Private Tales Scorched Earth

[Raigryn Vayd]

There was something else about that was playing on his mind. He had imbued the coins with enough magic to act as keys and it was something to do with that. It was just beyond his reach.

"We should get going," he agreed. She was waiting and they needed to set off. He carried sword and bedroll under his left arm, leaving his right hand free. He didn't expect trouble here. They would have come in the night if they were in the village.

They mounted up and got on the move without much delay. Another small village he would barely remember behind him.

The road was nothing more than a dirt track within a few minutes. They were into wide open farmland. It was a cold morning. It had been a colder night. The shadows carved out silhouettes of frost in the grass. The rest had been chased away by the sun, but

"Do you know any of the portal stone symbols?" he asked.

 

[Fife]

Fife was grateful to be on the road again. There were things she’d gotten good at in their year together, and things she was still struggling with. Traveling was very easy, something she could do without thinking. She’d been surviving on nothing in one way or another all her life, and that also felt easy. Talking wasn’t easy, stringing together vague signs and ideas that never came close to what she really meant. Managing her feelings, knowing what she wanted, and navigating a human relationship weren’t easy either.

Fortunately Raigryn wasn’t his usual intuitive self. Unfortunately, it made the ride too quiet as they ventured onward across the plains. The sun had risen at their backs, the shadows of the hills before them shortening and the village fading over the horizon behind them.

Raigryn’s question came as if from another world entirely. Fife turned to look over her shoulder at him.

He’d shown her. Had he forgotten? Fife tried not to take it personally, knowing he wouldn’t have forgotten her in his right mind, but kept the pang of sorrow behind neatly tended mental walls. She finally nodded.

Elbion. Belgrath. Savannah. Allir. She spelled out each name slowly. Not all of them were symbols he’d shown her, but if he didn’t remember showing her the first, she wasn’t going to draw any more attention to it.

 

[Raigryn Vayd]

Raigryn looked around for his writing tools. He remembered that he no longer had them.

"The savannah symbol. That is the one we are going to take."

He had been tempted to draw out the symbolt etched into the stone on the steppes. Dornoch was closer than Oban. He could have dismounted and drawn it in the ground.

Familiarity was safe. If there was an ambush there was no time for hesitation.

"It's a long time since I was at Oban," he said, sitting a little higher in his saddle. The introduction sounded far more like Raigryn. A brief introduction to what would be a long story.

A story of a boy in the cusp of becoming a man dragged along on a diplomatic mission to an old fashioned city. Reluctance that had turned to wonder upon seeing the gryphons the nobility there were so proud to have domesticated.

 

[Fife]

Raigryn gave her instructions she could follow. Fife nodded curtly and was ready to take that as a victory -- to consider any amount of planning and foresight as a better start today than any day in the past week. It was progress, slow and undeniable.

Except he continued. Fife listened to every word as if it would be the last because it very well might be and yet the sentences kept coming. Halting at times as he struggled to gather his thoughts, he was still putting together a story that kept the dreaded quiet at may for a little while longer. A story from his youth. A story that, while broken, made sense.

Stopping her smile was impossible. She kept her eyes fixed on the path ahead and suppressed the urge to look back at him until he eventually fell silent. It felt like the natural conclusion to this conversation and not a stop halfway through an idea. Only then did she smile over her shoulder.

You have seen a cat-bird? she asked, combining the words for cat and bird since she didn't even know how to spell it. What are they like?

A difficult question, but one worth pursuing. A little faith that Raigryn would get better in time. A little hope to heal what was hurting.

 

[Raigryn Vayd]

"Catbird," he mused quietly. "Rare enough in most of the world that the idemni would never make a sign for one."

"I never saw one up close," he admitted. His eyes narrowed as he tried to cast his mind back. Distant memories came with far greater ease than recent ones.

What had changed was that they evoked feelings again. It was as much the reason he had continued the story as Fife's smile had been.

Raigryn had once lost his sense of taste after falling ill with half the excursion force in Prince Diefling's second campaign West. He had gained quite a lot of weight upon returning home when he could taste things again.

"I heard there are more of them in Oban now. Smaller than those eagles we might have seen."

 

[Fife]

He had a response. Fife smiled, a simple kind of happiness settling in where her morning’s anxiety had previously been. It was far and away an improvement from where he’d been only a week ago. She was glad -- not just because she wanted him to remember her, but because she wanted him to be himself again.

