Xen's face grew warm at the accusation. 'That's the thing about luck,' she smiled back, saddened. 'Sooner or later, it runs out.' The devahni didn't much believe in it herself. Skill and a little bit of courage had gotten her this far, though, admittedly, bumping into Vyn hadn't factored into her plans.

What even were plans, anyhow?

Fallible as the minds that make them, that's what, thought Xen, thinking of all the harebrained schemes she and her cohorts had come up with and enacted over the years, to varying degrees of success. A bit of thievery here or there never hurt nobody; coffers could always be refilled, assuming an astute mind controlled the strings.

Crunching, creeping their way through the woods, Xen closed up on Vyn as the snows turned thick and treachorous.

'Ought to be,' she echoed the words, liltingly. 'Maybe I'll warn you, maybe I won't. Ain't no point leading if there's no-one to follow.' Grinning, the Deva laid a reassuring hand on Vyn's shoulder, displacing the dusting of snow settled there. 'What're the odds this Jem fellow has his feet kicked up somewhere, warming his tootsies by the hearth whilst we struggle on like two intrepid adventurers?' And their trusty steed. Xenovia had to check to make sure the mare was still following.

'I trust you'll steer us right, Vyn. Have faith. And if you don't, well, at least you have me to keep you company.'
 
Didn't flinch at the hand. And that surprised her. Vyn instead put her own over it and pressed it in place lightly, delaying the pullback. Wasn't sure why she did that. But she appreciated the weight. Something to keep her steady. Head focused, feet on the ground. She didn't ask more about Rat or how his ran out.

„Good odds.“ She didn't believe a word of it, but it felt calming to say anyway. Because Jem wouldn't just leave her...only...the Road waited for no man. „He always was better at finding the fire.“

But Jem wasn't the one that needed to look for the fire. He was the fire. Rest of em were just smoke and Wagons. Some days that was enough. Others...

„You're not bad company“ She admitted. „Could've done a lot worse than a half-frozen...stranger.“ She almost said it aloud, what she suspected.

The slope dipped. And with it, the trees thinned. Smoke, thin and curling, rose between branch and roofline. Vyn slowed. Shoulders tensed. „There.“ Voice barely above the footfall. „Looks like they've got soup on.“

She hoped they remembered more than flies and toads.
 
Xen nodded, let her hand slip from Vyn's shoulder. 'This is true,' she agreed, 'though, I imagine fully-frozen strangers don't talk near so much as I have.' Her scarf crinkled as her lips curled. No doubt the smaller devahni had grown fed up of the incessant questioning over the past two weeks, but at the very least she hadn't abandoned Xen to the throes of winter. Not that she had much choice in the matter, considering they'd shared a saddle most of the way.

As the land sloped further, the trees pulled back, revealing a small village. Woodsmoke drifted lazily from openings in rooftops, and Xen could distinctly make out bodies waddling betwixt the homes. Carrying out chores, most like.

'How quaint,' remarked the redhaired Deva, because it was. Snow crumped softly as she stepped past Vyn, the mare traipsing along after her. Both stopped to regard their fellow - one face long, the other short. 'You can tell all that from the smoke?' Xen huffed a laugh. Her ribs ached in reply. She shook her head.

'And there you were doubting yourself,' she smiled some more. At least that didn't hurt. 'Let's go find your friend, Vyn. Maybe wrangle up some soup while we're at it.' Waiting patiently, Xen held out her hand encouragingly, lest they both wind up with frozen feet.

'Hope its not onion again,' she said, gaze wandering down to the village ahead.
 
Not much of a village, really. Just a handful of roofs huddled together, slouched against the cold. Weed grown by time and accident. Below, dogs barked and chickens answered. The chickens weren't evil. Probably. Life, such as it was.

The simplicity of it might've offered relief had her chest not knotted up. She was slower now. The kind of slow you did before crossing a threshold you weren't sure you should. Behind her, Xen and the mare played their steps in rhythm. She really should name that horse.

