Her gaze wouldn’t rise from the mug, but her lip did twist up.

“That’s why it’s not your ass in the snow.” A hint of amusement faded just as quickly as it came. The thing behind the woodpile would drink or wouldn’t. And Xen had made her point. That didn’t earn trust. But room, maybe.
She settled back and tucked the coat tighter. She resented being up this early.
“Coffee and onions.” Her eyes followed the steam from both mugs. It rose weightlessly. Must be nice.
“Bad combination. But better than nothin’.”

She didn’t look to Xen as she said it. Didn’t need to.

“Most days, we get what’s left. Not what’s right.”

The fire looked at her like it had something smart to say. So Vyn let it crackle. It could speak instead of her. She found it easier lately. She’d said enough in recent days. Perhaps too much.

“Next time.” She added, more to the fire than the girl. “Bring breakfast.”
 
Xenovia hummed softly, before taking a sip of her steaming coffee. Sunlight streamed betwixt snow-capped boughs to paint the campsite in different hues of red, white and brown. The air around them still had an edge to it, but without a vicious wind to drive it home, Xen found it almost tolerable. Almost.

'What I wouldn't give for a straw bed and a mug of mead right now,' she murmured, the heat of her breath mingling with the steam from her cup to form a swirling collage of warmth in front of her.

Vyn's soft voice drew her attention a moment. 'Next time?!' Smiling, a laugh spilled from between Xen's plum-coloured lips, hearty and warm as the cup in her hands. 'What makes you think there'll even be a next time? From now on, I'm going to be on my best behaviour. No more adventuring out during snowstorms or cavorting with shroudweavers, nuh-uh.' Still, breakfast didn't sound so bad. Glancing at the nearby suburbs, Xen's face took on a thoughtful expression.

'Want me to go get some?' Vision bright, she watched Vyn grow silent. 'I have some coin on me. Not much, granted, but enough to buy a loaf of bread and maybe a couple cuts of meat.' Assuming the shops are even open this early, she mused.

'What time is it anyway?' Staring up at the Sun, Xen's kohl-lined eyes narrowed as the light seared them blind.
 
She liked the banter, and the spirits it lifted. But not all words were right. And like notes out of tune, they broke the flow, ruined the mood. She tried to bite it down, but didn’t know how to. Not yet.

“No” As if she’d fight Xen for it. A wall across the Road. “You’re not going back there. Not alone.”

She bit her cheek, knowing how far her thoughts strayed from the Elum way. But ignoring what she saw last night? That wasn’t the Vyn way. Whatever madness forced Xen out before dawn was still there. Same dangers, same ghosts. And while she wouldn’t pry, she wasn’t budging either.

Maybe it was the warmth of the mug, or the lack of any real authority she felt, but her voice softened.

“We’ll figure something out.”

Wasn’t sure if she meant the food, or everything. Suppose it was both.
 
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The reprimand was like a slap, sharp and precise across her cheek. For a few painstakingly slow seconds, Xen found herself unable to move, so surprised was she. They were practically in the suburbs already. A quick trip to the shops posed little risk so early in the morning.

Only, it did, and would continue to do so until the matter was settled.

Blood for blood, an eye for an eye, Xen mused quietly, Vyn's words reminding her of why she was out here in the first place. 'Hmm.' Setting her mug down, the devahni shifted on to her hands and knees. The fire crackled and clicked as she crept closer to Vyn, her eyes narrowed, as if studying the woman closely.

'Yes... it's just as I thought...' Faux seriousness hardened her features. Reaching out, a slender finger extended, she poked Vyn in the belly. 'That's the hunger talking, no doubt about it.'

Grinning, the Deva settled back on her haunches, hands on knees as she regarded her rescuer.

'I suppose we will,' she agreed, nodding for Vyn's sake. 'Bound to be a tavern or two along this Road of yours, and market day's just around the corner.' Even the snow couldn't stop that inevitability.
 
