Vyn would've grabbed her chest, as the truth stung right in the ticker, but alas – her arms were pinned down by the pair playing counterweights. The story untold grew more delicious with each of Mikael's squirms. If he was that uncofmortable, he must've done something worthy of a story. The fact that he wouldn't spill only made her even more of a captive...audience.

But milk that spilled too easily was no milk at all, so she didn't press – just let it leak out in bits. Perhaps that made her cruel, but it did spice up the story. She hoped the Eight weren't dragged up to bear witness as often as it was suggested. Would stretch them quite thin. Some days, it was already hard to guess whether there were even a Three, let alone Eight around to keep an eye on things.

„If I was that good at getting things out of people...well, we'd all be drunk by now.“

Not all truths were bitter, but even the prettier ones got to be sour here and there.

„Hi Bran.“ Vyn waved over as the elf got mentioned. „Coming through with some...“ Looked at the mopey exiles. „Refugees.“ She nodded enthusiastically at his unlit pipe and then waved over the undrunk bottles. Same vice really, hanging overhead.
 
'The night is young and the reserves depleting,' said Xen, strongarming Vyn towards Bran and his band of merrymen, like a sacrificial lamb dragged before the altar. Fortunately, none of them were carrying knives. Weapons and drink made for a bad combination. The Sink had taught her that.

'Hello, Bran,' the redheaded devahni echoed Vyn, albeit much more formally. 'Don't mind this 'un, we're just makin' sure she doesn't go wandering off.'

'Again,' chimed in Jen, letting go of one arm as Xen released the other. Bran grunted as the half-blood toed the beaten earth, let his gaze play across the group, as if daring them to make trouble, troublemakers that they were. 'Evenin,' he replied, making it sound more like a statement of fact than a greeting. Trapping the pipe 'twixt his teeth, Bran struck a match, gave it time to flare bright before serving its purpose.

'S'pose yous twos have cooled off enough to come back,' he mumbled, a puff of tobacco smoke and a pointed finger guiding the way, thataway. 'There's meat on the spit, if'n you want somethin' to fill yer bellies other than booze,' he chuckled, eyeing up Vyn. 'Bit late fer you, granted. Still. Should soak up what yer pourin' down your gullets nicely!' Wine, beer, spirits. Or in Vyn's case...

Water? Xen wasn't sure what else they had to hand.

'Clear heads prevail,' the Deva sighed, sparing Vyn an apologetic smile. Like it was her fault she'd blown up big. 'Dunno about you lot, but I could go for a bite right now,' Xen admitted, casting a wary eye towards the edge of camp. 'Honestly, same,' said Jen. Mikael nodded, not wanting to draw attention to himself. Bran chuckled some more.

'Alright, cool.' Xen's eyes glowed like lit coals. 'Let's go stuff our faces!'
 
Vyn never pretended to be a disciplined woman. At first mention, the food was already working itself into her mind, much like the spit had been worked into it. They'd slice and carve bits and mince them smaller yet with teeth and joy – because who could be upset when the meat was good and the fire was still warm?

They could call it clearer heads – but it really was just stuffing. Sometimes you needed to fill yourself up with nice shit so you had somewhere to pull from when the outside went horribly wrong. Food was good that way. Dependable.

No longer spread like a sail between the two women, Vyn flexed her fingers.

„These days, I'm haunted by a lil guy.“ She confided in Bran. „Hard to keep regular hours.“

The mood carried them over to the spit where a couple others were more than eyeing the thing. She hoped it wasn't someone's mount. But in this state, all meat looked similar. Whatever this was had hooves, but insight only went so far.

„Sssss.“ Jeremy's hand pulled away as he sucked his thumb. Everyone knew the fire was hot, but that didn't always lead to being careful. He'd managed to snag a strip of meat on his way out, quickly lodged between his teeth when it burned beyond a finger. But not all pain was horrible.