She really had nothing to say or add, facing forward once again and trying to imagine what a gryphon might look like. Kids with no homes and no families and nothing in general told a lot of stories. She’d heard about them, had been told stories about them as monsters or the mounts of heroes or the givers of wisdom and magic, but they were an idea -- a fantasy that didn't live outside of those stories. Fife might have called anyone else a liar, but (as far as she knew) Raigryn had yet to openly lie to her. Seeing one in real life would be about as thrilling as seeing the dragon or those eagles or--

Fife turned around abruptly.

The eagles were very big! she signed quickly. Her brow furrowed in alarm. What do you mean SMALL cat-bird??

 

[Raigryn Vayd]

The eagles were a mystery. One that wasn't at the forefront of his mind now, but that he wouldn't let rest forever. His last trip into the mountains had not gone well. An expedition would need to be well funded to brave the conditions and the hostile creatures that called the mountains home.

Raigryn shook his head. It was too easy to get distracted still. He needed to focus on now and what was immediately ahead of them. If their damned serum had cut him away from his emotions without clouding his mind then at least he could have thought ahead with a cold logic.

"Small like...the size of a horse," he said, looking down. "I think. Like I said...did not get to see one up close."

 

[Fife]

A horse? Horses were considered small? Fife shook her head and huffed in amusement. Perhaps he had always been tall-ish and couldn't recall how big everything felt at her stature. And he had seen quite a lot of things over the years. She supposed a horse might feel small to her someday, too, if she ever saw enough of the world.

He had answered her question rather well and she could see him losing it. That was enough brain power for now. Fife reached behind her and laid her hand over his knee. She smiled warmly and meant it.

Maybe we will see them, she offered as a way to give him something to look forward to, and also a convenient segue back into the silence. Her other hand lingered on his knee before returning to the reins.

Fife gave her attention back to the road. They were almost halfway there, where the road would split in two directions at a small creek. The closer they got to it, the more anxious she felt about it, but she held onto their moment of simple happiness to keep her grounded in the middle.

A creek wound up from across the plains to meander beside the road and they rode alongside it for a while before finally arriving at the fork.

Fife stopped Dusty and dismounted. She offered to help Raigryn down before she led the horses to the water for them to drink if they wished. When they were finished, she filled a cup for Raigryn and brought it back to him up the gentle rise of the bank with a half smile. Dusty and Socks rested, grazing quietly on the pale brown grass

Almost there, Fife observed, pointing down the right path. She was contemplative as she looked in that direction, toward a rock she couldn't see. Finally, her gaze drifted away and settled on Raigryn. She studied him for a very long time with nothing but the telltale crease between her brows.

Stone or another way? she asked, finally voicing the weight on her mind.

 

[Raigryn Vayd]

His gaze fell slowly. It was always drawn to her hands and her eyes as she spoke. His gaze fell until it reached the length of steel he had stolen from a guard. It was cold and reassuring.

"We could be on the run from them for months if we go another way. If we go to the stone they might have it watched and defended, but once we're through it we are gone."

He looked back up at Fife and sighed. Short term pain and risk or relative safety but watching their backs for a very long time. He had placed her on enough risk already. He had made too many decisions on her behalf.

" Which would you prefer?"

 

[Fife]

They stood at a crossroads, and it was up to her to decide. Fife's gaze made its way back to the road. She had wanted more autonomy and she'd gotten it in the worst way. If it were just herself, Fife knew exactly what she would have done. She would have disappeared from here and left them chasing ghosts forever.

But with Raigryn? If she made the wrong choice, it wasn't just her life she was risking. Raigryn had put them in the path of danger before, but he had always been capable of pulling them both right back out of it. Could she?

The road was as mute as she was. She stared at it like it could tell her what would be the right choice, but it was just a road. It wasn't helping her choose and neither was he. This was her choice.

After a period long enough it seemed as though she wasn't going to answer him, Fife turned back to Raigryn. She picked up one of his hands and turned it over to put her face into it, her cheek cradled in his calloused palm and her eyes closed. Fife waited there for only a few moments, feeling the warmth of his palm and the weight of his touch before sighing, lifting her head, and letting go.

This was a bad idea, but both paths forward put them in danger somehow. There was no happy middle option where they frolicked away from danger unscathed and free of pursuit.

