had the advantage of seeing them through the trees, he could pick them off from a distance.

James was ready for this rematch.

His blood boiled with anger as he gently but firmly planted his hand on Hild's shoulder. He knew it would alarm her, but he needed her awake. Now.

"Hild," he whispered harshly. "Wake up. Stay low."

Her head popped up, and she mumbled groggily. "What? Why?"

"Caspar's been hit," James said. "I need you to get to him and make sure he's okay. I'm going to find Alexander."

Hild sobered up in an instant. "Are you sure?"

"I'm not a doctor. You need to make sure he's alright," James said firmly. "Now go--"

She grabbed him by his arm. "No, James, you're still not--"

"It's not up for negotiation," James said, ripping his arm away as he crouched low and ducked away into the trees.

Behind him, he could hear faint shuffling through the dirt as Hild made her way to Caspar.

James knew he had to get close to get a good shot. He'd made the mistake of leaving Alexander alive last time, even though it had been the right thing to do. But he couldn't keep putting Caspar and Hild at risk for the sake of his own morals. As he took padded, careful steps, he steeled himself to do whatever necessary to make sure this was the last time Alexander caught up to them again.

He wasn't going to let anyone else die because of him again.

He took slow, steady breaths, careful not to make a sound. The deafening silence of the night was eerie as James stared out into the darkness, trying to find Alexander, but he had the creeping feeling that Alexander had already found him. He was just waiting.

James looked over his shoulder.

It was always better to let the enemy come to you, but when you couldn't see them coming, well--

Alexander hit him like a brick wall, tackling him to the ground. James hit the forest floor with a grunt, but he'd been ready. Without hesitating, he'd pulled his knife and reached to jab it into Alexander's side, but Alexander grabbed his wrist. At the same time, Alexander pulled out what looked like a syringe with his other hand, and James intercepted it, grabbing Alexander's hand.

For a moment both of their arms trembled, pushing against each other, with Alexander at the advantage, being on top of him. Both of them were trying to disarm the other, and James could feel Alexander digging his fingers into his wrist, sliding his fingers into James's hand to loose his grip on the handle. James focused less on losing his knife and more on the syringe that could incapacitate him.

He pushed back, trying to rip it out of Alexander's hand.

"How long are you going to keep fighting?" Alexander whispered lowly. James could see the flash of his toothy smile in the night. He leaned on James harder, and James could feel his strength waning.

"You should've left them when you had the chance," Alexander said, leaning closer to his face. James could feel the heat of his breath on his skin. "Because now... well, I think I'm going to have a little fun once I'm done with you. I don't think anyone's going to miss a few fugitives."

Something snapped in James's brain, and he felt a surge of anger and adrenaline rise in his chest. With a low growl in the back of his throat, he pushed all of his energy into ripping the syringe from Alexander's hand.

He pulled it away with such force that it went flying, somewhere on the dark forest floor. Alexander laughed, and as James turned his head for a split second to see where the syringe went, Alexander let go of James's wrist and a stabbing pain entered his side. James couldn't see what it was, but it went deep, and he yelled in pain, retaliating by jabbing his knife into Alexander's arm.

It lodged itself in there, and Alexander let out a low growl, then started to try to scramble off of him.

He was going for the syringe.

James grabbed him, grappling his arms, holding them against his sides. Alexander writhed and kicked against him, and James held tighter, but the pain in his side was throbbing and permeating.

Alexander got a kick in at James's side, and the stabbing, shooting pain fried every nerve in James's frame. He loosed his hold on Alex enough that Alex was able to push him away, and all James could think was that he had to seize this opportunity, or it was all over.

Alexander was fleeing to grab the syringe.

James gritted his teeth and pulled his gun, doing everything he could in his power he could to steady his hands, and he aimed.

A gunshot rang through the forest, and he saw Alexander stumble.

James shot again. And again. And again. Until there was only one bullet left in the chamber, and Alexander had fallen to the forest floor.

He didn't know how many actually hit, but he wasn't going to leave Alexander this time until he was sure. James pushed himself to his feet, seeing the world starting to spin. He felt his side, and it was starting to gush with blood. He pressed his hand against it, trying to add pressure as he hobbled over to Alexander's prone body and kicked it so Alexander was face-up. At first, it appeared that Alexander was dead, but then a long, sharp needle lodged in his leg. Something burning shot into his veins.

James felt a shudder and he fell to his knees.

He could finally hear Alexander's labored breathing like Alexander had been holding it in.

James, knowing his moments of consciousness were limited, lifted his gun and held the tip of the barrel against Alexander's temple, pressing it in. James couldn't see Alexander's expression in the dark and it was probably better that way.

His whole body was shaking, but with the gun against the target, he didn't have to aim.

"You wouldn't--" Alexander started to heave.

Bang.

James's stomach turned as he felt blood splatter across his face and chest, and he felt like he could throw up, but he knew he couldn't stop now.

He forced himself to his feet and with heavy, stuttered breaths and started to limp, attempting to run back to where Caspar and Hild were where they'd camped out.

He could feel his whole world spinning, and his limbs felt like they were shaking so hard that they might fall off.

He knew he had a minute or two. Maybe. He had built up some tolerance to Lumshade from repeated exposure, but this was a different circumstance. He couldn't tell what was closer. Death or the camp.

Finally, he saw two heaps of bodies in passing, but they pulsated, growing and shifting in the dark.

Had Alexander already killed them?

No, Alexander had made it sound like he was going to kill them later.

James passed them, limping his way to Elliot's side where he found his bag. His leg almost gave out on him, but he grabbed the horn of the saddle, panting as he ripped his bag off and tumbled with it to the ground.

He had to stop the bleeding. He had to stop the bleeding.

He didn't have time to grab anything in his bag. He could feel everything slipping.

As a last-ditch effort, he fumbled with his belt buckle, ripping it out of the loops of his pants and cinching it around his waist as tight as he could pull, just above the bleeding wound. His fingers felt like they were a part of a different person as he secured the belt and everything started falling away, consumed by darkness.

The world and his mind had been force-stopped. Caspar was weightless, floating in a void. He didn't know for how long.

With limbs growing heavy, he pushed himself to his knees on shaky hands. Pain slammed into him, stabbing his shoulder. There was a pinprick in his leg.

That was-- That was probably the dart. Sedative.

The world around him was a swirling, inky black. He shook his head and blinked hard, trying to shake off the drug.

He dug his fingers into the dirt. The forest. Dart.

The hunter. Caspar never saw or heard anything.

Useless.

The black ebbed away, and he could make out the shapes of the forest floor, then the trees.

Hild's arm lamely slipped off his back as he shifted. There was a dart lodged between her shoulders. Caspar reached with an unsteady hand. He plucked it out, then tossed it aside.

Hunter. James.

Fear sharpened his senses as he scanned the forest. Several feet ahead, he could make out a body on the ground by one of the horses.

The world tilted violently under him again.

James was unmoving. His side was black.

Everything shifted out of focus again. Caspar blinked, and he was kneeling next to James when he opened his eyes again. The younger man's face was pale and slack, and splattered with blood.

Suddenly James's face wasn't James anymore. With bullet fragments riddling his bleeding shoulder, Caspar stared helplessly at Eindride's body again.

Caspar couldn't save him.

Useless.

James came back into focus, taking Eindride's place.

Couldn't save him either.

He never saw Hild rush in beside him. She shook his arm. She was saying something, urgently, but her voice didn't reach him. There was a syringe in one of her hands when she gestured down to James.

Hild dropped the syringe in the dirt and rolled James over with his new wound pointing up. She pressed something into Caspar's hands and pointed to the wound as she turned away.

"--ply pressure t-- side," her voice cut in and out.

Caspar looked down. With the mended coat she just handed him, he pressed down on the wound firmly. He stared at James's face.

Hild was a flurry of activity next to him. She then waved him away and began mending the wound with confident hands.

Caspar finally noticed James was still breathing. Barely noticeable, but he was.

He wasn't gone.

Hild's voice was finally clear as she demanded that Caspar check for any other injuries while she worked. More alert and now grounded by the fact that James was alive, Caspar obeyed.

The syringe Hild was holding earlier probably caused the puncture wound Caspar found on James's leg. Other than that, he didn't find anything beyond bruising and the older bandaged wounds from days ago.

"I think that's all," Caspar said, voice faint.

"Set up a fire, then," she instructed.

Caspar stood, still a little wobbly but otherwise able to hold himself up, and went to do just that.

He dug a small hole with his hands, set some twigs for kindling inside it, and managed to light it fairly quickly. He unpacked and fully set up camp around the small fire.

"Help me move him," Hild ordered. "I'll need more water, too."

Caspar easily and carefully lifted James from the dirt by Elliot to a spread blanket closer to the light. Hild pushed an empty canteen at him and went straight back to work.

Once she was set on water and he brought her medical bag closer, Caspar stood back.

James was alive.

Other than the throbbing in his shoulder as it locked up on him, Caspar couldn't feel anything.

The hunter.

He looked around, then started to ask, "Are you--"

Hild only glanced up at him for a second. "Yes. Make sure no one's still around. I got this."

Caspar nodded.

With empty, useless hands, he set off to check for lingering threats.

He quickly found a trail in the forest floor. James limped back to camp. Caspar followed the uneven trail away from the light.

The ground was disturbed where Caspar assumed James got in a fight. It was a mess, and just on the edge of it, he could make out the lines of a body on the ground.

It appeared to be roughly the same build and height as Alexander, but the head and face were blown beyond recognition. Black splattered on the leaves and pooled in the dirt all around it.

Stepping carefully around it to let the faint moonlight illuminate the body at a different angle, Caspar found a knife stuck in the arm, and bullet wounds in the back and leg.

He looked back to the signs of the fight left in the ground and mentally rewound the scene. It was a mad, violent vie for life. It ended with James putting the pistol to Alexander's head and pulling the trigger.

Alexander's body momentarily looked like Eindride's killer.

Dead, by Caspar's hands.