She held stance mid swallow as Xen went to all fours. A brow inched up as the woman…crawled to her. A poke to the belly followed by a snort of coffee, snot mixing with bitter. Bittersnot. That would be a good name for a Pale. Some of it missed the mug. The rest wasn’t so lucky.

“Onion’s supposed to be the strange one.” Remainder cut by a sleeve over her face, wiping the mess off. Perhaps it was for the best if they moved as soon as the coffee was done with. She looked at her snot potion. Her addition probably improved the taste. But it still made the stomach turn. Regretful, she spilled the liquid by the fire. The snow browned with the faintest steam.

“I know these roads. We'll find something.” And she almost asked. How far was far enough?

“We can move when you’re ready.” She got up to check on the horse.
 
'The handsome one, maybe.' Xenovia quipped, deadpan. Over by the woodpile, Onion remained crouched, its limbs frozen in place, as if petrified. She couldn't see or hear it breathing, but she assumed it wasn't dead. Vyn surely would have said something, otherwise.

'I was born ready,' she replied, clambering to her feet with a grunt of effort. ''Sides, it ain't like I brought much with me.'

A cloak and clothes and what little coin she possessed. But no weapons. Not even a knife. Better that way. The guards at the South Gate would've stopped her had she been armed. A devahni from the Sink, carrying a blade? Not likely. Everyone knew only the gangs risked bearing weapons in public. Well. Apart from the odd adventurer who took a wrong turn and ended up getting lost. Usually, when they weren't careful, "lost" led to "missing".

And suddenly some young street tough had some new steel to flaunt, like they wouldn't end up losing it themselves soon enough.

'Should we start breaking down camp or...' She glanced at Onion, let her eyes do the talking.
 
“Handsome’s generous.” She didn’t need to look at the Pale for their intent to be shared. “You handle fire and the mugs.” Behind her, the creature was already in motion. Crude movements, bringing the tent down. “We’ll do the not fire.”

She turned, only once, to watch Onion move. Slow. Careful. Its too long arms struggled with the canvas. It still made a show of folding instead of crumpling. And when it passed the mugs, it took the one she’d left – held it like it mattered. Vyn didn’t say a word. But she’d remember.

Bags got lashed tight. Canvas tucked. The horse knocked at the frosty soil, readying.

Vyn gave the site a once-over, habit more than worry. By the time they were done, there’d be nothing left. Only steam, footprints, and whatever ghosts Pale chose to keep.

“Alright.” She said, for her own benefit. “Let’s get gone.”
 
Two and a half weeks later...

Vyn had been wrong. Dead wrong. 'Guess the Wagons rolled on without us.' Standing amongst the detritus left behind by her companion's fellows, Xenovia could not help but remark on the situation they now found themselves in. Patches of blackened earth stained the clearing in which they now found themselves. Campfires or the remnants of campfires. And around them...

Hundreds of footprints, criss-crossing, overlapping, as if the Elum had decided to cover their tracks by making more tracks.

A rutted road led South, away from the once-campsite. Straight and true, it disappeared into a break in the trees before peeling off to right and left. A fork in the road. Xen had never much understood the term until this moment. 'Don't make things easy, do they?' Sighing, the big Deva looked to Vyn, her honey-hued eyes shining like solar flares in the pale light of a day turned cold and dreary. At least it ain't snowing, she thought, a bitter wind snatching at the scarf hiding the lower half of her face.

'So, what now?' She asked, stomping back towards the devahni and the brave nag that had carried them this far. 'Did they tell you their itinerary before you decided to venture off by your lonesome?' Xen still didn't know why Vyn had done so. But the grateful part of her knew better than to ask.
 
Vyn crouched low, eyes tracing the crisscross of trails, half taken by the mud. Wagons. Hooves. Smaller things – dogs, maybe. Something larger, too. Prints too deep, sunk, melted and refrozen multiple times over. The span between the wheel tracks was wrong. Not the Elum gap. This had likely been another campsite. Perhaps someone camped here after her people had already gone.