„Oi! Care with that. They'll say we never feed ya!“ Rebecca stopped her elbow halfway in. Funny as it would've been to see Jeremy chomp on a bone, she'd decided against it.

„Oh, more incoming. Make room.“ Gil called out as people scooted closer together, more spaces opening around the fire.

„If dat boos?“ Jeremy asked, finger still in mouth.
 
'You know you're s'posed to turn that, right?' Faces threw smiles Xen's way as they joined the gaggle by the fire. 'Jez, Becca, Gil. Lots of J's here tonight,' the deva whispered in Vyn's ear, leaving her side to sweep up a stool some sucker had left unoccupied. 'Another Elum tradition, do you reckon?'

Sourcing some wooden bowls from a nearby table, Mikael made his way back to them.

'Oi! Hands off!' Old Winnie chided Jen and the children. Didn't seem to realise most of them were in their twenties. 'Won' be able t' eat wit' yer mitts all burnt up. 'Ere!' A pair of tongs and a knife entered the fray. One sharp, the other blunted, just not the way they were meant to be. Rebecca plucked them up before anyone else got the chance.

'Take a load off, why don'tcha. I've got this!' Flipping the knife, Becca set to with a relish born from an empty tummy.

Shrugging, Xen planted the stool behind Vyn's legs, latching onto her shoulders before she could protest. 'Better take it 'fore I do,' she grinned, noting how no-one else seemed to mind. Figures. Most of them weren't eating for two.

'Alright, alright, pass 'em over.' Jen crowed, taking bowls and filling them with steaming cuts of pork. Least it looked like pork.

'Bout time,' said Jeremy, wiping his singed fingers on his trousers.

'Oh, hush you.' Gil responded, patting the empty space by his side as Xen sat down. 'You already had yerself a nibble. Now you can wait like the rest of us,' he smirked, nudging Xen's arm. 'Nice of you to finally join us,' he smiled, up-nodding Vyn.

'Nice to finally be here,' Xen replied, patting her stomach. 'I'm famished.'

'Positively starvin',' Gil agreed, licking his lips. 'How about it, Vyn? Fancy some piglet?' Like it was even a question.
 
Caught her ear and held on well after the words had passed. Wasn't sure what to do with that. Wasn't much sure of anything as of late. And that wasn't a Vyn way to be. So when Xen's question came, she didn't answer it. She had her own to struggle with.

She was glad Xen was starting to find a home there. And so small bit ashamed to have doubted the newcomer had made any friends. Because there were these moments where the woman was the Sun – all warm and making stuff bounce around her. Then there were others – where she'd – Vyn looked up trying to figure out which of the moons was the dodgiest. It was a difficult task.

Her back folded at the nudge and she was seated alongside them. Wasn't sure she needed a stool. But she wasn't complaining. The ground got considerably less comfortable when you sized up. And the cold of the grass made you want to pee. And she'd peed enough for this lifetime.

„Hungry.“ She nodded, cheerful.

The oncepig got carved up into smoky bits and passed around bowls. Tongs performed better than Jeremy had, and soon everyone had something to nibble on. She got hers first, of course. Vyn wondered why people were so nice to you when you were babied up. Should be you were either always nice or always an ass. This back and forth business couldn't be trusted.

Like all meals you didn't have to cook yourself, the pig was magnificent. Sure, you got to eat some char, there were clear spots where the spicerub didn't hold, and if you pressed onto the meat, you could smell some bear oozing out. Never understood why they liked pouring ale over a spit – but it never tasted bad.

„This aint half bad.“ Mikael approved.

„You doubting our cookin'?“ in more voice than one.

„Mmmh...had a fella ask about you earlier.“ Jeremy's greasy hand pointed to Xen. Didn't stop eating to talk – the only breaks were reserved for bits of booze.

Vyn glanced at Xen. Perhaps it was nothing. But tonight had them all jumpy.
 
So far as suppers went, it wasn't half-bad. Elum didn't fight over the leftovers like the kids from The Sink did; they even let you have a bit extra, if there were any extras to be had. The pig went down a treat with bread and wine. Even the burnt bits.