The stone is not far, she signed reluctantly. A bad idea yet better to face trouble now on their terms instead of always looking over their shoulder. She didn't want to do this, didn't want to walk into trouble again. She only had one Raigryn and she had come too close to losing him already. Dancing with death was not fun. It was hard to look up at him, worry waging war on her face as she figured with straightening his coat. Fife swallowed thickly and her eyes were glassy as they finally traveled upward to his.

Be careful.

 

[Raigryn Vayd]

Raigryn nodded. He reached for his sword and pressed thumb to scabbard to drew it free just an inch. He ran his thumb across the blade. It was sharp enough.

"I would agree," he said, knowing that admitting that he would pick the risky path with the greatest path was a bad lesson.

Raigryn smiled.

"I was pretending to be worse than I was so that they gave me less of that horrible potion," he said. He had almost forgotten that.

"Last time they were prepared and ready to catch us by surprise. This time we're coming for them. We go carefully and then we go at them hard. I don't suppose you learned how to deal with their chains?"

 

[Fife]

He agreed. Then that was it, wasn’t it? It was decided and now they would walk right back into the trouble they’d just escaped.

He smiled, and it struck her just how far away he must have been. She was barely hanging onto the urge to cry, on the cusp of what could very well be the last time she got to talk to him, and he was smiling. Fife didn’t know how to feel at the confession he’d been pretending to be worse than he was. She frowned a little and very quickly put that out of her mind. She wasn’t steady enough to think on it without a lot of different feelings fighting for dominion over her mind and she was already struggling with tears. She needed the stability more than she wanted to understand what that meant today. Not today.

She nodded in understanding. Then, sniffling and wiping away the remnants of tears from the corners of her eyes, nodded again.

Yes. I cannot do magic, could not use them, she told him. I understand how it works.

Sort of. She’d spent a lot of time with the kids and then training with the older assassins to prepare for her fights with the mage and empath. Seeing them fight and sparring with them had been educational after way too many lessons with Aretta that had taught her how to read her opponents. Fife couldn’t overpower them, but she could outlast, outsmart, and outmaneuver.

Stay close to the stone. First there takes us through. Fife made their homemade sign for teleporting through the stones, her two fingers blinking out on one hand and reappearing on the other. She did not feel the warmth of nostalgia from it.

 

[Raigryn Vayd]

"Iron does not like to be worked with magic," he said, as much to himself as to Fife. "Dwarves always had a knack for it."

It was almost unnatural to most mages. To be able to imbue their coins with their contracts and use manipulate their chains with magic must have been taxing.

He had been so useless for so long. It almost felt good to go on the attack for once. Lessons learned and laid down in scars across his skin and his mind seemed distant. The side of Raigryn that had learned to temper his rash soul was quiet.

The idemni had seen that man at the head of a cavalry formation.

"Let's get going," he said firmly.

---

There were always wagons running to and from Elbion and the portal stone. During the busiest seasons queues could form to use the stone. It was not so busy right now.

Even as sparse as the convoys were, ripped of rumour ran at the same pace as the three horse riders in Elbion guard colours. Riding up and down checking wagons, the traders were quick to imagine what threat to Elbion could lead to such hasty inspections from the scouts.

 

[Fife]

They had not ridden far on the road to the stone before they started seeing people coming and going. They were few and far between, but with people came feelings and gossip. She sensed an air of apprehension on everyone, and it didn’t take much sleuthing to determine why.

Scouts from Elbion were searching everyone going through the Elbion stone. No one was able to say what they were searching for, but it was pretty obvious to her. Fife exchanged a worried look to Raigryn and wondered if it might be too late to break away from the road and take the other option, but they continued to press on. She wasn’t turning back and neither, apparently, was he.

They joined up with a group of wagons and riders, comprised of different parties traveling together for the benefit of safety and entertainment. Fife and Raigryn wore them like a cloak, blending into their midst as the stone finally came into sight.

Three individuals wearing Elbion colors were there. Fife, riding on Socks, brought the pony closer to Raigryn and Dusty. She opened her mind, widening her senses beyond the very noisy caravan and the stone, searching for anyone who might be hidden in the hills or tall grass.

Three men, Fife told Raigryn, then looked up. Some assassins were good at hiding from me. Trained to find the empath.

A warning that what they saw might not be all there was.

 

[Raigryn Vayd]

Stay close to the caravan until the last moment, he signed. They could have arranged a decoy, he realised. It was too late. He had been too focused on the idea of riding one last glorious charge at the enemy.

They were not riding destriers and covered in armour. They were tired and vulnerable.