Ahead, Xen said something. And maybe the words reached her, but they didn't hold. Not fully. It simply perched at the edge of awareness. A flightless bird. „Mmm.“ Was all the response she had. Because they were supposed to be here. Jem said...
Jem said.
They should've been here. He didn't make those kinds of mistakes.

„Jem said we'd meet them here.“ Her nod tried to pass for certainty, but didn't quite make it. „He doesn't miss.“ But what did that even mean now? This clearly wasn't the place. They weren't there.

A new feeling gripped her gut. Because Vyn didn't know where home was. And she wasn't sure what to make of that.
 
Jem. Not a name she had heard before. 'Right. And when he does?' The proof was in the pudding. Or else the empty clearing they now found themselves in. Looking around, Xen sniffed before driving a furrow through the snow with the tip of her boot, as one sometimes did when at a loss. Even Vyn seemed unsure of what to do next. Xenovia assumed this was something of a first for her.

Were the Elum always this elusive?

'Maybe we should keep moving? This Jem bloke can't have gone far.' Wishful thinking, maybe, but anything was better than sitting still, waiting for fate to catch up to them. Be a real shit if Jem had the same idea, she thought, fully aware she might have just jinxed them.

'Come on. Let's get while the getting's good,' she said, knowing it wasn't like to get much better. 'You can tell me some more stories on the way. Something exciting, perhaps?' She grinned. 'You know you want to!'
 
Felt ashamed at that, she did. Xen was supposed to be the scared one. But now there she was, kicking snow and calling for a move. Vyn's turn to be the squeaky wheel. Shoulders tensed at the realization. Legs felt colder than they should've. And she didn't mention it. But she appreciated the pull. There were times one forgot the shape of the Road. And whether a reminder came through whip or coddle, it was welcome.

So when Xen pulled her along in guise of a story, she accepted. She was good at stories. Confident there. Stories had no Jem who made mistakes. No Vyn that was lost. People in stories were clever like that.

„You want a story?“ Like it wasn't Vyn who needed it. So she got some air in, rolled her shoulders and puffed up:

„Alright, here's a good one.“ Wind was her ally today. Picked up the coat. Flared her hair. Made her look dramatic. Fear was still there somewhere, but it felt smaller now. „There was a toad once.“ Brows shot up. Because it wasn't just any toad. Performer's edge creeping in. „Got lost when the Wagons crossed the southern floodplain. Water came too fast, washed the path away. Everyone thought he'd be eaten, or drowned...or both.“ A pause for effect. How horrible. „But turns out, he made a little camp in the hollow of a broken wheel. Lived there a whole season. Soup of rainwater. Bread of mushrooms. They even say he sang the entire time, horribly, in the way of toads.“ She packed a snowball, but didn't throw it.

„When they found him again, he looked the same. Thinner, maybe. But still him. Only strange thing was – he refused to eat flies. Wouldn't even look at them.“ Stopped herself halfway into a smile.

„Some say it was pride. Others say it was grief. Some think that when a man is alone long enough, the flies start speaking too. So he owes them a debt now. Either way – he's never gone hungry again. And he hasn't spoken a word since.“

A moment passed, and feelings leaked. „Thank you.“ She didn't explain.
 
'I'm sure you're welcome.' Nodding, Xen pasted a smile onto her face as Vyn's tale came to an end. Insofar as stories went, it wasn't terrible, but it did raise a question. 'So, which are we: the flies or the toad?' Xen assumed the latter, 'cause of all the ribbiting they got up to together. Which would make Onion the fly, she mused, looking around for the Pale.

The wind whistled, but there was no buzzing to be heard betwixt trees stripped of their green. Just silence and the occasional crump of snow falling from bent branches.

Winter had made the woods a desolate place to set camp for the night. A small stream circled the edge of the clearing. Frozen in most places, it kept Vyn's nag entertained well enough, and there were holes where hands had made to crack the ice with heavy objects. Proof that someone had been here, and recently. Maybe Jem, maybe not. 'You, uh, come up with these stories by yourself?' Xen's boots trailed a meandering path towards the stream. Here, then there.