Caspar clenched his jaw, wondering if James ever had to kill anyone before now.

He tore his eyes away from the body. A faint silhouette shift restlessly. A dark horse stood tied to a tree nearby. The saddle was loaded with a full pack.

Caspar approached the animal, whispering soft reassurances in case it couldn't see him. The horse nervously jerked away and tapped a hoof on the ground. Caspar stopped so it didn't feel cornered.

He didn't have food to offer, and the smell of blood on his hands probably wouldn't help settle it.

That's alright, he didn't need to directly touch the horse yet. He side-stepped to the tree and fumbled with the loosely knotted reins. Caspar gently beckoned the horse and waited, giving it a moment to choose what to do. It hesitated, then stepped closer. He carefully pulled on the reins, and the horse obediently trailed behind him back to camp.

Finished with the knife wound in his side, Hild was checking over James, probably assessing any other visible damage. In the firelight, the hard lines of her drawn brows and lips were very clear. Her eyes were sharp, but concern showed through. She had already scrubbed James's blood from her hands.

Caspar set up the hunter's horse by Elliot and Eir, and unstrapped the bag from the saddle. Eir stepped away from the new horse and bumped Caspar's face with her nose as he passed. He patted her neck with a murmur of comfort. When she calmed again, he sat next to Hild by James's feet.

"That's all," Hild said coolly. "He's closed up now, but he's lost blood and was hit by lumshade."

Again, Caspar mentally added. Felt pertinent to mention out loud, though.

Hild tilted her head, studying Caspar, then slowly said, "This isn't the first time, though. Is it."

Caspar sighed wearily and pinched the bridge of his nose. "The hunter drugged him several days ago. James was...hallucinating at one point for a while."

"And neither of you knuckleheads thought I should know? To perchance help?" Hild asked through grit teeth.

Caspar deflated. "Hild, I'm sorry, I wasn't sure what I could-- what we should share with you. Sometimes knowing less is better--"

"How much was administered the first time?"

Caspar scrambled for numbers. He scrubbed his face with his hand. "I think... The glass was a few inches long. I didn't see how full it was."

Hild nodded. "That's fine." She turned and picked up the syringe that she found in James's leg and held it vertically to the firelight.

"It was that size, actually," Caspar said, leaning to look at it over her shoulder.

"Wonderful," Hild said. "A matching set."

Caspar looked around her at James. Hild had cleaned the hunter's blood from his face. The bandaging around the older injuries had been changed too. His shirt, though bloodied and with a tear in the side, was folded neatly and set aside. James lied mostly covered by a second blanket.

Caspar dragged the hunter's bag in front of himself and unlatched the top. It was completely full and organized. He dug through.

"To say he was well-prepared would be an understatement," Hild commented as she watched him unload some of the contents for closer inspection.

Caspar unpacked an alarming number of knives of all shapes and sizes before finding glass vials of what he assumed was more lumshade, all tucked away in a compartmentalized, padded pocket of the bag.

"What should we," he started tiredly, then trailed off. He really didn't have the energy to think and speak.

Hild took one of the vials and held it up next to the syringe. Likely jumping some math hoops or something.

"He had more than enough to keep James sedated," she murmured, "for two weeks' worth of travel. The vial is the same volume as the syringe. He might've emptied this..." She swirled the contents of the vial, then flicked her eyes back to the still-partially full syringe.

Caspar looked back into the bag and pulled out a few maps. He could recognize the Western Isles and some of the shapes of the lands around. The written labels were nothing more than ink stains to him. He folded it up and tucked it away again.

There were enough food rations to last a conservative lone traveler two weeks. More navigational tools. Things like soaps and other grooming supplies. Medical supplies, that was good.

Tensely, he handed Hild a pack of extra bullets. She turned it over in her hands, casting him a concerned look, then pocketed them.

Alongside the maps fell out a slightly smaller paper. He could see the lines of a face faintly show through the back. He carefully unfolded the paper and held it low to let the fire's light fall across the surface.

It was definitely James's face, only clean-shaven and not as travel worn. In the sketch, James wore his usual almost-scowl that Caspar came to recognize as his neutral expression. There were big bold letters at the top, and smaller text on the bottom.

"'Wanted alive'," Hild read for him, "'for high treason against King Blackfield and the Moonlight Kingdom. 1K gold reward, considered armed and dangerous. Report to local authorities if sighted.'"

Caspar's grip on the edges of the paper tightened. He crumpled up the poster and tossed it into the fire.

'For high treason.'

Caspar glanced back at James.

He should be asking questions right now, shouldn't he? He should be wondering what the hell James did to warrant such a reward for his capture. But he didn't want to. He couldn't bring himself to worry what James may have done wrong, only that James could somehow make it out of this mess and really live.

He recalled the name Carter getting tossed around before, and how this figure wanted to kill James himself, likely brutally.

"Someone named Carter wants him."

Hild tensed. "Carter Haddon?"

He glanced at her. She tugged her coat tighter around herself and hesitantly met his confused look. She tilted her chin up a little as she inhaled slowly. "The Haddons have a long-standing reputation as a family of mage-hunters," she said, voice wavering. "They established a guild to enforce anti-magic laws."

Caspar looked off to the fire.

These Haddons and this guild, then, were the reason why innocent people's lives were overturned or ended entirely for something out of their control.

"Carter Haddon," she spat, "is set to inherit all of that sh--" She bit back her anger, then calmly continued, "The guild. He'll inherit the guild. He's the son of Mark and Ruth Haddon, some of the most powerful people in Nye."

Hence the well-funded, professional hunter that was sent for James. Though the task was established as a personal favor.

The names spun in his head uselessly. Try as he might, he couldn't fully process.

Cutting through the tense silence, James let out a shaky gasp, and suddenly arched backwards, letting out a cry of pain. Hild moved to touch him, but Caspar pulled her back and crawled closer himself.

James was panting with labored breaths, and his eyes were snapped shut as his face contorted, knitted tightly together in pain. He started to roll on his side, his body starting to tremble violently. With a hand on James's shoulder, Caspar carefully held him still.

"Slow breaths, bud," he gently urged, brushing James's hair away from his face.

James started coughing, and then retching, throwing up whatever he'd eaten just a few hours ago and then some.

His body went limp from what seemed like exhaustion once the coughing stopped, and he let out a low groan.

"Can't... let you..." James muttered through grit teeth. "Bastard."

He spat, and looked like was going to try to move, but instead shakily collapsed back onto the blanket, heaving.

"James, it's just me," Caspar said, "you're safe." He angled James away from the remnants of his dinner.

"Where--where are they," James muttered, eyes barely open. "Cas and... and Hil--what--"

Caspar leaned over James, trying to get his attention. "I'm right here, Hild is fine too," he explained patiently. "The hunter is gone. I'm right here, okay?"

James stared up at Caspar as he lied on his back, but it looked like he was looking through him.

"Take me instead," he said in a hoarse whisper. "I'll go... I'll go."

"No, James, you don't have to--"

James closed his eyes, his face pinching up again. He took in a shuddered breath, clearly pained.

"Tell him I'm ready," James said soberly, barely audible.

"He can't hear you right now," Hild said lowly.

"It doesn't hurt to try," Caspar retorted, then softened his voice to ask, "James, can you look at me please?"

James didn't respond. His eyes were still pinched shut.

"James," Caspar whispered, desperate to reach him, "we're safe now, it's okay."

James didn't say anything, but he did turn his head towards Caspar with a groan, reaching out like he was feeling blindly. Caspar held his hand, his grasp gentle but unshakeable. Small tears trickled down James's face.

"You're okay," Caspar went on, "you'll be okay. You're safe now."

Hild used the soiled jacket to wipe the vomit from the blanket. Caspar felt her eyes on them before she stood and headed down to the river.

"I'm sorry I left," James said faintly, his voice filled with deep sadness.

He was out of it. He wasn't speaking to Caspar, but to someone Caspar didn't know again.

"I'm sorry," James whispered again, tears streaming down steadily. "I still love you. But it's okay. It's okay if you forget. It's okay..."

Eindride suffered from night terrors. Caspar was familiar with the lashing out, the breakdowns, screaming and crying, completely blinded by trauma and grief, causing himself more harm than good trying to protect himself from threats that were no longer there.

It broke Caspar's heart every time.

Eindride would sit close to him once the terror passed and he was present once more, leaning his little head on Caspar's arm and whisper, "Sorry." Eindride knew he was hurting Caspar, despite his best efforts to hide the evidence.

"I still love you," Eindride used to say, to make sure he wouldn't think otherwise.

"I still love you too," Caspar said out loud, voice thick. The lines between then and now blurred. He meant it, either way.

Fat tears rolled down James's cheeks, and his breathing started to gradually settle back into a steady rhythm. James'd hand went slack in Caspar's. He was out again.

Caspar set James's hand down on the blanket and sat back. He looked heavenward, blinking back the tears in his own eyes, willing himself to sober up enough for the night ahead of him.

Hild wandered back once his head was clearer. She kept her eyes turned toward the fire, just to give him another moment to compose himself.

"We'll have to watch him all night," she said simply.

Caspar nodded. "I'm ready."

Time crawled along.

Throughout the night, James jolted awake and cried out from pain and mental unrest. Caspar kept close to try to settle him down again. Hild hovered as well to ensure James's wounds stayed clean and weren't disrupted too much. Eventually, when it no longer felt like James was about to hurt himself, she tapped out to rest.

Shoving back the past for the rest of the night, Caspar was able to hold himself together enough to meet James's terrors head-on with a steadier voice and grounding presence.

When daylight finally broke, the lumshade loosened its terrible grip on James.

Caspar sat on the other side of the small fire, which was no more than a hole full of embers now. The forest was all around, closing in on him, but still so far away. He couldn't think, couldn't feel, not even the fragments in his shoulder anymore.

A gentle hand brushed his left shoulder, the uninjured one. He glanced up and met Hild's worried eyes.

"You need to sleep now," she whispered, "James will be fine."

Ah. Sleep. People needed that, didn't they.