At least he had a sword.

Raigryn looked at Fife. For the first time in some months he saw her. The sight weaving a connection into the heart of his feelings. She was struggling. He remembered realising that but never fully appreciating the implications or the responsibility he bore for it.

He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he would throw himself in the path of danger to buy her safety. He also knew with a wash of clarity that he couldn't throw his life away. He had a responsibility to see her through this and it didn't stop at the stone.

One of the three riders started out towards the caravan.

We kill them. Then there are two.

 

[Fife]

She watched his hands long enough to read his sign, then nodded grimly and turned her gaze back to the riders. Fife sighed deeply. Her fingers were twining nervously through Socks’ mane, picking out knots for lack of better employment. For a lack of better means to work through the knots in her mind.

She didn’t see his look. Her mind was narrowing to the riders, probing the surface of their minds. They watched the caravan coming over the hill and one broke away to ride up to them. Fife caught the movement from the corner of her eye and watched Raigryn's sign.

Kill them. Fife’s eyes lingered on his hands, but she nodded. It was the safest course of action, and she couldn’t afford to feel conflict about it now. She’d ride her moral high horse another time.

Stay here. A quick directive comprised of a single, emotionless gesture.

They were already riding at the tail of the group with three other riders on horseback. Fife slowed Socks, pulling him back to pass behind Raigryn and the others. They all flocked to one side of the caravan to get a good look at the guards as they spoke quietly amongst themselves, making it easy for Fife to steer Socks to the opposite side of the van, unseen.

No Empathy was necessary for her to stand on Socks, hop up and grab the eave of the van’s roof, and silently pull herself up. On the roof, she rolled onto her back and settled in to wait, and Socks, left to his own devices, walked back to Dusty alone.

The sky was beautiful. As she listened to the guard approach the caravan and the friendly greeting of the travellers, Fife watched a small string of clouds unwinding across the sky like yarn spinning from a spindle. She closed her eyes, picturing the clouds and imagining birds turning in serene circles, their flight feathers glowing white in the light of the sun above them. Tentative, beautiful neutrality beckoned her in like the cool water of a lake on a warm day.

The voice of the guard drew nearer, however, and her moment for meditation came to an end. She could hear him finishing his inspection of the merchant’s cart ahead of them and riding back toward the final van and the riders at the rear. Time to go.

No thinking. Only doing.

Fife rolled onto her stomach to keep her low profile at the edge of the roof. She drew the knife from her belt and waited, her mind open and alert for any change in his mind as he came closer to Raigryn. Plans had been laid, but she’d throw them aside if it went wrong first.

It didn’t. He came riding past the van, prepared but unsuspecting.

She only had one shot and she timed it perfectly. Fife popped up onto her feet and hopped down in one smooth motion. One quick shot of Desire slowed her descent with a flutter of her heart and a rush of color across her stern face. Her feet hit the horse’s rump as her right hand wrapped around the man’s chin. She pulled his head back as the horse reared, exposing his throat in his armor as the pair pitched backward.

Things happened in a precise, clinical way. The draw of a knife wielded with terrible precision that needed no aid and the guard's shout silenced. A touch of Desire and Fife turning to land beside the guard instead of beneath him. His horse bolting and Fife extracting herself from the guard grasping at his throat.

Fife remained collected, but she was breathless in more than one sense. Her cheeks were flushed from Desire, not exertion. She could not -- would not -- look at Raigryn at all. Instead, she pilfered the crossbow off of the guard and, ignoring the rising alarm of the caravan, took several paces away from him and began loading it with methodical calm.

No thinking. Only doing.

 

[Raigryn Vayd]

Why did you let her do that?

Raigryn watched the guard collapse to the ground. He didn't strike Raigryn as being one of their powerful assassins. Fife had carried out the task with remarkably precision. That wasn't his training at all.

What did I abandon you to?

Guilt had the opportunity to push through the haze. Raigryn pushed it back. There was no time for being pulled off balance. The two riders by the stone were now accelerating from a canter out to meet them.

Their focus was on Fife. She was on the ground, loading a crossbow in a calm and collected fashion.

Raigryn drew his sword. His left hand tightened around the reins and his gave Dusty a firm signal to ride out. His way was not to come at the enemy from the side.

That guilt was still there, latching onto old memories. The glory of the charge, but also the moments that held no glory at all. A pack of idemni skirmishers with their backs turned running for the rocks from him. They never made the rocks.

