Momo speaks, and the simple pasture surrounding them changes before her eyes. His words stroke their paintbrush over it, sharing a different world with Osytha. It’s in more than just the surface description of things; he speaks of the Raakgui with care, affection, even sorrow; and all those colours come through for her.

It’s in the delicate way he touches the flowers. Drawn to them, yet content to leave the stalks unsullied. Respectful even of the tiny, trifling lives. Or is it exactly because they’re such insignificant things? Osytha watches him begin to smile, those blossoms bobbing free from his fingers. She hears such fondness for a few words. Hears a few more weighed by compassion for all the trampled blooms.

And, in a slightly roundabout way, Osytha gets to hear how she appears to Momo. A reminder that those crimson eyes have been on her, too; his cute fluffy white ears pricked her way. That she’s been worth a little of his attention.

Yes, the spirits are right. It is nice to be noticed…

“They sound a bit like you,” she remarks, after one of those comfortable silences heralds a break in Momo’s side of things. “You might be able fight back… but I don’t reckon that means you feel et any less when someone, some thing, is hurtin’.”

The small ones, the easily overlooked and forgotten. They needn’t be useful or relevant to you for them to have a place in your heart. I bet you even feel for the cursed ones. Despite the damage you must see, despite whatever it is they’re doing to you — I reckon you can’t help but feel sorry for them. And for what you have to do to them.

“You’ve a big a heart, Momoshiro, and you keep et open to the world. I… really admire that about you.”

Another peaceful quietude settles about them. Osytha makes a short deviation from Momo’s side to pick up a hazel stick which had tumbled into the field courtesy of an early Autumn gale. This immediately snares Guffy’s attention, and the little dog prances around her feet until she lobs it far and low. Then he’s off like a shot — stubby little legs become entirely blur as he nearly matches the branch’s speed. Meanwhile, Osytha finds herself pulled back into the close, comfy orbit by Momoshiro’s side.

“You might not be able to see these, but I can show you one.”​

She glances over, wide-eyed. Momo brings them to a halt while Guffy trots back up, his smug little face cocked slightly to one side by the long, uneven weight of his prize. He looks up at Osytha, expectantly. Then, a little startled, toward that bruise-dark whorl spinning about the exorcist’s arm. He jerks back at the pop of iridescence… but very quickly, his ears perk up and tail swats madly side to side as soon as he sees the shape float down onto Momo’s shoulder.

A couple strings hum faintly beneath Osytha’s fingers. She doesn’t pay them any mind. Too rapt, her winter-sea eyes, in wonder upon their tiny visitor.

“When I fought it before, it was much much larger... I swear.”​

Well. There is only one possible reply when a man starts making excuses about the size of his wyrm. Osytha shifts her gaze to Momo, her expression ticking over from awe into condescending reassurance.

“Uhuh. Well, you en’t blamin’ et on the cowd, at least. Points for originality.” But, quickly putting her teasing aside, she continues: “… I did see what was left of the field you both fought in, though. I can only imagine what that was like.”

She returns to the rainbow dragon. The little thing has crept down Momo’s extended arm, and is stretching and chirping curiously towards her. For her part, Osytha’s beaming boldly ear to ear. Part of her wants nothing more than to croon over it like some precious baby, beast or otherwise… but as she just said, she does recall those great furrows through the earth, the marks of an incredible Colossus, and so Osytha wonders if this spirit is capable of something like wounded pride.

“You are,” she says instead, opting for more respect, “just magnificent. Pleasure to finally meet you, syr.”

Osytha lowers her eyes, slightly, away from the dragon’s; He said the world gets embarrassed when you stare at it. It hides. Then, brings her hand slowly up to it — not forcing a touch, just proffering the crook of her finger for it to inspect as it pleases. Letting it decide if it wants to come to her. A beast would probably sniff her, have a good look, maybe even a little poke and taste. She wonders how a spirit gets the feel of a thing. How does the world look to their eyes? And how must Osytha appear to this creature here?

“Thank you,” she tells Momo, happily. “Please don’t push yoursen owermuch, but this is amazin’. Ane or twa of the other Knights, they ’ave the Sight — but I nivver thought I’d get to witness such a thing missen. Not properly, like this.”
 
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Momo watched the little dragon with quiet fondness, his expression softening as Osytha regarded it with such open wonder. The creature had none of the great, imposing presence it had possessed when they fought; instead, its long serpentine body coiled loosely around Momo's forearm, tiny clawed feet occasionally finding purchase against his sleeve. Its whiskers quivered with every curious breath, and the fine fins along its head fluttered whenever it made one of its soft, chirping noises. Iridescent scales shifted through impossible colors as it moved, like a little piece of a rainbow given shape.

At Osytha's teasing, Momo's ears perked, and a smile spread across his face.

“It was larger,” he assured her, entirely without offense. “Much larger. Very frightening.”

He paused, glancing down at the tiny dragon.

The dragon looked up at him.

Momo looked back at Osytha.

“...Perhaps it has been eating less.”

A quiet laugh escaped him, and the little dragon seemed to take the sound as encouragement. It lifted its head and gave another curious chirp before slithering farther along Momo's arm.

The dragon seemed to decide that Osytha's offered finger was worthy of further investigation. It stretched its long neck toward her, whiskers twitching as it examined her from several different angles before cautiously pressing its tiny snout against her fingertip.