"I'll watch him, okay?" Hild added.

Caspar nodded.

He turned his empty gaze up to the trees as he dropped down on his back in the dirt and decaying leaves. Hild's receding footsteps gave way to a ringing silence. He closed his eyes.

He was back digging in the empty winter woods.

James was well aquainted with death and what it felt like. His whole body ached from the inside out, and he felt like all of the energy had been sapped out of him. His side hurt like hell, and his eyes stung before he even opened them.

His mouth was dry, and his lips felt like they were glued together by a thick paste. Running his tongue over his teeth, he tried to bite away the sensation and licked his lips.

It tasted like blood.

He licked them again, realizing his lips had cracked.

Slowly, he opened his eyes to the blinding daylight. Almost immediately, he saw white, and his eyes started to tear up at the brightness of the midday sun.

His mind felt muddy, and he couldn't remember what happened.

Hild had caught up to them, right?

But what after that?

James tried to play through the events over and over, but everything got blurry once Hild joined them. Alexander had been on their tail, though. That much he remembered.

Maybe that explained the pain in his side. He must've been drugged again.

Had he gotten caught? Was he with Alexander?

He tilted his head to the side, letting his eyes refocus to the daylight, taking in the scene around him.

There was a dead fire. Three horses. Caspar, lying a bit a ways away, looking to be fast asleep, breathing steadily.

James was on a blanket, chest partially exposed as another blanket was laid on top of him.

So he'd been wounded enough to warrant another loss of an article of clothing. It was ruined and blood-stained, no doubt.

Annoying.

He turned his head the other direction, jolting when he saw Hild right beside him.

"Stop moving around so much," she said, tone hushed yet harsh. She sat cross-legged by him. "You're going to ruin my work with all that thrashing about. I'm frankly surprised you haven't already."

James settled back down onto the ground, staying still while looking up at her.

His head hurt. His everything hurt.

"I'm durable," he said loosely.

"Try 'dense'," she shot back. Leaning closer, she tilted his head toward the sunlight and watched his eyes. "Most of the lumshade has worn off. He didn't hit you with as much as last time, I think."

Last time. So she heard about last time. He supposed Caspar would've told her, then, by this point.

"Lucky me," James said weakly.

She scoffed, sitting back again. "Relatively speaking. Your standards are worryingly low." Hild squared her shoulders and tilted her chin up. "You have a knife wound in your side, and lumshade was administered through your leg. Both were expertly cleaned and patched by yours truly, despite the wretched conditions. Don't ruin them."

Normally, James would've been quick to thank her, but her description set off a memory in the back of his mind, and it all came rushing back.

Blood pounding in his ears. Blood pouring out his side.

A bang. Blood everywhere.

He'd pulled the trigger, then.

He remembered now. Alexander was dead.

James stared past Hild as if he was staring into the darkness, and all he could feel was the splatter of another man's face on his own.

"Alexander is gone," Hild said, voice dropping to something more tentative.

"I know," James said emptily.

"We have more food, medicial supplies, and navigational tools now, as well," she added.

"I'm sure we'll make use of them," James said distantly, trying to pull himself back to the present.

He took in a deep breath and pinched his eyes shut before looking back up at Hild again.

"And you're alright? Neither you or Cas got hurt?" he asked.

"We're fine," she answered. "Well..." She glanced off, just slightly, then back to James. "Yes. Caspar finally fell asleep a couple of hours ago, which will help."

Caspar had stayed up with him again, then. James looked off to the side with a small sigh.

"Good," he said softly.

Hild cracked a hollow smile. "I agree."

"What about you?" James asked. "Did you get any sleep?"

"Of course," she said. "He refused to even try, so I figured I should rest up in order to take over when he inevitably crashed."

"Wise," James commented quietly. "I'm glad you got rest."

A pause.

"And... thank you. Again," he said.

He knew he wouldn't be alive without her.

Hild only bowed her head in response. She twisted her finger around inside her palm. Surprisingly fidgety.

"You must be a skilled doctor," James said. "However unlicensed you may be."

"I am." She preened slightly, despite the circumstances. "Better than my half-brother, though he would strongly oppose that assessment."

"I'll take your word for it."

Pressing her lips into a thin line, she glanced off to the side. After a beat of silence, she asked quietly, "How familiar are you with the Haddons?"

A chill ran down his spine, and his heart dropped into his chest.

"Who...?" he trailed off, caught completely off guard.

Had he said something in his restless, drug-induced delirium?

"Caspar said you mentioned a Carter sometime." Hild looked back at him. "We found your likeness in Alexander's bag, with both the stated crime, vague as it was, and the reward printed in bold letters."

James felt his blood run cold. He was past the point of being anxious, and skipped right to the point of feeling numb, but alert, and aware of the deeply suppressed fear lurking in the back of his mind.

"I know them," he finally said, his voice quiet.

"Personally?" she pressed. Her eyes were devoid of any emotion. Cold, searching.

He swallowed.

"Yes," he said, unable to look away from her as he watched for a response.

Her gaze narrowed very subtly as she tilted her head. "Did you consider yourself close with them?"

The wound in James's side started throbbing. Stress. It was the stress.

He had a feeling Hild was going to keep fishing for answers, and James couldn't help but feel very vulnerable as the wounded man on the ground beside her, hardly able to defend himself at this point.

"Not with his parents," James said. "With Carter. A long time ago."

Hild's hands tightened into fists on her knees. She visibly bit her tongue, keeping herself from saying anything impulsively. Then she stated more than asked, "You fell out of his good graces. Why."

James didn't mean to be dramatic, but he felt he would rather be stabbed again than have to endure this.

He'd pushed the memories so far back in his mind that it almost felt like a life lived by another person. And yet, it still hurt like an open wound.

How could he even begin to explain it succinctly?

He flicked his eyes to the side, longing for Caspar to be awake. He didn't look forward to having this conversation twice. Because he knew if he had it with Hild, he'd have to have it with Caspar.

Hild followed his eyes. She released the tension in her hands and let them rest loosely in her lap. "Fine. Another time."

Reaching behind her, she grabbed a canteen and held it aloft. She twisted the cap off for him. "I recommend you drink slowly."

James very slowly and carefully moved to sit up. His eyebrows drew together tightly as pain shot through his stomach, all throughout his abdomen.

He reached for the canteen, but Hild kept a firm grasp on it as she leaned in again to help him.

"Stop twisting around," she snapped as she carefully held the canteen to his lips.

James reluctantly lowered his arm to help prop himself up and tilted his head slightly, starting to drink.

It was the only good thing he was experiencing in his bodily frame at the moment. Hydration.

He drank slowly as he was told and pulled his mouth away when he was done. Though this wasn't the first time he'd needed help with simple tasks while recovering, it still felt humbling.

At least Hild was tolerating him enough to still help him despite clearly not trusting him.

Hild re-covered the canteen and sat straight again, setting the bottle beside the blanket. "I don't know how long he'll sleep," she said.

"Hopefully, a long time," James said.

He was contemplating the best way to lie back down in the least painful way possible.

"We have to stay put for a little while, anyway," Hild said. "You need to rest too."

James knew she was right, but he hated resting. He hated the waiting, the agony, the time it took to heal. The muscle atrophy, the losing strength and getting it back again.

It was exhausting.

"Yeah..." he said with a sigh, glancing down at himself.

Now that the blanket had fallen down a bit after sitting up, he could see just how bad it was. He wondered what Alexander's plan had been at that point, when he stabbed him. Would Alexander have known how to stitch him up? Or was he taking him up on the demand that he be brought in dead?

He supposed he'd never know.

His eyes lingered on his stomach, where the new scars would eventually form.

More memories to try and forget, and fail to over and over.

He felt his arms starting to grow weary, and his side aching harder. With a grimace, he tried to lower himself back down again. First to his elbows, then back on the ground.

He stifled a noise in the back of his throat and looked over to Hild. She had turned away, looking out to the trees.

"Did... either of you find him?" James asked quietly.

"Caspar might have."

"If he found his horse," James said slowly. "He... probably did."

She hummed and agreed, "It's very likely. You'll have to ask him, though."

James went quiet for a moment, looking out into the forest.

Alexander was by no means a good man, but he still deserved a proper burial. Unfortunately, he wasn't able to accomplish much of anything in his current state, and he had a feeling Hild wouldn't let him get to his feet. She barely tolerated him sitting up.

And she was right. He knew he needed to rest if they were ever going to leave this forest. And even though he'd gotten rid of the threat that was pushing them out of the town, he was now the person holding them back, because he'd gotten hurt. He'd been holding them back on both accounts, really.

There was no winning for him, was there?

"I'll ask him," he finally said lowly, and another silence fell between them, like a thin blanket over the tension that still hung between them.

He could tell Hild was still processing everything. Everything about him, and what it meant for her, and Caspar.

"I meant what I said," James said, breaking the silence. "When I told you I have no problems with magic, mages, or people who associate themselves with mages. And I'll do everything in my power to protect and cover you two as long as we're traveling together."

When Hild glanced back at him, she didn't answer and her face was kept blank. Her eyes were hard. She leaned back on her hands and turned away again.

James watched the back of her head for a moment, and he couldn't help but feel tired.

It was always like this.

This was why he stopped trying to defend himself and explain himself. He accepted that he was never going to be understood, and he didn't want to be. He was just trying to establish some sort of baseline for trust so that they could travel together without biting each other's heads off.

It was possible that she wasn't thinking the worst - and it was selfish of him to assume she was - but he was tired of thinking the best of people and always being proven wrong.

Deep in his heart, he could feel the walls he was preparing inside himself for the inevitable conversation to come.

He could tell it if he told it like a story.

He could answer questions if he pretended it was someone else. He could be as honest as they wanted if he just didn't make it personal.

He'd done it over and over again, and it was easier each time. Numbness sat emptily in his chest, and he stared up at the sky, letting everything grow more distant.

They don't have to like me. I just have to keep them safe.

And he could live with that.

Surprisingly, Caspar slept well into the afternoon. He was disoriented, to say the least.