"Whistle Socks!" he called out. "Shoot the horse, not the man."

It was an instruction she wasn't going to like. The horse didn't deserve it, but it was a large target and unprotected by armour or magic.

He rode out hard, sword held up with the point towards the enemy. They were between him and the stone. The air carried the faint scent of magic. At least one of them was preparing a spell.

The crack of chains drew his attention to the one calling on their power. One chain rippling through the air ahead of the rider. With the speed the two riders and Raigryn were engaging at it could cut him down long before he could swing his sword.

A thought had occurred to him. Iron was almost immutable to magic, especially to his own. Magic itself was not. He called upon a curse, but not for the chain, but the magic that animated it.

The sound of hooves on the ground drowned out the snap of a piece of intricate magic coming apart. Raigryn could see the assassins eyes as the chains lost their life and tumbled to the ground before they could smash Raigryn from Dusty's back.

Raigryn was exhausted, his form wasn't perfect. It did not need to be. He burned through just a mite of Fury and his body went through motions without bothering his clouded mind.

The impact as he swung was jarring. The assassin had started to conjure a physical shield of some kind with his magic around his torso. It almost deflected the blow.

Raigryn's sword came away bloody. The stone was clear ahead of him, but Fife was behind him and so was the last rider.

 

[Fife]

She loaded the crossbow as Raigryn rode past her. It was much larger than the one she had learned on -- the one she had lost -- but she lifted it with naught but a frown of mild discomfort. Fury compensated for her weakened left side.

Fife took aim. She felt Empathy that was not her own, watched Raigryn wound one of the two guards. The other was charging ahead, a length of chain dropping from is hand and Fife in his sights.

Fife waited a few heartbeats more, letting him draw nearer before she squeezed the trigger. Her aim was perfect, piercing the horse in the chest. The beast screamed in pain as it crumpled to the ground and its rider was pitched forward. Fife hesitated, looking from the fallen rider to the bolts on the belt of the guard who had finally stopped struggling.

She made her choice, dropping the heavy crossbow. She whistled for socks and ran toward her pony to meet him. The rider had stopped tumbling by the time she was grabbing Socks’ mane to swing up. She spurred him with an urgent bump of her heels against his barrel chest, and he leapt forward with a toss of his head.

She could see Raigryn ahead in the clear, the other guard’s horse steering wide and its rider slumped in pain. A shot of hope flared through her.

The rattle of chains was an abrubpt return to reality and a stark reminder that she was still well outside of the stone’s circle of effect. She had enough time to look back and see the guard staggering to his feet, the chain already extending from his hand. Fife’s heart leapt into her throat and she threw out her hand and steered Socks sharply to the side. There was a flash of green only a moment before the chain smashed into it where his legs would have been. Her Avarice shield shattered like glass and Socks’ shrill whinny of panic cut through the air.

She knew she’d made an error when she hadn’t taken a second shot. She knew that she would be too frightened to protect Socks again.

Fife’s feet hit the ground a moment later and she rolled, coming to a stop in a crouch to see Socks running on to Dusty without her. She looked past the pony to Raigryn. He was so far away, but he’d made it there. Her eyes were wide with surprise and apology.

Two keys. She understood now.

There wasn’t time to apologize or explain. She turned around and ran the other way, back toward the assassin.

 

[Raigryn Vayd]

Raigryn thought it was done and over. From his perspective it looked as if the horse had rolled across the other assassin, which would have incapacited him at the very least.

There was little of the potion left in his system to shield him from the fear at seeing the chains lash out towards Fife. Luck had favoured the assassin in that tumble.

Socks dutifully trotted after Dusty and left Fife behind. Raigryn wouldn't. There wasn't even the slightest thought of leaving her behind. He had fashioned two keys in case she needed to go on alone, not the other way around. He couldn't touch half the memories of his time with Fife and yet he kicked Dusty back up away from the portal stone.

 

[Fife]

The assassin looked startled, but his fear hit her somewhere strange in a way she did not have time to process. His hand opened and she heard the chain coiling back toward him.

Fife drew from an abundance of Joy, but she didn’t hasten her steps. She felt as much as heard the end of the chain gathering behind her and she dropped to the ground to slide on her back. In the odd way the world moved slower in Joy, the silver streak of the chain was still quick as it flew over her, but she’d evaded what would have certainly broken arms and ribs.