They weren't alone and that should've helped. It didn't.

The scarf around her neck slipped loose by wind and step. Vyn didn't fix it. Her fingers were busy with other things. Thumb moving over the cut Onion came from. Xen's words only made her think on it more. She let them eat her. But what if...what if she ate them in turn? What would happen if she just took a bite? Maybe it'd make her more Pale. Or sick.

She snorted. Told herself it was stupid. But the thought hadn't left her. Not entirely.

„Onion would be...“ Her breath caught.

At first, just a figure near the cookfire. Coat too familiar. Shoulders she knew like scars. Head tilted in a half wait, half listen.

There was a ladle in his hand.
 
It wasn't far to the village. A hop, skip and a small tumble. The dogs were the first to spot them, their sniffers scenting strangers on the wind. Mad barking ensued, and then was silenced by a shout. It sounded like a man's voice - harsh and powerful, used to giving commands. An ex-soldier, maybe. Or just someone who really loved the sound of their own voice. It nearly drowned out Vyn's reply.

Nearly.

Stopping, her stance shifting with the powdery snow encasing her boots, Xen turned to look back at her companion, concern hidden behind the folds of her scarf. 'Vyn? You okay?' Tail trailing through the snow behind her, Xen clambered back up to where her sister-devahni stood frozen. Her scarf had come unravelled, revealing a face full of shock, and perhaps a little horror. 'Look like you've seen a ghost,' Xen shivered at the sight, plucking off her mitts to rewrap Vyn's scarf.

'Talk to me,' she said in a low tone of voice, warm fingers working and reworking the fabric until it fit nice and snug. 'Use the words I'm so fond of.' She smiled then, cause that's what friends did when bottling up their worries.
 
Vyn blinked. And again. Let Xen mess with her scarf. Air remembered its bite.

„Didn't think anyone...“ Voice surprised. „Didn't think we'd see him here.“

She didn't explain why it mattered. The Road didn't know how to wait. Couldn't. Not for anyone. But a man had. For Vyn. It was a happy moment. Someone needed to tell her eyes to stop leaking.

„He's a good cook.“ As if that explained anything. But it was true. Felt at the rebound scarf.

„The scarf. Thanks.“ Words still struggled to surface.

„Come on, he'll like you!“ And she damn near ran down the fucking slope.
 
Vyn wasn't making any sense. 'Who'll like me?' Xen asked. 'Onion?' The Deva didn't know Onion could like people. As far as she knew, the Pale was still trying to find its place in the world. Companionship was likely at the bottom of its list of priorities.

Then, it clicked.

Following Vyn's gaze, Xen turned to the study the village. Figures swathed in wool and furs mingled and moved between the buildings. A lone fire blazed on the village "green." Next to it, a shape that might've been a person squatted, tending to a bubbling pot. Smoke, flames, and eyes that seemed to linger much too long for comfort. On her. But mostly on Vyn.

Jem. Xenovia knew it the moment Vyn brushed past her, hurrying off down the slope, as if she'd been given a kick up the arse. She seemed much more animated now, and no wonder. Jem was her best friend. Or brother. Lover?

'Guess we'll find out,' said Xen, lightly swishing the reins in her hand, so as to encourage the mare on. 'What do you reckon they are?'
 
Snow crunched like sugar as she made her way down the slope. No more thinking or worrying. Just the speed of boots and shape by the fire. He was turning when she hit him – beginning to face the noise. The ladle came up in reflex. Swing became consideration. And then it slipped from stunned fingers, clattering against the pot and the earth. Forgotten.

Jem caught her, and then himself. Swing wild, threatening to topple them both. There was no time for gentle. He simply gripped like a vice, at the ribs, where it would bruise. Never said anything. Just tucked his face into her hair. Held her like she had left three years ago and never said goodbye.

Behind them, the pot bubbled. Chickens scattered, offended in their malice. Someone swore in the distance. It all felt like the drums of another camp. Because her ears worked. But her mind took some time.