James was where he remembered leaving him, but awake. Caspar bid him good morning, then stumbled over a correction when remembering that it was in fact late noon, then went straight to the horses.

Which-- That's right, they have three now. That worked out, he supposed, though that didn't help Hild's lack of riding experience.

While he brushed down the horses and gave them some sugar cubes from the hunter's bag, he cast frequent glances all around the forest and at James and Hild. The hunter was gone, but they weren't quite out of the woods just yet.

James looked like hell. He'd just been through hell, so that tracked.

Caspar felt he should check in on him and maybe talk to pass the time and get James's mind off of their current circumstances. But he still felt drained from the night prior, despite the hours of sleep. He just didn't have the capacity to carry conversation yet.

He mindlessly brushed Eir's mane. Eir eventually gave his left shoulder a gentle nose nudge, bringing him back to reality just in time for Hild's fast approach.

Hild brought over food. She didn't seem very chatty either, which was. Strange, she always found something to talk about. She and her brother could easily talk circles around anybody any day.

While Hild sat to better organize the hunter's supplies by the light of day, Caspar wandered back to James and offered to help maybe prop him up a little for a different view. Which earned him a hard glare from Hild.

"It's probably better not to move me at the moment," James said faintly with a weak smile. "But thanks, Cas."

He nodded. "Sure." He settled in the dirt close by, since everything was taken care of for the moment. Hild turned back to recounting the rations.

He should probably say something, or ask searching questions maybe.

"Cas?" James asked, keeping his voice low, like he was trying to only catch Caspar's attention.

Caspar scooted closer. "Yeah?"

"Alexander is out there," he said, barely audible. "I assume... you found him."

He mentally traced his steps back to the body in the dark.

"I want to bury him. Before nature takes him first," James said soberly. "But I can't move much right now. If it's too much for you, I understand, but, if you'd be willing to... to do that..."

Caspar idly fitted his fingers together. He really didn't want to bury another body. Not because he didn't think a person should have that much in death, he just.

"I can try," he answered slowly, "but we don't exactly have anything to." He pursed his lips. "Dig with."

James was quiet for a moment.

"Right," he said distantly. "Perhaps... it would be better to burn him then. But that may be too noticeable if anyone's passing by. You may be able to make something of a shovel if you find a sturdy branch. I would help, but..."

They didn't want to draw attention to themselves, especially when James was out for the count like this. Burying it was.

Caspar managed to not sigh heavily at the new task before him. He scrubbed his face and pushed his hair back with both hands. "Alright," he said quietly, "I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you, Cas," James said indistinctly.

He nodded. As he stood, he said plainly, "Don't go anywhere."

He felt another one of Hild's sharp glares bore holes into the back of his head as he poked around camp for potential shoveling tools. The pan from James's bag was probably his best bet, he decided.

The body was exactly how he found it the night before. It was worse in daylight. Caspar stared grimly at the gore.

He was going to bury what could have been his murderer. Again.

He marked out rough measurements in the soil with a branch, stood pondering what the hell his life had become, and started digging.

He had to frequently look around and remind himself where he was and who this was for. Alexander faced up toward the sky. Caspar glanced up too to gauge how much time had passed; he forgot the pocket watch in his jacket back at camp.

He considered going back just to check on James and Hild, but Hild was likely handling everything just fine. And she was armed, so she wouldn't need Caspar there for defense. Probably.

The hole was knee deep.

Caspar sat back against the inside to rest a moment and stared up at the full trees. He listened to the river nearby and a songbird's warble on the wind.

"Not a bad spot," he commented.

Alexander didn't disagree.

He looked back down at the hole he sat in. It was definitely deep enough to cover a body now. He stood, brushed the dirt from his trousers, though it was a futile effort, and stepped out.

Alexander's body already lied fairly flat and with his arms close to his sides, so Caspar didn't have to crack through stiff joints to adjust anything. Taking hold of the shoes, he dragged Alexander over by the long edge of the hole. The insides of his head trailed after them.

Stepping back inside, Caspar carefully lifted the body from the edge down into the center. He stared blankly at the missing face.

Should he...pray? Did people do that for burials? He couldn't remember what they did for his mom and sister, it was so long ago, and he wasn't paying attention anyhow.

Caspar stepped out. He swallowed. "You'll be missed, I'm sure," he said softly. Oddly enough, he meant it.

He covered up Alexander, piled some stones at the head of the grave, then headed back to camp.

And was immediately almost run over by a horse.

"Just press lightly with your legs on his sides," James said calmly. "And lean back just a little. It's about subtlety."

Elliot backed away, but not without a wet, playful chuff in Caspar's face. Caspar wiped the spray from his cheek with a huffed laugh.

Hild, sitting stiff as a board atop the horse, looked down Elliot's sides to check her posture and leaned back slightly as instructed.

"What is--" Caspar started.

Hild cut him off with a bit out, "Riding lessons."

"--iding lessons," James said at almost the exact same time, though far less disgruntled.

"We have three horses now," Hild went on, "which is fortunate, but completely useless if I can't operate a horse."

Caspar snorted. "'Operate'?"

"You don't operate a horse," James sighed. "You lead it. It's a being with feelings."

"Yes, right." Hild sighed too, though more irritated with herself than anything as she struggled to get comfortable. "I haven't made much progress since you left."

"It's literally your first time on a horse on your own, and it doesn't help that I'm trying to instruct you from the ground," James said. "All things considered, you're doing wonderfully. You're not going to perform perfectly the first try."

Caspar stepped around Elliot, giving the horse a friendly pat on the nose, and made to address the other horses.

"Wait, Cas," James said. "Hild could use your help leading Elliot back. I think we can put a pause on lessons for today."

"Uh, right." Reaching back, Caspar lightly pulled on Elliot's reins.

Once Elliot was situated, Hild immediately dismounted and gave him a pat on his side. "You've been very patient with me," she told Elliot. "Thank you."

Elliot reached his neck around and bumped her hip with his nose. Smiling just a little, she stroked the side of his face.

Alexander's horse was still wary, yet willing to meet Caspar's outstretched hand. Gave him a sniff, but not much else. Not a bad start, Caspar thought.

He sat, a little heavier than intended, by James again and leaned back against a tree. "I'll clean the pan in a minute," he said, closing his eyes.

"No rush," James said gently.

Caspar rubbed at his aching shoulder. The constant, repetitive motion of digging aggravated the metal fragments still stuck deep in the muscle.

Something of a comfortable yet weary silence settled around them, a bit like a gently draped blanket.

Caspar felt himself drift a little when Hild sat down at James's other side, sounding determined as ever about something. Caspar opened his eyes and stared curiously at her.

"Carter Haddon," she said quietly. "Are you ready to talk about him yet?"

Tactless as ever. Caspar briefly clenched his jaw as he glanced down at James.

James looked beyond Hild and Caspar, up at the sky. His expression was difficult to read, but he could tell he was tired. Whether that was because of his physical state or otherwise, he couldn't know for sure. Very likely both.

"I'm ready to answer your questions," he said simply.

Ah, right. The questions that Caspar should probably be asking.

"What happened," Hild forged ahead, "between you two that you're no longer close friends?"

James closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, but kept his eyes shut.

"Please be patient as I provide context," he said quietly.

"Of course," she said evenly.

"I met Carter when we were children. We became childhood friends, and were enlisted in the Moonlight Kingdom military school at the same time," he said slowly. "We remained friends through graduation, until we were both working in the palace guard."

He paused, looking out at empty space with just as empty of an expression.

"Our falling out directly correlates to the events that made me a wanted man," James said. "He was sent to kill me, but I escaped after severely wounding him in the fight that ensued."

He paused again, looking deep in thought, at first. But the pause dragged on and it became apparent he was waiting for some kind of response.

Caspar felt that maybe waiting for when James was back on his feet would be a better time to ask these things. Right now, wounded and on the ground, it felt like James was at a severe disadvantage. It was hardly fair.

"And what were these 'events'?" Hild pressed. "Why are you wanted?"

"I may have sabotaged some of the king's plans for... well, it's..." he hesitated, his brows furrowing.

"We don't have to," Caspar offered, "get too deep into this yet."

"The king was going to conduct magical experiments on children," James went on, like he was working hard to string every word together in the sentence. "And he was going to base it off records of an old experiment he discovered. He'd made preparations to follow through with it..."

James avoided eye contact with either of them.

"I destroyed everything. The records. The research. Everything. And then I ran, because I was found out."

Hild leaned away. Her dig for knowledge likely wasn't complete just yet, but she was choosing to back off now.

Caspar tilted his head back, resting it against the tree. He bit his lip, then looked back down.

"Was Carter a good friend to you?" he asked. "Did he treat you well before...?"

Something in James's blank expression faltered - if only for a moment - as a flicker of sadness showed in his eyes.

"He did at first," James said lowly. "But... I don't know if we were ever really friends."

Caspar looked away again, swallowing down a lump in his throat.

"He was good at putting on masks for everyone," James continued. "I don't know if I ever saw his true face until I was staring down his sword."

Another pause.

"He was manipulative," he said even quieter. "I was too close to realize it at the time."

Someone unworthy of trust, Caspar thought conclusively. Who betrayed, likely for selfish gain, but he didn't want to assume.

Five years since, though, and James was still short on trust and any semblance of stability.

"We'd been 'friends' for ten years," James said, barely audible.

Five years, and Carter still sent his hounds after James, to be brought back alive and suffering. Just to kill James personally.

It lit something deep inside of him.

"I haven't talked about him in five years," James said, and he sounded exhausted. "But with a hole in my gut I figured I didn't have much of a choice... since you saved my life. So now you know."

Caspar nodded, jaw tight. He clenched his hand, then released the tension.

He was exhausted, he was sore, his shoulder ached, but a deep rage burned in his belly just the same. He decided he didn't have to give Carter the benefit of the doubt.

"Thank you," Caspar finally said, gently and evenly, shoving down his anger, "for...answering our questions."

