Hector grabbed Willard by the shoulder. "Orders are, rest, Syr Willard," Hector squeezed. Pulled his brother back and turned him towards the village. Pointed with free hand. "So you go and rest," slapped him on the back, right between the shoulders with a thump. "Then stay in twos, come on, can at least help me find whatever hole Edwynna wound herself into.
 
There wouldn't be much rest in his future, Willard felt. Even if he had been ordered to lay himself down for awhile. 'Probably entertaining the children with tales of geists and ghouls. Again.' Their sister-in-anathaeum didn't have much patience for childminding, but she could weave a tale worth listening to when pressed.

'That or she's spreading stories of your heroic deeds about the village. How you lost part of your ear wrestling a Shroud Fiend and whatnot.'

Trailing dust, Willard accompanied Hector back into Lehtoja in search of their wayward friend.
 
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The bushes
Some way uphill from the village​

The brush rattled, raked by the wind that blew stronger with the approaching storm. Hunched in the gloom of evening trees, as she had been for the past hour or so, Kat glared at the village and the shapes milling about it. Adjusted the too large men’s attire about herself in an absent fidget and scratched at the newly cropped haircut beneath her hood, only to stop dead at the crunch of dry pine needles and grass. Underfoot, approaching.

She held her breath, a tense hand drawing the knife tucked to her belt.

“ Janek? “

The woodland shook with a gust, swallowing the whisper. The trees and moss-covered rocks of the incline stood still, making her jump when someone finally moved amidst them. Coming to view and quickly beside her, despite the bare steel in her hand. Janek put his hand on her wrist, shoving it down.

“ Put that away. “
“ What did you do? “ Kat retorted, voice sheer with indignation. Her companion seemed terribly confused by it, wide stare examining the look on her face.
“ What— “
“ They’re on alert. “
“ What? “

Kat punched him in the shoulder. That didn’t make any of it clearer to him.

“ I did nothing — no one saw me. But one fucker came riding in— Must be some other— “
“ I told you we should’ve gone in with the refugees. Blend in. “ She hissed, cutting him off. As ever, Janek remained unconvinced.
“ And let them see us? No. “

Kat growled, shifting on where she was sat to sling another gander over the village. The sight of them all scattering from where the road disappeared betwixt little houses. Where just one had been keeping restful watch by his lonesome a fleeting moment ago.

“ Fuckers. “


*​

Back at the village​

“ How fast can you fly? “

He eyed Syr Lóthlindor sidelong, keeping a leisurely pace where a small path bordered the fenced off backyard gardens. Most still bare from winter, but fast sprouting with herbs and fresh plantings. Dark soil and the faint cluck of whatever few chickens there were left.

“ I need you to seek out Syrs Hoffren and Leinas, to deliver message and, possibly, summons. Depending how they’ve fared on their end. “

They’d been off for days now, without word back. But that had been expected, with how Frej Henriksson’s whereabouts weren’t exactly public knowledge. Whispers in the hidden grapevines and even then unreliable. There was plenty incentive to stay on the move.

“ That is— if you think you can. You’d be heading— “ He added, stopping to stare into the dark North-East.

“ Directly for the storm. “
 
"As fast as you need me, Syr." Farren declared, solemn eyes followed Oliver's attention to the churning horizon, her shoulder rolling in anticipation of the bated winds she would rage against in search of their wayward knights. The storm promised a perfect beast to consume this restless, anxious energy that had coiled inside her since the Knights had arrived, the tension that had built with every new refugee who watched them too closely with haunted eyes. Any task was better than lingering another day wandering the underwood beside a forlorn girl who clung to the lie that her father wasn't lost beneath the boots of corrupt men, her small hands trembling when they gripped Farren's fur.

Syrs Hoffren and Leinas. The two had been in the original marching party to Letohja, but Farren hadn't seen them in a few days, her own duties having consumed her. She tilted her head to Syr Oliver, eyes flaring silver with leashed tenacity, "What is to be the message?"

@Oliver @Hector @Willard
 
A shove at the younger man's side. Nothing hard.

"Count myself lucky that it wasn't a Fiend that had taken it," arrowshafts instead. Nothing vital. Just an ear.

Could still remember the look that had iced over Syr Faramund's face when he had first seen it. Old Mund tried his best to tend to the wound. To the bearish ranger's credit, hadn't gotten infected thanks to his first aid.

"Aye! So I sighted the bastard, and pulled strong on my drawstring," Edwynna's voice carried over the gathered villagers. A group of youths big eyed about the straw haired Dusker, who looked down an imaginary range all squinty eyed and sharp. Mimed letting go of her shot, and clapped her hands together with a loud smack. "Feathered him right in the arse I did," She grinned, all grease and cook smoke in her laugh.

"Ho! Down with the bastard, I say!"

"Fuckin old dog of a sheriff, from what I heard!"

"Fuck Ronaldly and his crooked ass!" they laughed. Clacked mugs full of watered down ale. Easier to share that way it was.

Hector shook her head. "Tellin the tale of old Ronaldly and how he grew a tail feather?" he asked, gently patting a village lad he had come to know as Osoli. "Scuse me, Os,"

"Course, Syrs," the slate haired boy said.

"Eh," the Dusker sounded sour. "Just killin the time till orders come through," she took a drag.

Hector chuffed. "There through, we got first patrol," he said. Gave a flick of the chin.

She smiled a wicked smile as she shook her head behind the mug. "Course we bloody do," she said into the mug. Drank deeper. Set the thing down and got to move. "I'll get my things," pushed the mug to Willard's chest. "Here ya go, Billard," she chuffed. "Don't say I never did nothing for ya," still half a mug's worth of the honeymead. She pat pat him on the shoulder, and moved off.

"Guess you weren't half wrong, eh Will?" Hector glanced over at his fellow Dawnling. In on some joke.
 
'Lucky's one way of puttin' it,' replied Willard, the idle brush of fingers against fletching reminding the dawnling just how damned lucky Hector really was. 'Hear that?' He smiled. 'Someone's spinning a yarn.'

The tale of Sheriff Ronaldly. Classic!

Edwynna was reaching the tail end of her story by the time the two of them made their way through the gathered throng. Village boys, mostly. Those too young or too sickly to be conscripted. Willard knew all their faces, if not their names. The influx of refugees would only muddy those waters further.

Following in Hector's footsteps, Willard waited off to the side as the half-ear shared a quick couple words with the dusker. The grumbling and griping drew a small smile from the knight, and he nodded, grateful, as Edwynna handed off her mug.

'Oh, Winnie, I take back all the nasty things I ever said about you,' he grinned, earning himself a clipped ear as well as a pat on the shoulder.

Examining the mug's contents, Willard shrugged, let his gaze wander over to Hector.

'Only makes me half right, Hectorino,' the knight sniffed, draining the mug down to the dregs in one fell swoop, so that he might drown the worries eating away at his gut. Didn't work, unsurprisingly. Least it'll help me sleep better, he mused, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 'Gonna go catch some winks,' he said, levelling a stare at Hector. Not unkind, just... concerned.

'Be careful,' he spoke softly, mud sucking at his boots as he trudged slowly towards his billet. 'Keep an eye on the sky, and on each other.'
 
A nod. "Careful as a hand, and dangerous as a blade," If he was nervous, he had learned to hid it well enough. Some part of him having seen what plain doubt can do to those around you. What simple confidence might inspire. How much that all mattered, when nothing mattered at all.

So, Hector turned unto the knight, and set onto his patrol with Edwynna.
 
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