Momo's smile widened.

“It likes you.”

The little creature gave a pleased chirp and curled its tiny body around Momo's forearm, though its head remained extended toward Osytha. When she addressed it with such careful respect, Momo glanced between them with an unmistakable hint of amusement.

“You don't need to call it syr,” he said. “It'll get a big head and then I'll have to start spoiling it.”

The dragon chirped.

Momo nodded solemnly.

“See?”

Another chirp.

“It agrees.”

His attention lingered on Osytha as she admired the creature, but her earlier words about his heart remained with him. He had not known quite what to say to them then. Compliments about his abilities were easy enough to accept. Being told that there was something admirable in the way he felt the world was different.

Momo lowered his eyes briefly, watching the dragon's tiny claws carefully grip his sleeve.

“I don't know if I am as good as you think I am,” he admitted after a moment, though there was no sadness in the words. Only honesty. “I do feel sorry for them. Even the cursed ones. Perhaps especially them.”

His thumb moved gently along the dragon's back.

“It does not mean I can always save them. Sometimes the kindest thing I can do is make sure they cannot hurt anyone else.”

His ruby eyes lifted toward Osytha again.

“But I would rather understand something before I destroy it.”

The breeze passed gently through the pasture, bending the grass around their feet. The little dragon remained between them, seemingly content with its new audience.

“And I think you are right about the small things,” Momo continued. “They are easy to overlook. That does not make them less important.”

His gaze wandered toward the flowers scattered across the field before returning to her.

“I think that is why I like walking slowly with you.”

The admission came easily, without the hesitation that might once have accompanied it. Only afterward did one white ear twitch slightly, as though he had realized exactly what he had said.

“You notice things too,” he continued, offering her a small smile. “And you are careful with them.”

The little dragon lifted its head, almost as though listening.

“I think the spirits notice that.”

A moment of comfortable silence settled between them before Momo looked down at their tiny visitor again.

“You're welcome,” he said softly. “I'm glad you can see it.”

His smile turned playful.

“Even if it is considerably smaller than you imagined.”

The dragon chirped indignantly.

Momo's ears perked.

“Ah. It disagrees.”

He looked toward Osytha with complete seriousness.

“I think it wants you to know that size is not everything.”

The dragon gave another little chirp, then curled its serpentine body more tightly around Momo's arm, apparently satisfied with having defended its dignity.
 
Momo has a very nice laugh, Osytha decides. That one just now was soft and good-natured; a perfect accompaniment to this tranquil little walk. She wouldn’t mind hearing it again at some point. And maybe, when he’s up to it, he’ll even share a few others from his repertoire.

Being able to hear Momo laugh makes her very happy.

That mirth proves a fickle thing, though. It bobs up and down, in and out of sight like a fishing float cresting the waves one moment, dipping behind them in the next. But, could it be any other way? The reason why he finds such joy in the world around him is the same reason its suffering weighs so heavy. Momo cares. It’s as simple as that.

“You know, et’s funny,” she remarks, while the wee wyrm investigates her hand. “The best people I’ve ivver met, seems they’re allus the last who’d describe theirsen as ‘good’. Meanwhile, et’s the folks what nivver question if they’re on the reight path that you mun watch aht for.” And if anyone would understand that, it’s me. “Anyroad. I nivver said anythin’ abaht you bein’ good — just that you’ve got a big heart. In case that meks et any easier to accept.”

It would be nice for him to be able to see it. Gods know people are their own worst critics most the time, and Osytha’s no stranger to the way self-doubt can sour a compliment. But, when Momo says nice things about her, there’s none of that discomfort, or uncertainty. She can believe him, when he tells her such things. She might believe anything he says.

Well. Barring the subject of his magic wyrm’s endowments, perhaps.

“I think it wants you to know that size is not everything.”​

“Reight you are, syr,” Osytha nods. “Et’s certainly much more discreet. An agreeable stature when et comes to appreciatin’ a constitutional such as this.”

Her gaze returns to the dragon of the hour, and an absorbed expression settles over her face. She’s got a distracted little smile on her lips, one she probably doesn’t even realise that she’s making… which fades, slowly, to be replaced by a strange, almost sad, look.

“I recall,” she begins to say in a distant, little voice, “one perfect, clear, summer’s day upon the coastal road, with the sharp white sand an’ brilliant blue sea shinin’ so bright to be ommust blindin’. I walked down to the water, an’ there I met a mermaid standing in the surf. She wore her fish’s tail as a long skirt around her legs, an’ et’s scales were such an iridescent rainbow sheen, I… I cannot even describe. All we did was look at ane another for a fleetin’ moment. An’ yet…”

Osytha’s expression flickers with a futile search for words which might begin to convey what it is she saw, and the frustration from finding only pale imitations of the truth. After a few seconds, her face stills as she surrenders the effort, falling back into something melancholic as her eyes follow a rainbow ripple down the dragon’s length.

“Ah’ve ’ad dreams snap me awake by fear, an’ from sadness. That were the only time I’ve startled out a dream from sheer beauty. An’ when I awoke, I but wished I’d been a painter instead a knight, just so I might capture that one single image afore et faded. I forget most of my dreams, but that ’un… that ’un I still think of now an’ then. On those perfect summer days.

“I thought I might nivver have such a dream again. Who could’ve even imagined a dream might step into the wakin’ world, instead…?”