James hummed, but didn't say anything. Hild was still turning over this new information as well, and didn't add anything to the matter.

"You look tired," James said to Caspar. "You should sleep."

Caspar sighed and leaned his head back again. "I know, I know."

Forever looking tired, it seemed, and he probably won't ever be able to fully fix that.

"If I'm forced to sleep it's only fair you are too," James said weakly, like he was attempting at a joke, but with no heart in it.

Caspar mustered a small smile. Also empty, but he tried.

"Yes," Hild said firmly, "both of you rest."

"Okay, doc," James said, closing his eyes.

Caspar managed to settle himself more comfortably against the tree, but he couldn't shake the full weight of James's circumstances. Worry pressed heavily on his chest.

'For high treason'.

James's life was overturned completely for the reputation of a man who had little to no morals, for uncovering an ugly truth and trying to do the right thing. In constant shambles because of someone who betrayed his trust first.

James could never go back home to his family. He could never live a normal life so long as Carter was still looking for him.

Caspar finally drifted off with the question of what he could possibly do to help on the front of his mind.

The night passed with pain, and it was still there when he woke up, and when he was fed, and given water like a helpless child. It still remained the few times he was moved to clean him and redress his wounds, and when Caspar had to help him relieve himself.

If James cared about what anyone thought about him anymore, it might have been humiliating. But as it was, he felt he was barely there. The day dragged on, and the sun lazed across the sky at a turtle's speed. Burning, blazing, like the blisters on his back and the inches of open skin and muscle in various shapes on his body.

At least lying on his back wasn't so painful as it could've been. He could hardly feel anything there anymore, and he didn't know if it was because the skin was so scarred and calloused or because he had permanent nerve damage. Either way, it was irreversible.

Somehow, it'd become convenient.

What a dark thought.

Walking Hild through horse socialization was probably the only highlight. He dragged Caspar into helping to be his hands and feet, and it went alright. He kept Hild with Elliot for the time being since Elliot was well trained and the most behaved of all the horses - at least, to his knowledge. Eir wasn't so easily tolerant of people, and he knew nothing about the black mare that had come into their care. Elliot, at least, was exceedingly patient. He'd put up with James over the years. He could endure Hild easily.

James decided to keep Hild off the saddle this time. He wanted her to get more comfortable interacting with horses before she tried to command one. She seemed to secretly enjoy warming up to Elliot, and it was nice to see a softer side of her come out when she was working with him.

It was also nice to see Elliot being treated with kindness and respect. Hild was helping give him the physical affection James couldn't, and in some ways, he was living through her, even for something so small.

But when the next meal came and went, and the sky started to turn a little more orange, James started to really feel the weight of everything hit him again.

Alexander was in the ground. Dead.

If James hadn't killed him he might've selfishly gotten some answers about Carter, but he had a strong feeling Alexander wouldn't entertain him. Taunt him, but he wouldn't get any real information.

But it didn't help to dwell on what was now impossible. He wouldn't be able to commune with a dead man any more than he'd be able to do things on his own any time soon.

Though he did hope to get moving in small ways. If he didn't start now, gaining back muscle he'd lose would be a pain.

Literally.

James laid on a blanket by the fire, and Hild and Caspar sat on either side of him. Conversation had been spotty after they'd all finished eating, but James could sense Hild's mind brewing with thoughts.

She was likely just forming them still. Or waiting for something.

Though gods knew what.

Maybe an invitation.

"What's on your mind?" he asked, turning his head towards Hild.

"The king wants to weaponize magic," she pounced right in, "correct?"

James blinked slowly, but managed a very stiff nod.

"In a very controlled way, yes," he said.

"How exactly did you stumble upon this...scheme?" she asked.

James had been trying to avoid the details that were less pleasant to think about, but he could tell that Hild was going to be relentlessly pursuing answers as long as he was stuck with them like this. He knew he did have the power to refuse to respond, but he was trying to build a bridge between him and Hild, not burn it.

"I..." he started, having to pinch his eyes shut and force himself to just say it. "The king was mentoring me, in a way. We got... close. Or he brought me close. It wasn't something I pursued. He just decided to take me under his wing, so I shadowed him and was let in on things most people never see."

She nodded, seeming to be picking apart his words. "What's your family background? How did you get into the military?"

Caspar huffed a small sigh. "Maybe ease up a bit?"

James felt a heavy weight on his chest.

"I don't like to talk about my family," he whispered weakly.

Her calculating gaze softened. "That's fine."

James wanted to respond, but his words were caught in his throat. He swallowed hard, and took in another breath.

"If you could... put yourself in my shoes, just for a minute," James said, keeping his voice steady. "Many of the things I've left behind are difficult to talk about. I haven't been home in a very long time."

If he could even call it home anymore.

"Of course," Hild said quietly. "...I'm sorry."

"I understand that there are some things you'd like to know," James continued. "And that's fair. But I don't know very much about you, either."

She straightened. "An excellent point. In the spirit of fairness and full transparency, then, I'm willing to answer any of your questions about myself."

In honesty, James wasn't expecting Hild to be so receptive. He was a little unprepared for the turning of the tables.

He was quiet for a second as his mind shifted, no longer trying to filter his own story into carefully worded answers.

James looked to Hild.

"What kind of things do you like to read?"

Hild blinked, also caught off guard. "Classical literature, and scientific and medical texts," she eventually answered, then went on, "What of your reading preferences?"

"I like historical texts," James said. "But I will always have a soft spot for the simple joys of fictional stories. Adventures and the like."

She nodded. "Both of which have great literary value, as well."

James offered Hild a weak grin.

"Yeah," he said. He glanced at Caspar, knowing that he couldn't join in on a conversation about books.

"So, you fence. You're a marksman. And you're a doctor. Anything else you can do that I should know about?" James asked.

Hild cracked the faintest of grins back. "Outside of tailoring most recently, I actually haven't explored much else."

"You think you could sew up any of my shirts?" James asked. "You know. The ones with all the holes in them."

From all the fights. With Alexander. Was it too soon to make that kind of comment? It was too late to consider now that he'd already said it. And, well, it was a genuine question.

"I can pay you, of course," James added with another weak grin, trying to sell the delivery so that she would take it in a lighthearted manner.

She tilted her head and replied lightly, "I'm sure we can work something out."

"Good, because I'm running out of clothes that are still intact," James said. "I'd like to look more presentable, you know. With all the attention I'm getting out here in the forest."

Hild's grin broadened slightly, actually amused. "I would suggest a complete wardrobe change for that."

"Oh, really?" James asked, mirroring her grin. "What would you suggest, then?"

"Depends on the occasion," she answered smoothly. Leaning forward, she rested her chin in her hand in thought. "For something formal, perhaps a deep blue swallowtail coat and cream-colored trousers. You'll need to layer a waistcoat underneath, too, maybe with a floral pattern. The boots you have already would work well, just clean them off. Thoroughly." She nodded toward Caspar. "He can probably draft the designs for us."

James stared up at Hild with a small, fascinated smile growing on his face at the level of detail Hild had thought this through. He raised his brows slightly and looked to Caspar, his smile growing.

"I think she's recruiting you as a designer, Caspar," James said.

Caspar shook his head. "I don't think so, that's kind of beyond my skill level."

"But Hild is a tailor," James said, enjoying the unpredictable direction this conversation went. "She'd be able to make it work."

"With my careful oversight," Hild added, "I think you'd perform quite well as a draftsman."

Ducking his head, Caspar just huffed a laugh in response.

"All I'm saying is I'm not opposed to being dressed up," James said innocently. "Gives me something to look forward to."

Hild's eyes lit up at this. "I'm not opposed to helping."

James looked to Caspar, shrugging his eyebrows.

"It's obviously not a priority, but it could at least be a little project to pass the time. Hild seems excited about it," he posed.

Shrugging a shoulder, Caspar agreed simply, "It could be fun."

James was pleased with this turn of events. They weren't talking about him anymore, and Hild seemed in a better mood than she'd been since he'd first met her.

"Do you like designing clothes?" he asked, turning to Hild.

"On the rare occasion where I could design something completely new," she said, "yes, I enjoyed it quite a bit. Most people in Needle Point only ever required mending and patch-ups, though, so the work was often monotonous and dull."

"I can imagine so," James said. "It's a shame. I'm sure in a big city you would have more opportunities."

But they both knew why she couldn't go into the big cities. She was far more likely to get caught there, even with the cover of death. And, well, who knew what her options were now that she'd fled Needle Point with no explanation. He was sure if she got far enough, news might not spread that far, but if his name was thrown around and she was associated with him along with the sudden disappearance of Alexander...

He'd rather not think about it at the moment.

Hild tilted her head, giving James a once-over. "By the way, would you consider shaving as well? It would help sell the look."

"Sure," he said with a slight shrug.

It had been over a year since he'd been fully clean-shaven because his hair grew so fast, but he didn't really care too much.

"What do you think --" he said, turning his head a little. "Should I keep growing my hair long or take it up a bit?"

"Just a trim would work nicely," she said.

James nodded.

"You, mountain man," she said suddenly to Caspar, "you need a clean up too."

"I do wonder what you'd look like clean-shaven," James mused.

Caspar's smile tightened a little. "I'm good, thanks. You can keep wondering."

James pouted his lips a little and he nodded.

"Fair enough," James said. "What about you, Hild? Are you wanting a change?"

She sighed. "I suppose I should." Hild tugged on a stray strand to examine it. "I'll be happy to not have to dye it anymore."

James tilted his head to the side and squinted up at her. She dyed it?

"What's your natural hair color?" he asked.

Hild brushed her hair back over her shoulder. "Much darker than this."

James hummed, observing her.

"Yeah, you should grow it out," he said. "It'd look nice."

"I shall," she said, smiling again, "thank you."

"Do you ever braid your hair?" James asked.

Hild hummed. "Not often."

"If you ever want it braided, once I'm able to sit up I could," James said. He looked to Caspar. "Yours too. It's just long enough."

With brows raised, Caspar didn't seem to know how to respond to that.