Couldn't afford to be fussy on the Road. Anywhere, really. A life of plenty, this was not.

Still. Could be worse. Smiling softly, Xen snapped up the last of her meal with relish, outdoing Vyn by the slimmest of margins. Like a gannet, she was. Of course, Vyn's beak was less pronounced, and her squawking was easier on the ears. Most of the time, at least.

'--you earlier.'

'Hmm? What?' Realising she had been staring, Xen turned away, the warmth of the fire suddenly searing. Or was that embarrassment? 'I said there was a fellah here earlier askin' after you.' Jeremy paused to wipe a hand on his trews. Baggy things. Airier than the space between his ears. 'Two fellahs, actually. Big. Had scars and tatts and weapons.'

'Shit, who doesn't?' Rolling up his sleeve, Gil flashed the tattoo inked across his left wrist. An eagle, blue and soaring. Feathery.

'Have tatts... or carry weapons?' Picking at her teeth, Rebecca flicked a sliver of gristle into the flames. 'Ignore these fools. Go on, tell her what they said about her!'

'About me?' Blinking, Xen sat up straighter. Despite the roaring flame and the press of bodies, the Deva found herself grow cold, like she had just seen a ghost. Nobody seemed to notice the fear in her eyes, or the way her hands trembled slightly where she pressed them into the grass. Well. Except Vyn.

'Becca's just pullin' your leg, Xen.' Gil assured her, staring daggers, just not at her. 'Sure, they implied some things, but it's your word against theirs, and you're one of us now.'

'They asked if they could see you,' Jeremy spoke up, less greasy now the others had given him time to clean up. 'Figured you were with the Chief, so we sent them up to speak with you.' The look on her face silenced him quick enough. Jeremy blinked. Slow. Unsure. 'What is it?' He asked. 'Is something wrong?' Jumping to her feet, Xen didn't answer him. Couldn't... even if she'd wanted to.

Glancing back towards the hill, the Deva took a breath to calm her racing thoughts.

'No, no. Everything's fine. I'm just gonna... I've gotta... yeah.' Meeting Vyn's gaze, Xenovia tried to hide the dread gripping her heart. Failed.

Pulling her eyes away, the devahni took off into the darkness.
 
Didn't even have time to reach out for Xen before the other woman got up and walked off into the dark.

„Someone's touchy...“ Was as far as Jeremy got.

„Where's Jem?“

„Who knows? Probably on one of his creepy errands again. You know last time he had me searching the camp for a chicken's left...“

In better days, she would've slapped the shit outta him, but the swipe of today was more of a push and a scratch. Still got Jeremy's attention.

„Shut up!“ She had a knife in her hand without thinking. „I'm not joking.“ Was a time she'd just use the thing and Pale would handle this for her. But she wasn't sure how these rituals would affect the baby. „Get Bran! Anyone from the Nightline.... We might have a problem.“

Where the fuck was Jem?
 
Grass crunched underfoot as she hurried into the darkness between wagons, where the light did not reach. Homes on wheels, their presence offered little comfort to the devahni in that moment. Boxes of oiled cloth and painted wood. Spokes and yokes and wheels. Blocking her in, tripping her up as she raced towards the hill, wide-eyed and panicked.

'Figured you were with the Chief. Sent them up to speak with you.'

Jeremy wasn't to know. How could he? Turning away weary travellers was not the done thing. Kindness, and the kindling of mutual trust, much more important. Save the blades and suspicion for when they were needed. Like right now!

Stopping off at the woodpile, Xen retrieved an axe, testing its edge with her thumb before venturing on. Two men, they had said. Big. Bruisers, then. Or bounty hunters. The thugs from The Sink couldn't find their own arses half the time. But that didn't make them any less dangerous. Dumb people didn't listen to reason.

It was quiet out on the slopes. Dreamy. Starlight bathed the swaying grasses silver as they whispered in the breeze.