… she blinks. Becoming very abruptly, very embarrassingly aware of what rambling words have just spilled off her vapid tongue. The flush she’d come so close to finally ridding her face of surges back with a vengeance, and she straightens up, averting her eyes from both the dragon and whatever expression Momo might be wearing right now.

“Sorry,” she mumbles. “Not quite sure why I said all that. Um.”
 
Momo was quiet for a little while after Osytha finished, though there was no discomfort in the silence. His attention had shifted from the little dragon to her, crimson eyes resting gently upon her face as he listened. He hadn't expected the story, perhaps, but there was something about the way she had told it that made him reluctant to interrupt. The memory had carried its own sort of weight, and he could hear it in the places where her words had faltered.

The little rainbow wyrm seemed less concerned with such things. It had continued its leisurely exploration of Osytha's offered hand, long serpentine body draped loosely across Momo's arm. At the mention of the mermaid, however, its head lifted. A tiny chirrup escaped it, followed by a curious tilt of its head as though it, too, had decided this was a story worth considering.

Momo's mouth curved.

"I don't think you need to apologize."

His voice was soft, touched by the same warmth that had colored his laughter only moments before.

"I think some memories are like that. They wait quietly until something reminds them that they're still there."

He glanced toward the little dragon, watching a ripple of impossible color travel along its miniature body before returning his attention to Osytha.

"And perhaps you said all that because you finally had something in front of you that reminded you of it."

There was no teasing in his expression now. Only understanding.

"I would have liked to see it," he admitted after a moment. "That mermaid."

His ears dipped slightly, thoughtful.

"But I think you did something better than painting it."

Momo smiled at her, small and sincere.

"You remembered."

The dragon gave another tiny chirp, apparently deciding that this was an appropriate moment to crawl back up along Momo's arm and into his wide sleeve. Its tail curled loosely around his wrist before its head emerged again from Momo's collar, peering toward Osytha with bright, curious eyes.

"And for what it's worth," Momo added, glancing down at the creature, "I think it would be rather pleased to know that something so beautiful reminded you of it."

A pause followed.

"Though I suspect it would prefer you keep the part about its stature to yourself."

The corner of his mouth lifted again, a quiet hint of mischief returning.

Momo let the little wyrm settle before looking back to Osytha. There was still that faint warmth in his expression, but something gentler beneath it now.

"Don't be embarrassed for telling me."

His gaze lingered on hers for a moment, warm and unguarded.

"I could listen to you talk forever and never grow tired of it."

The words left him with such effortless sincerity that it took a heartbeat for Momo to realize how they might sound. A faint flicker of embarrassment crossed his expression, and he turned away before it could linger, beginning to walk once more.

His hand rose almost absently to the little dragon perched along his arm, fingers brushing gently over the length of its scaled spine as the tiny wyrm gave a contented little chirp.
 
Momo just… accepts the story. Like how he accepts all the small, delicate things; carefully, gratefully, and without ripping the petals off that piece of her she’d just exposed. Osytha’s gaze remains lowered, but she feels her awkwardness quell back down. Fingers tuck a loose lock of hair behind her ear, and she nods, happily.

"I could listen to you talk forever and never grow tired of it.”​

She looks up at him, then. Gets to see Momo’s own turn at being flustered; just a twinge of it across his endearing face, before the man turns it from her and begins to saunter away. An expression, Osytha has come to understand, he tends to make after finding a particularly fascinating lithological deposit. She watches for a moment, a little lost for words, while the rainbow dragon peeks back at her over his shoulder, its scintillating little head rising up from the haori’s neckline.

Osytha strides quickly to catch up, then falls easily into place at his side. She’s grinning like the cat who ate the canary. Gives him a playful bump with her hip.

“Careful what you wish for, Momo,” she warns. “Et might just come true. I’ll tell you abaht the time I dreamt Guffy was promoted to Knight Commander, an’ we’ll see if’n you still feel the same way after that.”

Instead of launching right into another feverish tale, however, Osytha follows the offer with a reflective little silence.

“But, nay,” she goes on, rather less boisterously than before. “I won’t prattle on owermuch, ’cos I like listenin’ to you as well. Or, ’appen we needn’t even say nowt at all.” Another quiet second passes, as if to demonstrate. “Either way. I jus’ like your company.”

She hasn’t told anyone else about that dream. Despite it resonating so strongly that the echoes still find her from time to time, it had seemed too, well… too fanciful to share. Not the sort of a thing a knight like herself ought to pay any heed, or waste time reminiscing over. No, not just too quixotic for a knight — before now, telling anyone else about that dream would have felt like she was letting the ‘sensible, grown-up Osytha’ mask slip to reveal the impressionable young child she sometimes feels she still is, masquerading around as an adult who knows what they’re doing.

But she’d told Momo.

Osytha watches their feet brush their way along the grass. Looks to Momo’s split-toed socks in their bound, light sandals, as the folds of his hakama sway with each step. Not the big sturdy boots some folks might stomp around the countryside in, which are good at keeping the outside out and one’s feet nice and secure inside. He steps lightly, careful in his tread. Sandals like those, he can probably tell exactly what he’s walking over by the feel through his soles.