Hild pulled her hair forward, creating a frizzy mane around her face. "If you can tame it, absolutely."

James grinned.

"It'll be easier to braid when wet," he said. "But I think I could make it work."

It had been a long time since he'd braided anyone's hair but his own, but it was nice to focus on something that was just muscle memory for him, now.

"I look forward to it," Hild said, now tying her hair back in a loose bun. "You'll have to hurry along the healing process, then."

"Can't say I'm not trying," James said. "I normally bounce back pretty quickly though."

That was only a partial truth. He did bounce back quickly, but half of that was because he pushed himself to.

She hesitated, seeming to catch the implication. Voice softening, she added, "Teasing aside, don't push yourself, especially not on my account."

James brushed it off.

"It's just a scratch," he said dismissively.

Hild gave him a flat look, but didn't argue the matter. James felt uncomfortable under her gaze, knowing what she must be thinking. He'd tried joking, but the reality of it all still hadn't really hit him yet. He didn't want to think about how he almost died, and how he killed a man to keep Hild and Caspar from dying too. He was in denial, sure, but he wanted the denial to stay.

He let out a small sigh and looked up at the sky as it was starting to darken. It was quickly shifting from pink and orange to a dark blue that started to seep in at the edges.

"You two... should probably get some sleep," he suggested.

Pushing himself to his feet, Caspar stretched. "Eventually, yeah." He wandered off a short distance away.

Hild looked at James pointedly. "You especially."

James let out a small sigh.

Trying to sleep while in pain was always difficult and fitful. He would try, sure, but he could make no promises.

He closed his eyes.

"Look, I'm doing it," he said.

Hild hummed, sounding unimpressed. "In record time."

James opened his eyes again.

"I think I'm good, now," he said.

Reaching over, Hild placed her hand over his eyes. "No."

James fought back against a smile, but not that hard, as it still formed.

He slid his arms out from under his blanket and grabbed her hand, holding it.

"This is good. You're blocking out the light," he said.

Slipping from his grasp, Hild yanked the blanket up over his face. "This should be just as effective."

James started a laugh, but the moment he started, his whole stomach ached with a deep, stabbing pain. What started with one "ha" ended quickly in a groan. He kept the blanket over his face, not really wanting Hild or Caspar to see him in pain again so they could hound him for it.

Folding the blanket back down, Hild leaned over him. "Keep 'fun' to a minimum. Noted." Her tone was light, but her eyes were concerned.

James sighed, looking away.

He was always keeping 'fun' to a minimum. Why should this be any different? Besides, 'fun' made people more attatched. Then again, he was already too attached.

"I'm fine," he said lowly. "Just hurts to laugh is all."

Hild leaned back out of his space again. "You will be fine," she agreed determinedly. "Just take it easy for now."

"Will do," James said more distantly.

The leaves shifted as Hild scooted away and hunkered down for the night as well. James turned his eyes up to the darkening sky, watching as the stars startd to come out, one by one.

Again, he found the tip of the archer's arrow.

With Alexander no longer on their tail, they could afford to stop for some time while James recovered enough to be functional, but he really didn't want to stay stuck by the river for long. It would take some time before anyone realized Alexander was gone, unless Alexander gave the sheriff in Needle Point some kind of time indicator for when he'd be back. He wasn't sure that he would've.

Frankly, he wasn't sure of anything besides the fact that they at least weren't in immediate danger because of Alexander. But there were still many other pressures. Survival in the wilderness brought with it the struggle against weather, nature, and maintaining their resources. If -- or when they did make it to a town, they'd still have to keep their eyes out for trouble.

Safety was never guaranteed. And that was always proven true when he let his guard down.

Even though he was in a lot of pain, and unable to move quite like before just yet, he was still going to keep his eyes and ears open. Unfortunately, that made it even more difficult to sleep, but as the night dragged on, it eventually pulled him under.

Caspar and Hild evenly split night watch between the two of them. She insisted on first watch this time because she didn't like sleeping into the day. He didn't have the energy to argue, and actually fell asleep pretty quickly when she ordered him to at least lie down.

Once daylight at last broke during his shift, he settled against a tree near the horses and opened to a new page in his journal.

From where they set up camp, they had a nice view of the river. A portion of it up ahead was tumultuous as the water broke over jagged stones. The shoreline was covered in tall grass and shrubbery. A long-billed bird waded through the water just above where the river began tumbling down the rocky incline.

He filled the page with the scene, a little too quickly, and set the book down. His hands still itched for something to do.

Hild was up now that the sun was too, so Caspar grabbed some supplies from the hunter's bag, bid Hild good morning, and trekked out a short ways.

A fixed snare would have been quickest. He just didn't want to be finished so soon, because then he would have to go back and think or talk before he was ready. So he took some time to set up a peg snare.

Once he found some sturdy enough sticks, he carved hooks out of the sides so that they fit neatly together, and staked one into the ground. He tied a small noose from one end of a cord, then knotted one of the carved pegs into the middle. The other end of the cord, he tethered to a tree branch overhead.

The pegs slotted together, holding firm with the upward tension created by the bent branch, and he set up a trigger in the noose.

On his way back to camp, he left a couple of markers in the trees to point him back to the snare later.

James had awoken by the time he returned, so Hild rationed the food for the morning.

Caspar figured he should probably try planning ahead to...whatever. He actually wasn't sure where they would go from here. So that was a dead end, as far as trains of thought went. It felt like they would need to linger here for a bit, anyway. He was fine with waiting to cross that bridge when the time came.

Once he helped James with morning stuff, Caspar sat down again with the same knife he used to set the snare and an inch-wide stick. In an effort to stretch the journal as far as he could, he focused his creative energy on carving.

After visiting with the horses (namely Elliot), Hild also settled with a needle, thread, and one of James's torn shirts in hand.

James still lied on the ground with nothing to do himself. So Caspar moved closer and asked, "Have you tried wood carving before?"

"A little," James answered, looking over to him. "Not that I knew what I was doing."

Caspar notched out two indents across one side of the stick. "What have you tried making?"

"Well, mostly just... sharp objects," James said. "When I've attempted to make anything else it ends poorly. I tried at a cat once, and accidentally snapped off the head before I made it to the body."

Caspar huffed a small laugh as he imagined the misfortune, paired with a disgruntled-looking James. "How small was it?"

James hummed and lifted his hands over his chest, measuring about an inch between his fingers.

"This was the head," he said.

Caspar nodded. Under the indents, he cut out a shallow V, just as a guide for now. He'll get to shaping it a little later. "The wood may have been too soft, then," he supposed, "and it's easy to over-carve."

"Maybe you could show me how to carve and I'll teach you how to read," James said. "A trade."

Caspar would like to learn how to read, he always had. Oral storytelling was special to him, but he envied people who could just pick up a whole volume filled to the brim with stories and immerse themselves in entirely different worlds whenever they pleased. His lines of work never required the skill, though, and no one other than Henry ever offered to teach him.

"Sounds fair," Caspar said.

The eastern sea could wait longer.

Looking down again, he etched in long, sweeping arches for wings around the sides.

"Oh," James said. "And write too. It makes sense to learn both at the same time. Forgot to mention that."

Caspar nodded. "If you say so."

"First I will have to teach you how to write your name," James continued. "That's essential."

"Makes sense."

"And then Hild's name, of course. And mine too, I suppose," James said.

"I'd like that," Caspar said sincerely, glancing up.

The tail feathers in the back were marked as well. He turned over the stick and began carving out the front, shaping the chest of the bird.

"And if you're still in the interest of learning different skills, I could teach you how to braid hair as well," James said. "In the near future, of course, when I could sit up and offer my head as practice."

Caspar shrugged. "Perhaps you could."

"Seeing as I'm not met with your enthusiasm on the matter, we'll see, then," James said, folding his hands together over his chest.

He seemed a little fidgety, tapping his fingers against one another. Restless, most likely, from having to stay put for so long.

"Have either of you decided on a name for the third horse?" James asked suddenly.

Hild looked up now that she'd been pulled into the conversation. "No. Were we supposed to?"

"I do think it's helpful to have a name for her to refer to," James said. "But also it would feel wrong not to. It will take some time for her to respond to a different name, but we have no way of knowing what it was before."

She gave him a flat stare. "Well, yes, that's a given. I was just unaware we were brainstorming collectively."

"Oh," James said, as if he wasn't aware of that either. "Well, we could now?"

Hild hummed her agreement as she turned back to her work.

Caspar set aside the knife and stick, and considered the dark mare for a moment. "What about Gwen?"

James hummed.

"I knew a Gwen..." he mumbled.

"Okay, we don't have to go with that then." Nice going, Caspar thought bitterly to himself. One suggestion, and he'd already hit something too personal.

"Maybe something related to the moon," James said. "Moonlight? Moonshine? Moondust?"

"Penumbra?" Hild offered.

"That's a fun name for a horse," James commented. "Unique, too."

Hild gave him a quick, self-satisfied smile. James seemed to catch it and looked pleased as well - either at her reaction or the name she offered. Probably both.

"I think Penumbra would work," James said. "What do you think, Caspar?"

Caspar nodded, smiling fondly at both of them. "It's perfect."

"Penumbra it is, then," James said. "Once I'm back on my feet, Hild, I'll start having you get more acquainted with her, since we'll eventually want you riding her on your own. But not right away. We'll work towards it."

"Sounds like a plan," Hild answered. There was a small gleam in her eyes; she was excited. She turned back to her work.

James seemed content with their agreement, but he soon fell back into silence, staring off towards the horses. His fingers started idly tapping again, and it seemed that though he was silent, his mind was full. He looked distracted.

The image of Alexander's faceless body in the dark flashed in Caspar's mind. It was going to haunt James, he knew. He wanted to maybe ask how he was feeling or something equally dumb-sounding but necessary, just to check in on him, but then wondered if it was too soon.

Maybe James wasn't even thinking of that. Caspar decided to wait on that then.

He wracked his brain for anything else to talk about, or even something to give James so he didn't get too bored or lost in dark thoughts.