Gazing up towards the summit, Xenovia took a second to collect herself, tail swishing anxiously from side to side. It took her a good while to realise she was still holding the wine bottle from earlier. Depleted, now. Will serve if I get into a scrap, she mused, willing her feet to move, axe bobbing along by her side, the cruel iron head parting the grass in its wake.

So intent on reaching Gordar at the top, she did not notice the figure crouching in the half-light until it was too late.

A sliver of moonlight whistled towards her, slicing open her arm as she hastily parried it aside. 'Hello, dearie,' said a voice, soft, and insincere. 'We've been lookin' for you. Miss me?' Light reflected from a bald head as her assailant's hooded features were uncovered. Scars, crisscrossing a pale face. Eyes of ice, and a wicked grin that didn't reach them. Xen remembered who he was, even as he batted her axe away with contemptuous ease.

'Smiler,' she whispered, fear turning her legs to stone as she struck again, too slow to have any effect. 'Why're you-'

It was then something struck her temple, hard.

And all went black.
 
Bran was quick to read Vyn's worry. His long steps up the hillside flanked by Barret and Lena. The youngers eager for action, almost outpacing the oldtimer. He wasn't sure what to do. But that was Gordar up there. And all things being equal – he knew where his priorities were. Worry lined his face, but his shoulders were still lax. That was good – the little ones couldn't see his expression from behind. He couldn't afford to flinch.

He was always of the belief that manning the Nightline was to be a dull task. But every so often, he'd be proven wrong.

„Is this...blood?“ Barret called from behind. The boy crouched before Bran could even turn. He shouldn't have missed something like that. Was it the thoughts of Gordar that had him distracted? Was it his damn eyes giving up with age?

„Fresh?“ Bran replied as he loomed over.

„Deva, spilled in...violence.“ He added as he touched the bloodorange. It wasn't yet fully dry. They could surely...

„Lena, we will need scent them out.“ She mhmmed, halfway done undressing.

Bran knelt by Barret, fingers tracing the familiar indentation.

„Hoofmarks...“
 
Consciousness returned in fits and starts, bringing with it the absence of light, and the presence of pain. In her head and abdomen, wrists and thighs. Everywhere that feeling still held sway. Her skull was the worst. Nausea, and a constant ringing in her ears left Xenovia stomach-sick. Not that she could throw up, what with a gag in in her mouth.

'You realise we're as good as dead if they catch up to us.'

Rocking, rolling, Xen tried to right herself, only to fall short of the mark as the voice continued, saying, 'I told you to keep your blade sheathed. What part of that did you not understand?' Unfamiliar, the voice was met with quiet disdain, and the sound of hooves pawing the dry earth. So far down. 'Oh, I heard ya just fine,' replied another, 'but, well, I just don' give a fuck, if you'll pardon my pronouncin'.'

Silence. The steady clip-clop of horseshoes on stone. A road bearing who-knew-where. Not her Road, Xen realised belatedly.

'Consider yourself fortunate I'm being paid,' said the stranger, thin frame silhouetted by starlight and the void betwixt. 'Were it up to me, you'd still be back in Crown's Hold, picking your nose and playing with your arsehole, Smiler.'

'Oh, ha-de-ha, fuckhead!' The scarred one replied. 'If it weren't fer me, we'd never have nabbed the bitch!'

'Keep it down, for fuck's sake.' The world shook and span as the stranger's horse grew agitated. Lost in a fugue state, Xen did not notice the bandage wrapped around her arm until it started leaking again, bright blood running like liquid fire to stain the horse's flank, over which she been thrown. Some of it carried on, down to the cold, hard earth. Smiler tsked as he reached back to seize a fistful of red hair, gave it a painful tug.

'Wonder why she ain't bothered shiftin' yet,' he smiled, letting go of Xenovia's head. 'Must've clouted 'er proper. Bitch is docile as a newborn lamb.' A laugh, too loud by half.