What is this feeling? Osytha has never met anyone like him before. No one who’s made her feel this way. A day together and it’s like they’ve known one another a lifetime, for how comfortable it is to share everything with him; how right it feels to be at his side. She’s no naive, clueless maiden — the chance that what she harbours is amorous has crossed her mind — but she’s not sure if it even has anything to do with romance.

She has never connected with someone in this way before. Has never quite felt this peaceful and contented by their presence.

Has never felt this kind of fear, curdling in her heart.
 
Momo’s ears flicked at the playful bump, and for a moment he glanced down at her with a look of quiet amusement. The threat of hearing about Guffy’s imagined rise through the ranks seemed to weigh heavily upon him, though whether he was truly concerned or merely indulging her was difficult to say.

“Guffy as Knight Commander?” he echoed, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I fear the kingdom would not survive such a promotion.”

He let the joke settle between them as they continued along the path, his steps light against the grass. The little rainbow wyrm slithered it's way up and curled comfortably around his shoulders, its slender body shifting lazily with every movement.

There was no need to fill the silence after that. Osytha had said she enjoyed his company, and somehow the words stayed with him more than she might have intended. Momo looked ahead, ruby eyes following the gentle sweep of the pasture, but his attention gradually drifted away from the scenery.

He simply felt... content.

It was an unfamiliar feeling in some ways. Not because he had never known happiness, but because it had been so long since he had allowed himself to simply exist within a moment without searching for what might come next. There was always another spirit to follow, another curse to cleanse, another danger waiting just beyond the edge of his awareness. Even when there was nothing immediately threatening him, some part of Momo was usually listening for it.

And beneath that vigilance was the quieter thing he had grown so accustomed to carrying that he sometimes forgot it was there at all. The restless tightening in his chest. The questions that arrived without invitation. The instinctive need to wonder whether he had said too much, done too little, missed something important. His mind could turn the smallest uncertainty over and over until it had become something much larger than it ever needed to be. It was easier to keep moving than to sit still long enough to hear all of it.

Yet somehow, beside Osytha, the noise seemed quieter.

Not gone. Momo wasn't sure it ever truly could be. But quieter. Much quieter.

He didn't have to anticipate the next thing. He didn't have to measure every word or wonder what danger might be waiting around the bend. For once, there was nothing he needed to fix, nothing he needed to chase, nothing demanding his attention beyond the simple warmth of the person walking beside him.

He could just be here. He could just... be.

And, perhaps more surprisingly, he found that he liked being here very much.

But here, walking beside Osytha, he wasn't listening for anything.

He was simply listening to her.

The quiet rhythm of her footsteps. The occasional rustle of her clothing. The way a sudden breeze shifted her hair. The warmth of her presence beside him. The easy way conversation came and went between them without either of them seeming to need to force it.

He hadn't felt this comfortable with someone since leaving home.

The realization settled quietly in his chest.

For a fleeting moment, Momo wondered if that was why he was reluctant to let the walk end.

His tail moved almost absently.

The fluffy white plume curled behind them, slipping gently around Osytha’s waist before giving the slightest tug. Not enough to startle or stumble her, merely enough to draw her a little closer until their sides brushed as they walked.

Momo seemed entirely content with the new arrangement.

Perhaps sensing the change, the little rainbow wyrm lifted its head from where it had been resting against Momo’s shoulder. Its slender body uncoiled with surprising grace, winding its way along his shoulder before stretching across the small space between them. It settled atop Osytha’s shoulder, its tiny claws finding a comfortable perch against the fabric.

For a moment, it simply regarded her.

Then it nudged its iridescent snout affectionately against her cheek.

Momo glanced over, watching the little creature nuzzle her once, then again, before curling itself comfortably against the side of her neck as though it had decided that this was where it belonged now.

A soft smile touched his lips.

“Excellent judge of character, that one.”

His gaze lingered on the pair for another moment before returning to the path ahead.

Maybe home wasn't somewhere he left, but instead someone he found.
 
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Maybe he notices. Maybe he doesn’t. It’s an abrupt little thing, just on the cusp of hearing. But, when Momo’s tail snakes around Osytha to tug her close… just maybe, a faint gasp of surprise escapes the woman.

He doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t say anything, right back at him.

And Guffy likewise refrains from comment, as does their other tiny friend. Though she does note, from the corner of her eye, how the ever-shifting spirit perks up, sliding away from Momo’s shoulder toward her. She can’t even feel its tiny talons through her gambeson, but senses the weight distribute there beside her neck until the dragon seems satisfied with its new roost.

She turns her head just slightly towards it to get a better view of the sleek visage inspecting her so intently. Her cheek has just bunched up in a small smile, when the dragon presses its tiny face to hers.

Osytha doesn’t know much about these spirits, but the affection in that gesture is unmistakeable.

A soft but very pleased huff slips past her lips, and she lets her eyes drift closed, tilting ever so gently towards that touch; just enough to acknowledge it, to return it.

“Excellent judge of character, that one.”​

“Mmm.” A vague hum of agreement.

Meanwhile, Guffy stares uncertainly at the serpent coiled to Osytha’s shoulder. A small anxious noise rises up from the dog, something on the line between a growl and a whine. Poor boy; is someone feeling a little jealous there…?

It’s a slightly different movement, walking along while tucked in against someone. But they each settle into a considerate, easygoing rhythm which matches the other’s. Osytha finds her fingers brushing into the great bushy white tail curled around her waist, delighting in Momo’s fluffiness. And yet, there’s still something not quite right. A tiny, nagging awkwardness, not in spite of their new proximity, but in fact because of it.