"If you're interested, I have sketches for the story of the archer," Caspar said, then internally panicked when he fully registered his own words. That thought wasn't supposed to be said out loud yet. His mind really was shot, his filter was gone.

James's eyebrows shot up with interest, and he looked up at Caspar.

"I'd love to see them," he said.

Well, Caspar had to follow through now.

"Alright, just a sec." He stood, brushing off the dirt and leaves, and went to grab his old journal from the bag on Eir's saddle. While he dug through his things, Eir gave his hair a close sniff, then a happy nudge. He paused in his search to offer some compliments and a quick treat. Delighted with the attention, she straightened again for him to turn back to his things.

He stared at the aged leather cover for a moment. This book in particular was mostly a sort of record of a...more tumultuous portion of his life, but supposed it wouldn't be as revealing as written words might have been. He only really ever drew places and things or animals he found at the time, and anything pertaining to Eindride could easily stay hidden in the first few pages.

As he turned back, he flipped through for the portion of the book with the archer illustrations, then handed it to James.

James took it and held it over his head at an angle to get a good look at it.

"These are really good," he mused, looking them over. "I like your interpretation of the archer as an average person you'd see anywhere you go. In a lot of depictions people tend to make him this big, exaggerated warrior type. This feels more realistic and relatable. The cloak is nice, too."

Anxiously drumming his hands on his lap, Caspar nodded and quietly said, "Thanks."

Hild, having set aside her project, suddenly appeared by James. Lying down beside him, she tilted her head to get a peek. James flicked his eyes over to her but otherwise kept his attention on the journal, leaning it towards Hild so she could see better.

Oh. Now they were both looking.

They could keep it, then. Pulling his knees up to his chest, Caspar figured he could just. Fold in on himself and shrink until he disappeared altogether.

She hummed in agreement. "I like how understated he is," she said. "Of humble origins, like in the story."

"I always found it funny when I saw drawings of him in full metal body armor when he's an archer who depends more on stealth and agility anyway," James commented. "Is he supposed to sneak up on his targets clinking around? This is much better."

"His dog is similarly a reasonable size, light on her paws," Hild said, pointing to the hound on the page. "A very agile build."

"Looks like a bird hunting dog," James hummed. "Very cohesive designs."

James seemed to be mostly done looking at the drawings, and instead held them up aimed at Hild for her to look.

Caspar turned his eyes down to his shoes. "That is very high praise," he murmured, not entirely sure of what to do with all of it.

Hild took the journal to look closer herself.

"Just being honest is all, Cas," James said.

"Have you considered a career in illustration before?" Hild asked as she closed the book and reached it over James.

Caspar took it and retied the leather cord around it. With the book back in his own hands, he was able to release the tension in his frame. "Uh, no, it's more of a hobby than anything."

That wasn't so bad, he then thought to himself. Then he felt bad that he worried about them carelessly flipping through at all, because of course they wouldn't.

"Thanks for sharing it with us," James said with a small nod.

Caspar nodded back with a small, brief smile. "Sure."

"I've tried my hand at drawing, but mostly just maps," James said idly.

Still lying beside him with her hands now folded, Hild turned her head. "What places have you mapped so far?"

James took in a slow, deliberate deep breath - likely more to manage pain than anything else - and then let it out just as measured.

"Pretty much everywhere I've been," he said. "Which is... all over Nye, really. But especially the deserts and the Outlands."

Hild nodded, then sat up, giving James space again.

"Which place have you liked visiting most?" Caspar asked, then hastily added, "If you don't mind. Talking about that."

James hummed softly.

"Well, I've been to a lot of beautiful places," James said slowly. "But there was this one spot in the desert, where the river wound through a canyon, and there was this waterfall... it dropped several hundred feet, and the water was rushing. When the sun would set below the canyon walls, the light would hit the water, and it would shine. And if it hit it just right and you looked at the right angle, there was a rainbow in the water, reflecting in the mist. It was quite a sight."

Caspar nodded as he listened. It sure sounded like a sight. He recalled wandering around Herron and finding a cove with a much smaller waterfall. It looked big to him at the time, and the effect of the mist was similar in a certain light.

"We didn't live too close to water," Hild said, "but my old family home did have a lovely walled garden out back. The only water feature we cared to keep was a stone bird bath. My mother mostly filled the place with some strange things, but it added to the overall charm, I think."

"Strange how?" James asked, looking to her curiously.

"Poisonous plants," she answered, sounding almost wistful, "mosses, and fungi, in addition to medicinal herbs."

"Was she skilled in making both poisons and medicines?" James asked.

"Yes. She liked to experiment with the poisons more, though. She studied them closely to find ways to reverse their effects."

"So she specialized in antidotes," James concluded. "People like your mother are greatly needed."

Hild turned away. "Unofficially, yes. A lot of her work was unfortunately lost in the fire, though, and never given a second thought after."

James was quiet for a moment.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "Is it painful to talk about her?"

Hild shrugged. "I've had some distance from it, and have...come to terms with it." She gave a small smile. "I actually wish I could talk about her more."

James offered her a small smile in return.

"What was she like?" he asked gently.

"Mild-mannered," she answered after a moment of thought, "but mischievous. She liked reading aloud stories at night, and loved music. She had a bit of a sweet tooth, as well." Hild pressed her lips together, then added softly, "And she would've liked you two."

Lyall had described their mother to Caspar before as well. He and Hild both remembered her very fondly, and apparently shared that last sentiment.

Caspar smiled at Hild. "She sounds like she was a lovely person. I don't remember if your brother ever mentioned her name, though."

Hild rolled her eyes. "Of course he didn't, he's a forgetful buffoon."

Caspar huffed a laugh, but didn't disagree.

"Her name was Astrid," Hild said. "Astrid Ashlund. She was so proud of our family business that refused to take my father's name."

"And what was his?" James asked.

"Jeffrey Smith." Hild grinned. "He was actually alright with that, he never liked how common his name sounded."

"Ashlund does sound more dramatic," James said. "Intellectual."

"That's their brand," Caspar said, "so I'd say it's very fitting."

"You live up to your name," James said to Hild.

Hild inclined her head with a small flourish of her hand. "Why thank you, Mr. Hawke."

James huffed through his nose. It was the closest thing to a laugh he was managing at the moment.

"You are most welcome, Miss Ashlund," James said in return.

Straightening again, Hild looked them both up and down. Caspar felt himself correcting his own posture under her scrutiny.

"Do either of you gentleman know how to dance?" she asked.

James glanced at Caspar, but then looked to Hild with a slight smile.

"I do, actually," he said. "When I'm not otherwise mildly incapacitated."

Hild tilted her head with a pleased smile. "You continue to surprise me."

James closed his eyes and shrugged slighlty, looking like he was suppressing a smile.

"I guess I'm more than I seem," he said.

Hild looked to Caspar expectantly. He shifted in his spot and answered, "Um, a little. Like, one or two kinds, and even then, it's been awhile."

There was a delighted sparkle in her eyes. "Once James is back on his feet, you can brush up on those dances. Perhaps learn some new ones."

Now Caspar was very unsure of how to feel about that. "I guess," he said.

"Excellent." Hild seemed quite set on this plan, there would be no convincing her otherwise. Satisfied with this agreement, she stood and returned to patching up the shirt.

James turned to look up at Caspar.

"Looks like you'll be doing a lot of learning, Cas," he said, sounding mildly amused.

Caspar nodded with an unsure smile. "It's frankly a little daunting."

"Well, we can take reading and writing real slow if you want. I'm not in a hurry," James offered.

He cast James an appreciative look. "Works for me."

"Good," James echoed, taking in another measured breath as he looked off to the side, watching Hild as she continued to sew.

He looked like he was getting tired again.

Though Caspar was content to let the silence settle around them, he bit his lip as worry rushed in on him like a ferocious wave. James had been in pain for almost two days now, but they didn't have anything that could take the edge off.

Well. He did, but alcohol was a hard no. So, no, he supposed he didn't.

Caspar's brows furrowed.

They still had lumshade. Could they--

"Mr. Hawke," Hild suddenly called as she tied off the thread, "I believe it pertinent for you to know that the lumshade overdose has been almost completely cleaned out of your system by this point. I would usually have a patient wait a little longer, but--" She folded the mended shirt and set it aside. "--you could probably use something small sooner rather than later to help manage the pain."

James continued to stare in Hild's direction, and it seemed that her words took a moment to register. His eyes opened up just a little more a few seconds later, delayed.

"Oh, no, that's not necessary," James said quickly. "I'm-- I'm managing just fine."

Hild blinked. Then tilted her head slightly. "My measurements would be very precise, there wouldn't be any harm in a much smaller dose of lumshade."

"Oh, I know," James said. "I just prefer sobriety, thank you. More aware of my surroundings that way."

Caspar wasn't sure if he should weigh in on this, so he opted to stay quiet for now.

Hild studied James closely. "Calder and I will be keeping watch."

James stared at Hild for a moment, and flicked his eyes away.

"I'll be fine," he said again, insistently. "It's nothing I can't bear with."

She looked like she wanted to argue, but coolly said, "Very well then. The offer still stands, though." Picking up the shirt, Hild stood and set it by James's head.

James nodded slightly, and turned to look at the shirt.

"All done?" he asked.

"Yes." She paused, staring at him for a moment, then stepped away again.

James looked at the neatly folded shirt by his head, and it seemed like he was contemplating picking it up, but decided against it, leaving it there.

"Thank you, Hild," he said instead.

"You're welcome," she replied lightly, sitting down at the other side of the fire again.

Standing as well, Caspar figured he should check the snare. He glanced back at James - his gaze was distant again.

Kneeling by him, Caspar cleared his throat and asked softly, "Are you sure? It could maybe help."

James twitched his head in Caspar's direction.

"Hm?" He seemed more than a little tense.

"It- it could help," Caspar repeated, confidence now fast waning. "Are you sure you don't want even just a little?"