'Will you shut the fuck up?' Stranger hissed. Craning her neck, the devahni just about made out pointed ears and sharp features beneath a black cowl before succumbing to gravity's pull. 'Won't be long until her people realise she's missing, and your yapping is like to lead them straight to us.'

'Oh, cool yer cock, bounty hunter,' growled Smiler. 'This one ain't got no people, not since she fled the Hold.'

'Willing to stake your life on that?' The stranger asked. When no answer came, he nodded, happy to have finally gotten his point across. 'That's what I thought. Now, ride on, before I decide to take the girl and leave you here to face the music.'

As darkness closed in, Xen found herself drawn to the distant sound of wolves howling. Wild and free as the blood flowing through her veins, and leaking from the gash in her arm, leaving a trail.

North.
 
Behind​

Bran and Barret caught up to Lena and dismounted. No longer holding a primal, her naked ass sat squarely in the grass. Panting persisted between forms, tired flesh caring little for shape.

„We're gaining on them.“ She tapped the ground as Barret threw some rags her way.

„There's more tracks here than they started with...“ Bran felt at the marks that drove down deeper than others. Were those...clawmarks? „Reinforcements lying in wait?“

„The new ones are splitting to the side and changing in number...“ Barret called from further ahead and to the left. „They may have primals of their own.“

The three shared a look. Was this getting to be more trouble than it was worth?

„Doesn't this look fivelegged to you?“ Lena pointed at a set of pawprints.


Elsewhere​

Horses were fast, nasty things. But horses got tired.

Wasn't an affliction they shared.

First they ran alongside the transformed, then with it upon their backs.

Primals got tired too.

Wouldn't be long now.
 
Minutes bled into tens of minutes as the trio rode north. Every jostle and jounce sent shards of pain digging into Xenovia's skull, like daggers driven by sadistic hands. Blood ran into her eyes from a gash on her forehead, and she often found herself blinking to clear them.

Her wrists were still bound, her mouth gagged. She was no witch but, had she the ability, she would have been cursing like one. Or maybe a sailor. They didn't spend much time in polite society, and they had all the best swears.

'Shittin' shitbags!' Smiler's face twisted as his horse became spooked. 'What's gotten into ya, ya silly bastard?!'

A panicked whinny, followed by stomps. Each one feeling like a kick in the head for the deva slung over his mount's rump. The world shifted and tipped, and Xen found herself slipping into the void as the horse reared up. 'Shittin' mule! Get a hold o' yerself!'

'Hey, dolt,' the bounty hunter wheeled on his companion, sword out. 'Careful with the prisoner. She's come a cropper.'

'Who're ya callin' a dolt!' Smiler shouted, not knowing the meaning of subtlety. 'Ye get the girl. I've got bigger problems,' his horse danced and bucked, ears drawn back, eyes rolling white as something- some things moved in the darkness.

Rolling to her knees, Xen half-staggered, half-stepped into the darkness beyond the reach of the hunters' lantern light. Images of death flashed across her mind's eye; spread wings, sundering claws, blood in her mouth. Sweet. So very sweet. The screams of those who had sought her harm... sweeter still.

Months ago now, she thought, finding a rock with which to work at her binds. Months, and still I dream of nothing else.

Something primal stirred within the devahni as she cut away at the rope tying her hands. The need to shift and seek, to hunt and harry. To kill... and devour-

A hand seized her shoulder, dragging her from her thoughts. Behind her, she could still hear Smiler struggling with his horse.

The bounty hunter loomed over her, sharp features skewed by lanternlight. 'Quiet,' he whispered, gaze locked on the sighing, swaying trees. His weapon bounced in his grip, cruel edge gleaming, foreign by its design. Still deadly, though. Bright-blood dripped into Xen's eyes, and she blinked, hackles rising as she caught a scent upon the breeze. Another blink.

And there it was...
 