Her mind was swinging to and fro, each Aspect vying for control as she drew from it, but she used the next before she could tip too far. Too much. It was all too much, but she had only known chaos; she could make do with chaos.

Popping back up onto her feet, she reached out and grabbed the last loop of the chain as it was rushing by her. Fury fortified her grip as she dug in her heels and hauled back. The assassin, already unsteady from his tumble from the horse, staggered.

Misery had not been as easy to learn on her own as Disgust and Desire. She wielded it poorly, like a sword swung with brute force instead of precision. Nevertheless, the bolt of Empathy shot toward his leg as he stepped forward and he fell with a shout. Sloppy, but effective. Fife didn’t give him the chance to get up from his knees again. She released the chain to throw her hand out toward the assassin. Avarice, sticky and bright in the sunlight, clung to his sleeves. It expanded and grew up his arms to bind them in place.

It was not much. It wouldn't last long, but she had bought them enough time to go through. She turned on the balls of her feet and ran toward the stone, toward Raigryn, who was riding back to her. No word could have possibly described that feeling. He hadn't left her.

Fife met him in the middle, reaching out to take his hand and swing up behind him onto Dusty’s back. She was breathless and trembling as she wrapped her arms around Raigryn and held on tight.

 

[Raigryn Vayd]

Relief washed over him. He had never seen her draw from her abilities and weave it into the athletic style the idemni had taught her. Relief lasted until he heard the clank of chains from behind.

He had watched them wield their weapons before. They had a precise control over them, probably honed in endless training. Rumours were that the Order plucked children from Elbion's jails and tested them for latent talent. The chains were as symbolic as they were lethal.

Precise meant their innate sense could be thrown off.

Raigryn made no sign of drawing from the slight well of Desire he still held. Just a slight shift in the tug of the world behind them. The whip of the chain struck nothing but soil and the assassin looked upon their failure with confusion.

He was breathing hard and fast beneath her grip, unused to such exertion. He almost lost focus as they slowed up ahead of the stone.

"Oh," he went, reaching for the coin as he checked Socks was within the barren circle around the stone. No grass grew there. He touched the coin to the wrong symbol and they were immersed in darkness.

They emerged to be struck by a biting wind. Snow covered peaks rose around them in all directions.

"The other coin," he muttered, keeping Dusty within arms reach of the stone. A double hop would throw off the Order.

 

[Fife]

Fife's head felt like it was knocking on walls on its way down a shaft, but she still had the faculties to hear the chain rising again. Raigryn beat her to it. Or she assumed he did. All that mattered was that the chain dropped and they crossed the line around the stone.

She dismounted in a hurry after Raigryn to hold Dusty's reins. She felt a moment of fear thinking that he would leave socks, but he was just within the ring of grass, just close enough to--

She heard the clink of the coin against the stone before nothing. Nothing but the rhythmic whooshing, reminiscent of her head resting on Raigryn's chest as he slept, his steady pulse drumming a beat against her ear. For just a few heartbeats, she was alone, peaceful.

Just as quickly, they blinked back into reality. The weight of an imbalanced mind was sudden, but not as shocking as the onslaught of the cold that bit through to the bone. Fife had still been in the process of looking for Socks when they had been teleported and she whirled to see Raigryn's hand lifting away from the wrong rune. They were dressed for a prairie chill, not frozen mountains! He could have picked any other known rune to throw off their trail. Why pick the cold one?!

She handed Dusty’s reins to him and whistled for Socks. He was nearby, but Fife's call was swallowed by the howling wind. The pony veered away from them; he had never liked teleporting and always threw a fit in his stress.

Fife didn't hear Raigryn as she dipped past him, fighting the strong wind that did its best to knock her down. Socks danced nervously away from her, but she reached in and grabbed his reins before he could bolt. Her relief was visible. The tension dropped from her slumping shoulders.

Leading him back to Dusty, Fife calmly reached past Raigryn and touched the Savannah stone rune. She drew from her Aspects as he had shown her in a memory that seemed like a lifetime ago. Avarice answered as she pressed the magic into the portal stone.

When they reappeared her ears were left ringing in the abrupt quiet. There was only the warm breeze gently blowing in from the sea and the sound of water thundering against cliffs in the distance. The stone was warmed by the sun, and Fife left her hand on the rune for a moment.

Blood was streaked across the back of her hand and Fife saw it for the first time. She gasped and withdrew her hand from the stone like she had been pricked, then furiously wiped her hands on her trousers. It only smeared the blood, only made her breathing less steady. Her hand was shaking. All of her felt like it was shaking.