Osytha slips her hand into Momo’s.

There. That’s better.

“Um.” She hasn’t blushed this hard since— well, OK, since yesterday, in the mortifying aftermath of having called Momo ‘pet’. The scarlet across her face burns even hotter than whatever kind of reds the dragon perched beside it could ever dream of mimicking. “I hope… this is alreight…”
 
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Momo’s ears twitched at the small gasp, though he made no comment on it. If anything, the faint curve of his mouth suggested he had noticed and simply chose to let her keep her dignity. His tail remained comfortably curled around her waist as they continued, the soft weight of it settling almost protectively against her. When her hand slipped into his, his fingers closed around hers without hesitation, his thumb resting lightly against the back of her hand as though the gesture required no explanation at all.

The little dragon seemed to approve of the arrangement. After a moment of watching Osytha from its place near her shoulder, it gave another pleased little chirp and nudged its head against her cheek before settling more comfortably against her. Momo glanced toward the pair of them, his ruby eyes softening at the sight, and there was something quietly content in his expression. It was difficult not to smile when both of his companions seemed so perfectly at ease.

“I think it suits you,” he murmured, his gaze briefly dropping to where their hands had joined. “Having a little dragon perched upon your shoulder, I mean.”

His smile widened just enough to betray the teasing note beneath his words.

“Though I suppose I should be careful. At this rate, I may never get him back.”

He let the joke linger between them as they walked, but the comfortable silence that followed was just as welcome. The path stretched onward through the pasture, grass brushing softly against their legs and the occasional breeze stirring the trees ahead. Momo found himself paying very little attention to where they were actually going.

That realization came gradually.

He had spent so much of his life moving because there was always somewhere else to be. Another trail to follow. Another spirit to find. Another village waiting for an exorcist. Even rest had often felt temporary, something borrowed between one obligation and the next. Yet here, with Osytha's hand in his and the warmth of her beside him, there was no particular destination demanding his attention.

For a fleeting, almost foolish thought, Momo wondered what it would be like if the path simply continued forever.

No curses. No spirits. No obligations waiting at the end of it. Just this quiet field, the warmth beside him, and nowhere else he needed to be.

The thought brought a small, wistful smile to his face before reality gently reclaimed him. Their work today had been to investigate, after all, and so far there was little to suggest they had found anything worth pursuing. No strange disturbances. No spirits tugging at his senses. Nothing lurking beneath the peaceful surface of the countryside.

Why did he have to be so damn responsible?

Momo slowed slightly, glancing ahead before looking toward Osytha.

“I suppose... we should probably decide what comes next,” he said, though there was a faint reluctance in his voice. His gaze wandered ahead along the path before returning to her, his ears tilting slightly toward her. “A-About the investigation. Unless you've found something I've missed.”

He gave her hand a small, almost absent-minded squeeze, his tail remaining comfortably curled around her waist.

“Do you have anything else you need to do after this?”

A small smile touched his lips.

“Because if you don't...” He glanced toward the quiet pasture, then back to her. “I wouldn't mind staying a little longer.”

There was no particular excuse attached to it, no pretense that he needed to investigate something else. Momo simply seemed to realize that, if there was nowhere else either of them needed to be, he would rather spend that time here—with her.

“We don't have to keep looking for something that isn't there,” he added softly. “We could just keep walking.”
 
“A-About the investigation. Unless you’ve found something I’ve missed.​

Do you have anything else you need to do after this? Because if you don’t... I wouldn’t mind staying a little longer.”​

Memory dredges up Merifrith’s anxious face. “… as soon as tha’rt done, come find me. Please?” Osytha knows the old girl well enough that she can tell it’s something serious. Still, that doesn’t necessarily mean urgent. Whatever mum wants to share with her has been fine with waiting this long. Surely another small delay won’t hurt?

“… Nay. I dursn’t ’ave anywhere else to be. My time’s all—” just the merest flicker of hesitation, a twitch of fingers in Momo’s palm, before she commits; “—all thine, Momoshiro. But, um. I’ll be honest wi’ thee.” Osytha glances down at the lutinċil tucked out the way into the crook of her arm. “I stopped lookin’ a while ago…”

Quite a bashful look upon Osytha’s apple-red face there, and the little dragon settled on her shoulder doesn’t do much to shield it from view. Yet, when she glances toward Momo, her lips are pursed down against a self-amused grin. As is often the case, it seems like the first person who’s willing to laugh at Osytha is herself.

“If tha’rt ’appy to continue, I would like that. Quite a lot.”

She casts an appraising eye around them. Not so much toward their immediate surroundings, this time, but further. Taking note of trods and tracks, the lay of ditch and coppice, as she imposes what her eyes perceive atop a deeply-ingrained map there in her head.

“Could mek a picnic of et,” Osytha remarks, distantly. “Stop an’ tuck into us provisions in a short while. Mind you, I wouldn’t mind summat fresh to go wi’ us scran.” Her eyes find a desire path worn into the turf at the base of the next hill, and she seems to lock onto that. “There’s an orchard fairly close by. Mightn’t be too late in the season for apples an’ pears…”

And then, a tell-tale twinkle in her eye. A sign the exorcist might very well understand by now spells a dash of mischief.

