The Prophecy

[Hymusia]

It had been nice; albeit awkward, to talk with Jaelnec about, well so many things. However it left her feeling more drained and her throat a little hoarse. He hadn't had a drink since before the avatar had appeared, and she certainly wasn't used to having so much conversation in one day. After she had said good night to the younger night walker she had thought once more about helping herself to some tea. Once again she realised as she reached for the cup, that the drink was not going to help her stay awake and alert for the night watch. So once more her hands found her lap and played with the cuffs of the coat she had been given. While she was aware of it not being hers ever since putting it on, it was only now she had the time to actually think about what she was wearing and whose clothes they were.

They smelled like him, and oddly they felt a bit like him too, not that either was a bad thing mind you. The fabric hung off her like a child playing dress up, but it was warm and the material was thick enough to keep the chill of the wind out of her bones and off her bare legs. While she was contemplating various things she heard Aemoten's voice as he approached her, despite her weariness she had to smile. He was always; which struck her as an odd term as they'd only known each other a single day, so careful when approaching her, making sure she knew who it was before he got too close, it was so polite. He came beside her and lightly squeezed her shoulder, it was becoming a familiar touch but there was something more there now, concern perhaps? “Aemoten, you ought to be asleep.”

At first she was uncertain as to why, but her strength seemed to return to her, she felt more awake and alert. Of course she had felt this same strange tingling sensation before, she had been mostly unconscious but she still remembered that Aemoten had been above her when she woke and her wounds were healed. It made sense that that was his power and once again he had used it on her. For a moment she felt the need to protest, but even she realised how pointless such a thing would be, this was necessary, Olan while coherent was not going to be a great guard alone and she was supposed to be on duty with him. Something she couldn't do if she fell asleep from exhaustion. “Aemoten, thank you again. Yes I will be able to tell, and I will wake you myself.” She remained quiet, but curious as he seemed to pause between what she assumed to be further instructions. Only for her suspicions of concern to be shown true.

Once again she gave a small smile, less weary than before thanks to him, one of her hands rose to find the one on her shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. “I am touched by your concern Aemoten...” She wasn't sure though how to finish that sentence, he was clearly worried but then there were reasons enough to be worried she guessed. “I will be fine after a little sleep.” A lot of sleep actually, but her main senses would return to her once she had rested and it was the lack of sight that made her so tired. She hadn't had to rely on simply sound and intuition in quite a while, and it was quite exhausting going back to that today.

Aemoten then spoke to her and his words came as a comfort to her ears, he spoke with the grace of a leader and the strength of the position. It was like he knew of her inner turmoil, to stay or go once they had reached Zerul, or any recognisable landmarks for that matter. So his soft, kind words seemed all the more poignant and she was rendered speechless for a moment. How could she answer such earnest determination? She couldn't lie to him, but at the same time the truth wouldn't come across any better either. All she could do was squeeze his hand again and offer a small nod. “I do not know if I will be much use at all, I may even become a burden to you all, until then though, I will do what I can to help you. I'll follow you Aemoten, as I'm sure the others will as well. Now. Go rest, for our leader can not be exhausted for his first day in charge.”

Once Aemoten too had gone and laid down his head Thaler finally turned her attention to Olan, the man seemed a little more coherent now, but she decided not to ask about dancing. Instead, offering him a drink of tea or water and helping him sit back up. It seemed though the old man had not forgotten his promise to teach her and after he had had a drink he pulled her carefully to her feet and lead her to a free space. His energy was refreshing and he was a good teacher, even though she stepped on his feet a lot and tripped over several times; always to be caught by the older man and saved from face planting into the ground. However he was grinning; probably the spiderweed, and they spoke and laughed together for quite a while. It was a quiet shift, not that she complained, and finally when she was too tired to dance any more she and Olan reclaimed their seats and he span another story for her which she contentedly listened too.

By the end of their shift she truly had reached her limit, it was all she could do to force herself back up and over to the sleeping bodies of the others. It was complicated finding Aemoten and there was a little trial and error, pausing by a sleeping form and strangely enough feeling the hair -it was the least likely to wake them- until she found Aemoten. Gently she shook him and woke him for his shift before she retreated back to where Olan and herself had been. The offer of the blanket was hard to refuse, but she already had so much of Aemoten's things that she felt greedy taking more, and Olan was much more in need of it than her. After letting Olan know of the blanket she found herself a smooth flat faced rock that had earleir been the perch for someone; Jalenec possibly, and leaned herself against it. Drawing her knees to her chest and wrapping first the shirt then the coat around her until she was in a rather comfortable ball.

Despite how cold and wet the ground was; sucking the heat from her body in the process, she fell asleep rather quickly. Far too tired to keep her eyes open any longer she fully left her life in the groups hands while she shivered violently as the cold seeped into her. It was the first deep sleep she'd had in days, so deep she dreamed quite bizarre and twisted dreams, smells and sounds assaulting her senses and whisking her back to a time she could not truly remember. Monsters and hero's and that dark terrifying voice that followed her and was somehow linked to the power she possessed.