James seemed to always look a little pained since his injury, but he was still hard to read otherwise. He hesitated, though, avoiding Caspar's eyes.

"I shouldn't," he said slowly, like he was contemplating what words to use. "I've endured-- well, regardless. It-- I'm just resting, is all. It's fine."

Caspar frowned, doubtful that it really was fine. But he just nodded and straightened again. He didn't want to push him too much, so. That was that.

"Alright. I'll be back soon," Caspar said.

James gave a slight, quick nod.

As he walked away, Caspar felt crummy. Though it didn't seem like there was a way to help while also respecting James's wishes, and he supposed he really ought to make himself useful elsewhere instead of uselessly hovering, leaving still felt wrong.

Following the markers back, he found the snare was still empty. He sighed.

James's hadn't been entirely lying when he said he would be fine. He knew he would be, eventually, but a deep stab wound like the one he had in his stomach hurt with a different kind of pain than some of the other more surface-level wounds he had. And it didn't help that the stab wound was added on top of everything else.

The last time he'd been hurt all over like this it took him at least a month to get somewhat back to normal, and that was after pushing himself for days on end.

He'd been alone, then. Trying to care for himself on his own, while being pursued by someone no longer interested in a bounty, but out for blood.

More reasons to not return to the Isles.

When night came, James fell into a fitful sleep. He'd drift off, and his pain would wake him again and again, like his body was playing a game of tug of war. Was he so exhausted by the pain that he had to sleep or so in pain that he couldn't?

He didn't know. Time passed like sap oozing out of a divet in a tree.

Agonizingly slow.

His senses were alert. The towering trees cast dark shadows all around them, shrouding them and everything else in the blanket of night.

But though his eyes were open, he couldn't move again.

Glued to the ground, he stared out ahead of him, watching as a tall slender shadow lumbered towards him, emerging from the trees.

When it came into the firelight, he stared into a cavern of a face. A mutilated skull.

Alexander hovered over him, and though he had no eyes, it felt like he was looking right through him. Like James was his prey.

As James stared into what remained of Alexander's face, he watched in horror as the skin started to shift, and another face started forming in its place.

Slowly, the skin melded back together, but instead of staring into Alexander's reformed eyes, he was staring into Carter's.

Anxiety shot through him as he tried to move to no avail.

Alexander's body, now with Carter's face plastered over it, leaned down closer, until they were face to face.

"They say suffering grows character," Carter said, though his voice sounded melded with Alexander's. "I intend to make you grow even more."

A sharp stabbing pain re-entered his side, and for a moment, everything went white.

James woke up to tears flooding his eyes as pain shook him, shooting up and down his sides, even to his fingertips. It took him a second to register that he'd flung himself on his side and curled up, aggravating everything.

He started heaving heavy breaths, hands shaking as he found the ground and tried to push himself back onto his back. But his vision was heavily impaired, seeing as it was blurred from involuntary tears.

Gritting his teeth, he flopped too roughly onto his back and tensed his shoulders and neck, curling his head back and tightening his fists at his sides.

He snapped his eyes shut and let the tears run down either side of his face as he gradually released tension and tried to relax again.

Leaves by his head crunched underfoot, and Hild leaned directly over him as she knelt down. "I recommend you take something," she said quietly, "to manage the pain."

James couldn't quite get his eyes to focus on her. She was close enough to make out her general facial features, but she was still a bit blurry.

"You mean Lumshade," he said far more shakily than he intended.

"It could help in the long run."

"I don't want to," he said under his breath, trying desperately to have a filter, but his mind was a mess.

Alexander's faceless corpse still haunted him. As did Carter's words.

"You keep disrupting the healing process," Hild said.

"I didn't mean to," James said in earnest.

Her voice turned gentle as she replied, "I know you didn't. But if you weren't in so much pain while in sleep, you'd be less likely to wake up disoriented and hurting yourself even more."

He knew she was right. But it still scared him. Lumshade had given him horrific visions and dreams and he didn't want to live through that again. He didn't want his body to get used to Lumshade, either. Or worse - to depend on it to manage the pain. Because what would happen when it ran out?

He'd have to deal with the pain just like he was now.

That, and he couldn't help but feel anxious at the thought of a needle again, regardless of the source.

He knew what Alexander had intended to do. He'd meant to keep him subdued for a very, very long time. He knew Alexander was gone, and Hild would never abuse that power, but something in him just vehemently did not want Lumshade to ever come near him again.

Hild tilted her head.

Had he spaced out again?

"Alright," she relented, "it's your call." Then she leaned back out of view.

He didn't know how far off she was, but he assumed she wasn't far. He wasn't about to move to figure out for sure. Hild would scold him again for that.

He swallowed.

He wasn't going to fall back asleep any time soon.

"Hild?" he whispered.

He didn't want to wake Caspar - if they hadn't already. Caspar was as light a sleeper as he was.

Hild hummed. Her voice was still very close by, so she hadn't moved far.

"I've... been drugged before," he said faintly. "A different bounty hunter. Different drug. I barely got away."

Hild was quiet for a moment. "This is a different circumstance. You're not in immediate danger anymore."

"I've had Lumshade before," he went on, whispering. "I don't like what it does to me. I'd rather endure this without it. I just want you to understand."

"Very well. I understand," she said. "You don't have to defend your line of reasoning, though, least of all to me. So long as you consider everything logically."

James closed his eyes, feeling his breathing start to steady again.

"I try to," he said. "Consider everything logically."

It was just that sometimes his emotions won out. Like now.

James sighed softly as the crackling of the fire filled the silence between them. He knew he should try to sleep again, but he knew he wouldn't be able to anyway. Not with the vision of a dead man in his head.

He needed to distract himself. He knew he'd otherwise wallow in it.

"You know," he started to whisper again. "I'm glad you joined us. Sorry for the circumstances that brought you here, but glad nonetheless."

Humming warmly, Hild said, "I was planning on moving anyway. I'm glad for the company, as well."

"I guess that means our visit was fatefully timed, then," James mused.

Hiod scoffed playfully. "Ugh, fate."

"I'm not a big fan of it either," James said. "But sometimes it brings good things."

He pointed his eyes in the direction of her voice, but that was all he could manage.

"I suppose it pulled through this time," she agreed.

"At the last second, but it did," James added.

"Yes, fate has famously impeccable timing," she replied flatly.

"Yes," James echoed, and he let out a small sigh.

"Would you agree, Calder?" Hild said, pointedly raising her voice just a little.

So they'd woken him up. Likely a while ago, now. James sighed again through his nose, burying the small pang of guilt.

"Uh, well," Caspar started hesitantly. He shifted, likely turning over to face them now. "I personally think it's timing could use some work." He sounded apologetic.

James turned his head, searching for him. He was partially visible from the other side of the fire.

"Sorry I woke you, Cas," James apologized.

"S'fine," Caspar said dismissively, "I was sort of. Awake already."

Ah. So he heard everything.

James knew that hearing he'd been caught and drugged by another bounty hunter before would only make Cas worry more.

"I see," James said quietly.

"But I, um, wasn't listening to everything," Caspar tried assuring him, "so--"

"He has very good hearing," Hild countered plainly.

"That makes one of us," James said before he could really think through what he was saying.

"--Don't worry about it," he tacked on quickly.

"That's not in his nature," Hild said teasingly.

"So I'm learning," James replied.

Caspar huffed through his nose, sounding a tad put out by Hild's interjections.

"It's... it's good, Cas," James said, trying to mend the mild tension. "That you care. Don't change."

Caspar just went quiet.

Well that either made it worse or better but there was no way of knowing when James couldn't see a single thing either.

"Hild," James said. "You better be careful with the teasing. One of these days I'm going to dish it back to you when you least expect it."

"I'd like to see you try," Hild retorted.

"I'm sure you would," James said. "Unfortunately you will have to wait. I don't make a habit of antagonizing my doctors who are actively helping me."

Hild actually laughed at this. It was quick, but a genuine laugh nonetheless. "A wise decision, Mr. Hawke."

For a moment, James was so shocked and delighted that he'd managed to make her laugh that he forgot to have a witty response. He blinked, eyes brightening up as he searched for Hild, though he felt he likely missed the moment, and she was out of view.

Still, James smiled. A full smile, with teeth.

"I think that's the first one I've made," he finally said.

"First what?" Hild asked, her voice still light with amusement.

"Wise decision," James said, still smiling.

She giggled this time. "I'd have to agree."

"This just isn't fair," James said with a hint of laughter in his voice. "First time I make you laugh and you won't even enter my line of sight."

"You've been making a conscious effort?" She had calmed again, but the airiness lingered.

"A very conscious effort, actually!" James said, feigning offense at the fact that she hadn't noticed.

There was sounds of shifting as she moved to his side and leaned back into view. Her smile was faint. "Well, I'll be sure to keep my guard up from here on out."

"Rude. But I will accept the challenge," James said, meeting her eyes.

She only hummed as she leaned away again.

James released a sigh.

He was trying to be content with the moment, but a lingering fear scrambled back up to the forefront of his mind as if it were panicked at having been momentarily forgotten.

The more you get attached the more it hurts to say goodbye.

Well, his mind knew how to kill the mood.

Whatever lingered of his smile was gone, and he felt a tension build in his chest. He'd let his guard down, hadn't he? Just enough to scare him.

The walls came back up with a vengeance, though the vengeance was unwarranted.

You can't let anyone like you too much or too little. You need to be so average that you are forgettable, and no one will miss you.

He turned his face away from the fire, letting silence hang in the air, however uncomfortable it was, following that affair.

He'd already failed at his own self-instruction. The only way to reverse it was to go from one extreme to another. He'd tried too hard to be liked. But he didn't think he had the heart to hurt Hild and Cas so that they'd be angered enough to cut him off.

Then again, he'd done a lot of things he thought he didn't have the heart to do.

James sat with that thought as it uncomfortably weighed on his chest, festering like an old infection in a wound that never seemed to fully heal.

Maybe I should try to sleep again, he thought.

But he knew that wouldn't get rid of it. It never had before.