“’Ow much dost tha ken’st abaht scrumpin’, Momo?”
 
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Momo’s ears perked at her answer, and for a moment he simply looked at her. There was something about the way she said all thine that made the tips of his ears warm, though thankfully the distraction of her admission gave him something else to focus on. His eyes followed hers across the pasture, watching the way she studied the land with the practiced attention of someone who knew exactly what she was looking for. A quiet laugh escaped him when she confessed that she had stopped looking some time ago.

“I had a feeling,” he admitted, the corner of his mouth curling upward. “You have been rather convincing for someone who has already decided there is nothing left to find.”

His tail gave a small, pleased flick behind her, though it remained comfortably wrapped around her waist. The little dragon on her shoulder chirped softly, apparently unconcerned with the investigation having been abandoned in favor of something considerably more pleasant. Momo glanced at it, then back to Osytha as she proposed their next endeavor.

“A picnic sounds lovely,” he said. “Although I should warn you, I am not certain how much food Guffy considers a picnic.”

His gaze drifted toward the dog for a moment, and a faintly amused expression crossed his face.

“I suspect he considers anything within reach to be his portion.”

The mention of an orchard, however, drew a different sort of interest from him. His ears angled forward, and there was a brief spark of curiosity in his ruby eyes before Osytha finally asked her question. Momo stared at her for a heartbeat, then another, as the meaning of that particular word settled in.

“Scrumping?”

He repeated it thoughtfully, as though testing the unfamiliar term upon his tongue. Then his eyes narrowed just slightly, and the smile slowly returned.

“Well, I know what stealing fruit is.”

A pause.

“I am less familiar with the respectable countryside terminology for it.”

His expression had taken on a hint of mischief now, answering the twinkle in her own eyes. Momo gave her hand another gentle squeeze and leaned a little closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially despite the fact that there was seemingly no one around to overhear them.

“Are you suggesting that two perfectly respectable people should simply walk into someone else's orchard and take their apples?”

The amusement in his voice made it abundantly clear that the question was entirely rhetorical.

His gaze flicked toward the distant orchard, then back to her.

“Slippery slope, that...” His smile curved into a grin. “Who knows what else it could lead to?”
 
“The way tha say’st that,” Osytha retorts, “en’t exactly discouragin’ me from findin’ aht.”

Leaning in close with his voice low in her ear, clasped hands talking to one another through their fingers, and his tail teasing around her waist like this… Momo could probably say anything to her, and it would sound like a good idea.

Osytha wonders if he’d noticed the switch. From the way his fine, tall ears had pricked up the first time she said it, and the long look that followed after, she thinks he noticed. Less clear is how he feels about it. But, well… if he’s happy enough to hold her hand, then surely they’re close enough now that he won’t take offence.

Anyway, what were they talking about, again…?

“Regardless — et’s ’ardly stealin’,” she counters, laughing softly. “Not a mere coupledozenapples. Guffy can even ’ave a wee bit. Distract ’im from us other fare, if tha’rt concerned ower that.”

Her grinning demeanour drops away under a mask of mock seriousness, which she then levels toward Momo.

“I’ll also ’ave thee know et’s practic’ly tradition to hit an apple orchard wi’ a few mates,” Osytha declares. “Everybody does et at least once in their life.” Well. Almost everybody. “Hopefully not much more’n once, mind.”

She begins to veer them toward that little track she’s spied. The turf has been worn away to bare earth beneath, leading off from Jenny’s paddocks into an alder coppice. A simple track used by loggers to harvest trunks whose time has come, perhaps… or possibly the mark of opportunistic little apple thieves taking advantage of the cover which grows right up to an orchard’s rear fields?

“… Anyroad, I’d mek sure to pay Godwin back. Et’s a cheeky bit of fun when tha’rt still a young taistrel. Alas; owder, wiser folk such as ussen are burdened by responsibility. An’ most viewsome looks, too. But, mostly responsibility.”
 
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Momo’s grin widened at that, his eyes narrowing with the particular amusement of someone who had just realized he was being encouraged rather than warned. Osytha’s mock seriousness did little to hide the mischief beneath it, and he found himself rather helpless against it. Especially when she began steering them toward the little track, their joined hands swinging gently between them as though they had already agreed upon their next questionable endeavor.

“Ah, I see,” he murmured. “So it is not stealing when there are enough of us doing it.”

He glanced toward her, one brow lifting.

“An important distinction. I shall have to remember that.”

Momo tried to keep a straight face, but his smirk broke through almost immediately.

The path carried them beneath the alder trees, the shade cooling the warmth of the afternoon as the pasture slowly disappeared behind them. Momo followed without resistance, his tail still curled comfortably around her waist, and there was something almost boyish in the way his ears remained perked with anticipation. It had been a very long time since he had done anything simply because it was fun, and there was an undeniable charm to the absurdity of sneaking into an orchard for a handful of fruit.

Her final declaration drew a soft laugh from him, and he looked down at her with an expression of exaggerated consideration.

“Viewsome looks and responsibility?” he repeated. “That sounds terribly burdensome.”

His thumb brushed lightly over the back of her hand as they walked.

“I suppose I shall have to do my part, then. Someone must keep you from becoming too responsible.”

A beat passed.

“Though I admit, I may have some difficulty with the first part. You are rather viewsome yourself.”