A small shuffle in branches. Snip and snap of step in the underbrush. A short, nude man emerged, trampled grass stuck to much of his body. The tall stalks around him flattened in a wide circle. Like he'd taken up much more room than any one man should. Steps could be heard even though he stood still. Further in the thicket, something snapped a tree in half.

Jem wiped the foliage stuck to his face, moonlight revealing the amber liquid coating his limbs. His legs seemed wobbled and his outstretched arm held onto...nothing. Looked about ready for the wind to blow him over.

Xen couldn't see them, but the other two could. A half dozen pale beasts in a crescent at his back. Some made attempts to look like animals you'd know. Others weren't as bothered.

„Years I worked the wards...“ He looked past Xen, to the one who wasn't Dolt. „Years.“

More movement could be heard behind the two, where Smiler struggled with his mount. Animals never did like things that weren't supposed to remain here. Shadow fell over the rider and if he turned, he'd find a mouthless figure smiling back, tall and narrow. Almost as tall standing as he was mounted. It reached for the rider, silent.

Because Gallen did always enjoy chores.

„Did you think we wouldn't notice?“ He sounded disappointed.
 
Xen winced as the bounty hunter's fingers dug deeper into her shoulder, holding her in place. Fear, or something akin to it, blossomed on the elf's narrow face, jaw tightening as his eyes darted hither and tither, weighing the odds. It was a look Xen had seen before, as a youth back in Crown's Hold, though she'd rarely worn it herself.

'Only a matter of time, I figured,' answered the elf, sounding resigned. Something dark crossed his face, then, the blade in his hand twitching. 'Told the fool it was a bad idea, but would he listen?' The elf tsked, spat.

Wrestling with his reins, Smiler cursed and halloed, tried to force his mount to obedience, oblivious to his surroundings. The damn thing nearly bolted when the shadow fell across it. Turning, a hand reaching for his weapon, Smiler's scowl turned runny as he beheld the creature standing next to him. Whatever curse he had been about to make perished on his lips as his mind went blank.

A moment's inattention was all it took for his horse to take off, shaking him loose as it disappeared on down the road. Smiler hit the ground with a thud, impact knocking the breath from his lungs.

The elf moved fast. Xenovia couldn't say whether he meant to take her captive or cut her head off. Didn't stay still long enough to find out.

Snatching up the stone she'd used to saw her binds, she dove aside, grass parting beneath the press of her body as chaos broke out. The stone left her fingers in a blur, catching the elf in the eye as his sword cleaved the spot she'd been in. A curse. She rolled again, scrambled on hands and knees towards Jem, who stood naked and alone. Or so it appeared. Xen tried to shout.

A bony hand seized her ankle, and the devahni fell flat on her face as it pulled her backwards.
 
„You still took the job.“ Jem nodded at the only distinction that mattered to him.

His arm slipped down, support free to join the others fanning out around the elf.

Knees hit the ground harder than comfortable. Running was tiring. A winged primal would've been so much more useful, but he wasn't so blessed. Most of the blood used in the rite hadn't been his, but the small bit that had only multiplied the already mounting fatigue.

They would handle it, as they were contracted to.


*​


Bending to grab the ankle was a mistake. Made your vitals lower. Made your back exposed.

Barleyharvest approached in the form of a spotted feline of Silmorael. Barely enough blood for the spots to be an offwhite on an otherwise milky frame. Its tail dragged longer, meatier, and ended in a fifth paw.

Unlikely to be a thoughttief, but he still clicked his secondary shoulder to the right.

It was best to be thorough.

When the jaws came for you, you tasted better when you were surprised.

He hoped they spilled more than they drank. Seemed important.

Couldn't remember why.


*​


The laundry had fallen to the ground. That just simply wouldn't do.

Gallen bent at the hip at an unnatural angle. Spine liked to suggest, but it wasn't in charge today.

The blanket squirmed as he grabbed the opposite ends.

Unusual.

But someone did always moan about chores. So why not a blanket?

He proceeded to fold it into a more soothing form.
 
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