Distraction. She needed a distraction.

She didn't sign anything when she turned around. She didn't try to touch him or fuss. Her eyes merely swept a thorough investigation up from his feet. Nothing physically harmed and all his parts had made it through the stone. All she could ask for, really.

They'd made it. No matter what came next, they had made it this far. She didn't feel happy, only relieved.

We should go, she signed simply. If any of the assassins followed, she wanted to be gone by the time they arrived.

Fife walked past him to hitch Socks to Dusty's saddle. Her hands trembled and she tried not to look at them, tried not to see it, but it was there, impossible to avoid -- a darkening red reminder that grew heavier every second that the adrenaline faded.

 

[Raigryn Vayd]

Raigryn had never been through two portal stones in such quick succession before. It was more disorientating than doing it once. He watched her carefully as she stepped away from the stone. She was right. They needed to go.

He was breathing harder than he should have done given the brief exertion. That was the fault of his confinement, not the stones.

There was a deep set frown on his brow as he continued to watch her with Socks' reins. There was a little more comprehension than before.

I keep watching and thinking and sitting in silence. Hidden inside my own head.

Raigryn felt a sudden flash of guilt. He knew he hadn't really earned it. There hadn't been much he could have done. He didn't even know what they had subjected her too. The most he had managed was to pretend to be a little further under the spell of the potion than he really had been. All that had achieved was being able to watch Fife's dismay a little more clearly.

"It will be alright," he said quietly. "I will be better and you will feel better. This will become the past. I know that sounds simple and it's not because I'm still struggling. Trust me."

 

[Fife]

She was being too hard on him and on herself, and Fife was aware of that. But as he spoke, she pulled the knot tight with a jerk and the punctuation of a sharp sigh.

I know, she signed just as firmly, exasperation sharpening her gestures. You keep saying that and I know. It does not make me feel better and I do not want you to talk to me. I want to go.

Her hands had stilled before her mind caught up to what she'd said. It was a first. She found that lashing out in scathing honesty immediately made her feel shittier. You should be happy, her mind taunted her. He's still trying. You're not even trying.

Fife rubbed her hands on her face as she turned back to Dusty to avoid looking at Raigryn. Shame and guilt and frustration bruised her mind in an ugly smear of dark colors. She didn't want to be angry at him. Now of all times, she should have been celebrating a victory -- a win they both needed. Fuck, she had just delivered him out of a nest of assassins when four months ago she had been helpless to stop them. She had done this. She had gotten them here. This was worth being thankful.

Yet her temper was hot, dangerous. Fife always ran red with a vigor for life fueled by spite and anger. She was hurting -- had been hurting for months and was struggling to keep her shit together for both of their sakes. But it wasn't fair to shove that off on Raigryn, especially now. She had been mean to Raigryn when he was only trying to help. She had been mean to Raigryn when he was struggling, too.

She didn't deserve the ability to speak if this was how she was going to use that gift. She didn't deserve having him if this was how she treated him when things were hard. It was difficult to breathe. Her lungs were metallic and shallow. Fife slowly turned back around.

I am sorry. I am not okay. There was no word in her limited vocabulary for how she felt. She sniffed and looked away long enough to scrub a tear from her cheek, then held out a hand to him. Let me help you up.

 

[Raigryn Vayd]

She wasn't watching him to see the arched eyebrow at her response. He knew she was hurting, but the snap back still caught him off guard.

It had taken Fife a long time to open up to him. Even the most obvious things like her gender hidden for the longest time. Forced to survive on her own for months it was no surprise that she would survive in the way she knew how.

All of that combined with her being forced to use her Empathy in sharp, dangerous ways. He hadn't got as far as teaching her the things that didn't go in the texts on Sympathomantic studies. The ways that a battle mage used to cheat when it was tap power or die. It had struck him that she would be too eager for such short cuts.

He also knew that she wasn't angry at him. That harsh signs were like cold water to the adrenaline and to the fog.

He took the offered hand, but remained in place. She was tired, off balance and bloody. He remembered thinking that violence was a great sport, once upon a time. Untempered arrogance. She didn't have that and for that he was glad.

"I need...just a moment to breathe," he said quietly. He gave the slightest tug on her hand. He didn't meant that. He meant: you should take a moment to breathe. He awaited rebuttal.