Further up the path – Xen would find her answer, not in words, but in the mare slowly nudging her side. Mute and knowing. As horses do.

Vyn was already tugging Jem's hand, dragging him back toward them. What little snow had remained forgotten in the descent got a proper kickin' now.

„Come on!“ Over her shoulder, eyes bright. „Jem, you have to meet my friend.“
 
For a second, Xenovia thought she was about to witness a murder. Indeed, the speed and strength with which Vyn attacked Jem would have led most rational minds to the same conclusion. A relief, then, when the two of them ended up in each other's arms. It was cute. Heartwarming.

Even if the sight did leave Xenovia with an ache in her chest.

Jealousy. Envy, maybe. When was the last time someone held me like that? She wondered, smiling, despite the distance she could feel opening up between them. No doubt Vyn would forget her now. She had her Jem, and together they would rejoin the Wagons. The Elum. Their family.

Xen's awaited her in Akkelon. Ma and Pa. The last two people in the whole wide world that would miss her, should she fail to find them. Though, she had a sneaking suspicion they'd come looking for her, if she wasn't careful.

Crisp snow crackled underfoot at Vyn and Jem's approach. Standing up straight, Xen's eyes flitted between the pair, her glee evident in the way she smirked.

'Reunited at last,' she said, happy for Vyn, even if she was feeling sorry for herself. 'You must be Jem. It's nice to meet you. Finally. I was beginning to wonder if Vyn made you up.'
 
„Of course he's real.“ She huffed, breathless from the run. „No one would believe me if I made him up.“

Grin wide, teeth and joy. Her hand gripped his as she dragged him ever closer.

Jem stepped forward. He was short for a Deva, maybe up to Vyn's shoulder. Still managed to look stern though. Dark hair, graying at the temples, whispered of his age more than skin ever could. His coat was worn and his hands calloused. Like his kin, he practiced an artform. His was silence.

One of those hands came up now, offered to Xen.

„I'm Jem.“ Voice low and rough, like it didn't get much use. „Thank you.“
 
No, probably not. Her happiness was real enough, though. Xen liked to think that was all that mattered; it certainly mattered to Vyn. 'Xenovia. You're welcome.' Jem's hands were small things. Fingers like sausages. But he had a grip on him that surprised the big Deva, so much so she almost laughed.

Birds of a feather, she thought, smirking.

Jem and Vyn certainly had their similarities. Both were taken to silence, but that was okay. Quiet could be comfortable too, as Xen had discovered on the road South. And if she wanted to talk, Vyn always found the time -and patience- to lend an ear.

Not like they had shared the same horse.

'Were you cooking?' Glancing over the tops of their heads, Xen homed in on the crackling fire and the pot of questionable contents. She tried not to sound too hopeful. Or rather too hungry. 'Vyn made us skip breakfast,' she explained with an exaggerated sigh, hands on her stomach but a smile upon her lips. 'In her haste to reach you, she forgot all about little ole me. Damn near starving, so I am!'
 
„You see what I've been dealing with?“ A shared look of mock horror. „Sass and starvation.“

But Jem had long since adapted to Vyn's nonsense, so he only shrugged and turned back to the pot. Lid lifted by sausage fingers of his – revealing their sausage kin, floating with tubers and more mysterious bits besides.

He gestured towards the stew like he still held the ladle. His foot found it instead, toe hooking the handle with casual precision. No one was quite sure of Jem's past. No one wanted to ask.

„Was gonna go to waste anyway.“

One of the rounder things in the broth gave a slow plop, sinking just enough to vanish, then popping back up. Winking like.

Vyn crouched closer to the fire, sleeves up, eyes narrowed to the pot. Hands steady with the confidence of someone who would eat three people's fill.

„If she's too fancy for us, we can introduce her...to the chickens.“
 
The smells wafting from the cauldron had Xen's belly rumbling something fierce. Pulling down her scarf, she licked her lips, placing a firm hand on Vyn's shoulder before she could seek to take it all for herself. 'Not anymore it's not,' she replied, sparing Jem a grateful smile as she took a squat next to Vyn.