The compliment slipped out with such casual sincerity that Momo seemed to realize what he had said only after the words had already left him. His ears warmed, and he looked ahead toward the orchard with sudden interest, as though the trees had become extraordinarily fascinating.

“And if this is apparently something everyone does at least once,” he continued, recovering with a small smile, “I suppose it would be rude of me to leave such an important local tradition unexplored.”

His gaze flicked sideways toward her, mischief returning to his eyes.

“So, then, Taistrel Osytha. What are the rules? Are there rules?”

He gave her hand another gentle squeeze.

“Do we simply take what we can carry, or is there some elaborate ceremony involved? Do we have to run if someone catches us?”

His grin grew.
 
Momo’s acute observation on the algebra of culpability is well-recieved, leaving Osytha to nod along in satisfaction. He gets it, see?

“Another point for Momoshiro Komori,” she announces. “If a crime is shared, so’s the guilt, aye? With us twa plus, say, Guffy ’ere — you too Syr Rainbow Dragon, beg pardon — then we’re dividin’ the guilt for a single crime by four. Can’t be ‘quarter’ guilty of a crime, right, so you mun round et to the nearest integer… which is zero. Ergo, no crime.”

She beams a very self-pleased smile up at Momo. “That’s jus’ mathematics,” she declares, proudly. “Can’t argue wi’ numbers.”

Happiness continues unabated underneath the alders’ shade. Most of the trees have been left to sprout multiple trunks from their felled stumps, and earlier in the year, they’d have blotted out the sky with their crenellated green canopy. But the season’s change has begun to bare their branches and bury this little path of theirs under umber-gold drifts and knobbly catkins. Here and there are haggs; trunks as have reached such maturity that they’ve been marked with scores through the bark to show they’re ready for felling.

Meanwhile, Guffers takes to this change of scenery like a duck to water, disappearing beneath drifts of leaf litter much as a waterfowl might dive for snacks. Osytha watches him with half a wary eye, but none too concerned. He’s been trained out of most his bad habits, and if he does find something that’s especially, grotesquely curious, well… Guffy’s a considerate lad. He’s bound to bring it over so he can show off. If it’s anything too worrisome, she’ll wrestle it off him then. For now, she’s just happy to keep going as they are.

Osytha also likes the sound of having someone keep her from being too responsible. Simply walking along together, lazily swinging their clasped hands back and forth? Momo’s not the only one finding it easier to lay down the mantle of duty. The intelligence she’s bringing back to Astenvale, the schedule she needs to keep, the little bits of news she’s picked up so far that might require a Knight’s eyes to look into them — those concerns couldn’t feel like they’re further away. “And you’re not just a knight.” She’s starting to feel it, aye. Less like the ‘syr’ before her name and more like this ‘Osytha’ person who’s behind it. It’s easier to be her when she’s around Momo.

“Though I admit, I may have some difficulty with the first part. You are rather viewsome yourself.”​

There it is again. She wonders if Momo notices the thing which happens with his ears when he comes over all bashful like that. He’d done much the same when complimenting her looks only yesterday, too. Man has a tendency to speak first and reflect on his words immediately after, which is just another trait Osytha rather likes about him. She likes getting to hear whatever little thing is on his mind from time to time.

She likes knowing that he thinks she’s pretty.

… oh no. When did that happen?

It’s not like it’s the first time Momo’s said as much to her. He did so only yesterday, and back then, Osytha had fielded it like a fun little game. She’d thought it was entertaining to watch him blush and do the ‘ear-thing’, as he looked around for some adequate distraction to set his sights on.

When he says it now, though… it doesn’t feel like much of a game any more.

So she’s also grateful when Momo quickly moves them past it. No; instead of letting Osytha linger on the way she feels when looking at his own bonny features, Momo is bringing them back around to the fine, respectable art of scrumping. Asking in his cheeky-yet-good-natured way about silly things like ‘rules’. And in fact, maybe it’s not so silly a question as all that.

“There en’t exactly ‘rules’ as such, but… some things are definitely considered more sportin’ than others.”

Without thinking much of it, Osytha’s fingers press here and there into Momoshiro’s hand, exploring all the creases and curves therein; islands of tough callous dotted over gentler skin, muscles bunched, tendons cabled, and the ridges of his knuckles.

“Et’s good form to give the orchader a chance to catch on, tha ken’st?” she elucidates. “You get more points the bolder you is. Et don’t just ’ave to be limited to filchin’ apples, neither. Some might carve rude limericks into a tree, or put summat really daft in the highest branches — flyin’ a pair of unmentionables like a flag for all to see, that’s a classic. Really, et’s abaht seein’ how much you can get away with afore you’re discovered. An’ gettin’ chased off is gener’lly considered the only proper way to end a scrump.”
 
Momo's grin only grew as Osytha explained the finer points of scrumping.

“So there are rules,” he mused, giving her hand a gentle swing between them.

His fingers idly toyed with hers as they walked, turning her hand gently within his. His thumb traced along her knuckles while his fingers curled and uncurled around hers, as though he were quietly enjoying the simple familiarity of holding her hand.

Momoshiro listened with the same attentive interest he might have given a lesson in some particularly important local custom, nodding along at the appropriate moments. By the time she reached the matter of rude limericks and unmentionables in the branches, his expression had taken on the thoughtful seriousness of someone already considering the tactical implications.