'Or did Mama and Papa Vyn pass on the talent for tale-talk?'
 
„Sometimes the fly. Other times the soup.“ Didn't feel like a joke. Not fully. But she shrugged the distinction. Still hard to imagine herself the toad. You never had time to be the one stranded. Someone else always needed saving. Or Feeding. Or remembering.

She followed Xen towards the creek, uneasy. Trying to remember which way was the closest village. They'd probably seen the Wagons pass. She thought about a „Mama“ and a „Papa“, but nothing came. Not really. All children of the Wagons belonged to the Wagons. She knew their names and faces. But when she thought of family, real family, it wasn't blood that came to mind. It was Jem. Always Jem.

He wasn't much older. Ten or fifteen at most. But he'd always been there. Knew how to hush a storm, patch a wheel, make it better without making her feel small. That counted more than blood ever did.

„Some stories come easy.“ She kicked at the ground like Xen. Whatever clarity the other woman got from this, it didn't reach Vyn. „The rest, Jem taught me.“ Voice light. „He tells 'em better, though. Doesn't do voices. But makes you believe.“

Vyn squinted downstream, eyes tight with wind and memory. „If we follow the creek, we'll find a village.“ Then, quieter. „I just...don't remember how far.“

She didn't like the words. Sat strange in her mouth. Not that she'd admit it to Xen or herself.

But she started walking anyway.

„You ask a lot of questions for someone who hasn't told me anything.“ Voice cautious, but curious. „You got a Jem too?“
 
'I don't know... I quite like your stories.' Sure, she didn't always get the message or the meaning behind the tales Vyn spun, but that wasn't the point. Or was it? 'Hope you've got your walking shoes on, then.' The news didn't exactly fill Xen with cheer, but she had suffered worse for less. A walk through the woods was better than whatever fate awaited her back in Crown's Hold.

Even if they did wind up freezing to death in the process.

Tail swishing, Xen followed Vyn's steps closely, with the nag bringing up the rear. Behind them, more footprints were added to the mural of mud, tracks for the next fool to stare at. 'It's true, I do ask a lot of questions,' she grinned, the ground underfoot shifting beneath their weight. 'Best way to learn. As to your question, well, I s'pose that depends on who Jem is to you.' Xenovia imagined an elder brother, or else a parental figure. A caretaker. Someone worth caring about whom cared in turn.

Did Xen have anyone like that? Maybe, once.

But that life is done now, she thought, over and ended. Still, Vyn deserved something for all her troubles. Learning was a two-way street, after all. 'I had a best friend. Rat was his name. Not his real one, obviously, but it's what everyone called him on account of his... um, appearance,' she grimaced. 'He was a storyteller, like yourself. In the harsher winters, he'd take his craft uptown to where the rich folk dwelled. For coin and alms, mostly, but sometimes for food. He shared what he made with the rest of us, and in turn, we looked out for him.' As was right and proper, right?

Xen fell quiet as unwelcome memories forced their way in.
 
„Rat was lucky.“ She kept her tone light. „To have a Jem.“ The glance over her shoulder cast Xen in a different light. Not the freezing half-starved creature she met in the snow, but something bigger. And then, softer still: „To have you.“

She didn't explain the name. Didn't need to. Just tightened her coat. Wind couldn't have it today. Boots felt at the ground, steadier. At another time, in another story, she was the Rat. All ribs. Telling tales for scraps. And maybe still was, sometimes.

Next step crunched the ice and missed a half-buried root. „Come. Village ought to be near.“ A smile crept up her face, because someone had to be the Rat. „You'll tell me if I start walking in circles, won't you?“

It wouldn't be long now. The first houses would appear soon. Smoke from chimneys. Maybe some chickens.

But as the feet grew bolder, the mind couldn't. And a thought slipped in, unwelcome.

Who's Jem's Jem?
 
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