Heat lapped at her skin and eyes. Smoky tears formed, and she blinked to clear her cloudy vision.

'I've never eaten eyeballs,' she confessed as the trio gathered round. Odd things bobbed amidst the soup. Some round, some stringy like bits of gristle. 'Onions, yes, but beggars can't be choosers.' And ain't that the truth, she thought, needling Vyn with her elbow. 'Fancy people don't go for strolls in the middle of snowstorms, V. They ride 'round in gilded carriages and sip upon the blood of virgins. Or is that vampires?'

Shrugging, Xen clapped her hands together, let them cook a moment as she held them towards the fire. Out here, in the ass-end of nowhere, it was easy to forget one's problems. Newfound friends made the forgetting all the easier. As did the thought of-

'Chickens! Tell me about them.' Shuffling about, Xen settled down on her haunches. 'What makes them worth mentionin'... 'cept that they taste good, obviously?'
 
The eyeball clearly wanted to be chosen. Why else float to the top? Vyn scooped it without ceremony, tongue caught in cheek as she aimed. Nearly bit it off as she bounced the hot mistake between her palms. The damn thing had been soaking in the broth for hours. It slipped and slid across her fingers, a tiny sun trying to escape. By the time it was under control, the yelp did more damage to her pride than burns ever could to skin.

She threw it into her mouth with an earned grudge. A soft pop. The kind that made you wince. Someone, Jem, had forgotten to cut the nerve – and the chewy bit clung to the side of her cheek as the rest made its way down. She chewed on it, hoping to make it easier to go down. Licked her lips, like nothing at all had happened.

“Not just vampires drink blood.” Her voice casual. “You ever seen a sandsister in the morning? Some drink to remember. And some…”

Twack.

The ladle met her knuckles. Harder than play. She winced like it hurt, and her lightest smile refused to meet his eyes.

“Right…Soup talk.” Finally swallowed the nerve. “Got it.”

A few moments for the pot to hiss, for Jem to stir like nothing happened. But she was never very good with quiet, so she filled it.

“Not all evil’s great and monstrous, mind you.” She explained, spooning onions and broth over her way. “Some of it comes feathered. Tiny. Loud. And talons. So many talons. So we must do our part to keep Khurun safe…” She looked to Xen, searching for a comrade. Jem had little patience for these ideas. “…And eat every last one of ‘em.”

Then, without thinking:

“What about you? What do you like eating in the Sink?”

She knew what she did. But it was too late now. So let Xen answer, if she wanted to.
 
'Drink to forget?' Xen wagered a guess, daring Jem to rap her knuckles the same way he had Vyn's. The ladle stayed stirring the pot, and she nodded, pleased with her little victory, even if it was accompanied by a none too subtle roll of the eyes. Jem still possessed both of his, which was more than could be said for whatever or whoever had ended up in the broth.

Shivering -and not because of the cold- Xen huddled close to Vyn as they helped themselves to a serving or two.

Plucking a stringy bit of meat from her soup, the big Deva plopped it into her mouth as Vyn asked her question. Clearly, she had a thing against flightless birds. Or maybe just birds in general, if last week's roast pigeon was anything to go by.

Slurping at her bowl of soup, Xen thought on it a moment.

'Chickens,' she replied, simple and to the point. 'Birds. Trout we fished out of the Wendway or... uh, requisitioned from the mongers. I tried to avoid eating dogs and cats. Mostly cause the former kept me warm during the winters, and the latter brought us rats to eat during the hard times.' How plentiful those were. Sipping, slurping, Xen examined the bits and bobs floating around her bowl, curious as to where Jem had found his ingredients.

Probably best not to ask, she thought, smiling at Vyn, her arm snaking about the smaller devahni's shoulders.

'It's okay!' She promised. 'I don't mind talking about home. Keeps me from forgetting the Road that led me here. To you. And Jem.' She looked down at the bowl in her lap. 'And food!'
 
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