“Boldness. Creativity. Avoiding detection.”

His eyes narrowed slightly.

“And, naturally, a proper conclusion involving being chased from the premises.”

Momo hummed.

His gaze wandered toward the orchard ahead, taking in the branches and the scattered leaves beneath them. There was a mischievous glint in his ruby eyes now.

“Though I think we can do a pinch better, don't you?”

He turned his attention back to her.

“If the goal is to see how much we can get away with before we're discovered, then simply taking apples hardly seems ambitious enough.”

His tail gave a pleased flick around her waist.

“We should make an occasion of it.”

The words came with such easy certainty that it was difficult to tell whether he was joking or had already begun planning their little escapade.

“Something memorable. Something that would make the orchard owner wonder what possessed us.”

His thumb traced idly across the back of her hand before he added, almost thoughtfully, “Perhaps we could even leave something behind. A gift, of sorts.”

A beat. A finger lifted.

“Preferably something harmless.”

His smile turned sly.

“Though I suppose that depends on how many points we're trying to earn.”

He glanced toward Osytha again, his ears perked.

“So, Taistrel Osytha…”

There was a playful challenge beneath his words, his grin betraying the fact that he was already looking forward to whatever answer she might give him.

“What would you consider an appropriately ambitious scru—?”

Momo stopped.

His ears perked sharply, and his gaze shifted past Osytha toward the trees.

For the briefest moment, something stood among the trunks.

Canine. Or at least, that was what it looked like. A dog, perhaps. A wolf. Its shape was indistinct through the gaps in the trees, there and then—

Gone.

Momo narrowed his eyes, staring into the treeline as his fingers tightened unconsciously around Osytha's hand. Nothing moved. No rustling leaves. No flicker of fur between the trunks. Even the Shroud offered him nothing to grasp onto.

He waited another moment before finally exhaling through his nose.

“Sorry. Thought I saw something in the treeline.”

His attention returned to Osytha, and the faintest sheepishness touched his expression.

“Um... where was I?”

With another glance toward the trees, he gave her hand a gentle squeeze before continuing along the path as though nothing had happened. He couldn't help looking over his shoulder one last time, though.

Nothing.

Momo turned forward again, his grin returning.

“So, what kind of mischief should we impart upon the orchard?”

They continued onward, their footsteps carrying them farther down the path and away from the place where Momo had stopped.

Far behind them, deep among the trees where the strange canine shape had stood, an ✕ had been carved into the bark of an alder.

Jagged.

Fresh.

Smelling faintly of blood.
 
There was no dark shape, no lupine presence when Osytha’s eyes swept belatedly over the patch of woodland which had caught Momo’s attention. But that doesn’t mean she missed how his every line went taut with alarm; ears pricked, eyes locked in, his hand rippling with tension against hers. She might not have spied anything with her own eyes, but she also knows that doesn’t mean much. Not when Momoshiro can see so much more than most.

It doesn’t stop her trying, though, even as he brushes it off and leads them away. Osytha makes her own parting scan of the dappled shadows, but all she can see are grey trunks reaching up to a luminescent canola canopy filtering through the midday sun. And Guffy’s no help at all. The boy’s so engrossed by some stinkhorn he’s found pushing up through the leaf litter, that Osytha could be snapped up by a dragon, and boyo doesn’t look like he’d even notice.

“So, what kind of mischief should we impart upon the orchard?”​

“I…” Osytha wrenches her eyes away from the murk; if Momo thinks it was probably nothing, well, he’d know better than her what he did or didn’t see. So she looks up at him, seeking reassurance in the return of his smile. “… en’t too sure,” she admits. “I like thy idea of leavin’ summat be’ind for owd Godwin — though I might pass on the whole ‘tying my knickers to a tree branch’ thing. Din’t think to pack any spares, tha ken’st.”

And there up ahead, a certain glimmer of daylight suggests a sudden end to the hydra-headed alders, and the beginning of more orderly, well-spaced rows of apple trees. From here, the western end of Godwin’s orchard spills away down a gentle slope, toward his farmhouse and sheds nestled in the nook of their own little valley. As Osytha and Momo stroll on toward it, she begins to idly swing their clasped hands back and forth between them. A ticking pendulum to mark the gears of cogitation turning earnestly beneath her badger’s stripe.

She mentally rifles through her effects, trying to think of what they can use. A lot of her tools as a dusker are out of the picture; setting fire to the poor man’s orchard with the emergency flare, or blowing up a tree or two with her petard… not exactly ‘harmless’. But she has her little box of weaver’s resin, and there’s all sorts of things you can do with that if you know the right sigils. Those spare armonium-alloy strings, they could be used not just as resonators, but also conductors. But of what?

Or maybe she’s over-thinking it. Maybe it needn’t be more complicated than whatever thing they can think to carve into some bark.

Hmm…

“Now, I said I’d be sure to pay Godwin for what we take,” Osytha says, slowly, with a far-away, thoughtful set to her features, “but I’m thinkin’ — ivverybody loves a good treasure hunt, nay? So ’appen we could mak et, sort of, a grand owd adventure for ’im. Summat more fun than jus’ havin’ us put the brass reight in ’is hand.”

Osytha’s eyes re-focus, and then swing up to Momo. “’Ow abaht thissen? Any ideas of thy own?”
 
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