[Player2]

As Natyr passed the torch back to Aemoten, he noted they were the only two who stood over the body of the boy as the flaming branch was thrust into the mass of sticks. Natyr hadn't bothered stripping moss or dried leaves and needles from the trees, and the flame found footing easily enough after a minute or two passed them by. Soon it roared and cackled before the worn faces before it, Natyr remaining silent as Aemoten's tongue rolled forth some words. While his squinting eyes stared at the hungry flames, his thoughts wandered to why the others were choosing the avoid the simple ceremony. He'd imagined they'd been together with the boy longer, but here instead was the man he'd just met. Perhaps they just wanted to push the event from their minds. Especially Jaelnec. Natyr expected the Nightwalker would want to push any connections he had to the demon-lady as far from his self as possible. Any sane man would. At least, Natyr would, and he thought himself sane. In any case, Aemoten's placement of the sword would ensure that the boys memory wouldn't fade by morning at least. After that, it probably wouldn't be long before one of the forest denizens claimed the weapon for itself.

A brief nod was given to Aemoten as the man turned away, leaving Natyr to stare into the growing flames. The Melenian took a step or two back as the flames crept up the logs, growing to gigantic proportions as light was cast all about the clearing. He watched in silence as sparks danced from the top of the flames into the night sky, vanishing into the dark veil above. He harrumphed, looking back to the body and giving a bow before retreating from the foul smelling flames himself. In his head he bounced about various ideas of what his god's afterlife would be like as he walked back to the lesser of the two fires burning in the clearing.

Natyr arrived just to late to hear the exchange of words between Thaler and Aemoten. It was probably just an exchange of pleasantries though, as Aemoten moved to where he'd left a blanket earlier and quickly passed to the realm of sleep. At seeing the man turn his mind towards the realm of sleep, Natyr felt as if his own body was now feeling the full weight of the day, and it was no light load. He had thought briefly to get some tea before retiring, but changed his mind, wanting to avoid anymore chances of conversation that would keep him awake even a minute longer. Sleep called in it's sweet, seductive tone, and Natyr proceeded towards it with vigor. He have a quick nod to the others about the fire before curling himself into a ball about five feet from the small fire. A sigh escaped him as he shuffled about a few seconds after laying down, then he settled, and soon his breath fell into a steady rhythm as his mind carried him forth to the land of dreams.

[Dark Jack]

After having settled down that relatively early night, Jaelnec might have been more concerned about all the other things that had happened that day, and might have lied restless and sleepless while he continued to beat himself up and blame himself ceaselessly for everything he could even remotely claim the guilt of - had he even kept his eyes open for a couple of seconds and seen Brian's funeral pyre ablaze, he undoubtedly would have done so and spent the night eroding his confidence and sanity even further. All of this would have been very likely to come to pass, had the squire's conversation with Thaler not allowed him a brief window of complacency and relaxation, a short distraction from all the horrid things he kept piling upon his shoulders. Thanks to that distraction, Jaelnec's mind was relatively relaxed when he lied down, and as soon as he was horizontal upon the ground, all it took was closing his eyes before he fell instantly into a deep slumber.
In his dreams, Jaelnec found himself standing before Annabelle again, and the paladin approached him seductively, as she had done when they had been leaving the battlefield where the goblins had been slain - only this time, her armor seemed to dissipate with every step she took, falling off and apart while her form warped until the woman Annabelle had disappeared and the fiery horned entity that was Usha stood in her place, holding Brian's blood-dripping severed head in one hand, and Olan's mauled one in the other. In the dream, Jaelnec found himself strangely enticed by it all, and saw fit to ignore all the gruesome changes - rather, he knelt before her, an oath of fealty upon his lips.
But before he could swear homage to Usha, a hand suddenly took his and helped him stand back up, and when he raised his gaze he saw that the True Child of Himyth was now gone, and the one helping him stand was Thaler. She smiled at him, and kissed him on the cheek. He then kissed her on her mouth, and...
After that, the dream became somewhat chaotic, but suffice to say that the events that transpired therein were rather enjoyable to the young man; he slept well, and he remembered no other dreams, though he slept soundly the entire time.

That is, he slept well until a hand on his shoulder shook him awake while Olan's voice notified him that his shift of the night watch had begun. Standing drowsily, extremely reluctant to stop sleeping and leave the sweet events of his dreams behind to face the cruel reality. He knew his duty, though, and forced himself awake while Olan went and settled down somewhere, leaving his younger kinsman to face the night alone with Aemoten, a man that Jaelnec seriously doubted had many words to spare for him anymore. There could be little doubt that the southerner had far from forgiven Jaelnec for his misstep today - and who could blame him? It had all seemed to make perfect sense to the squire at the time, Annabelle - or rather, at the time she must have been Usha - had seemed a more important thing to protect, something he needed to preserve at any cost. It had seemed an easy decision...
And sure enough, as Jaelnec spent the first couple of minutes of his shift looking around and noting where everyone were, Aemoten did not speak a word - in fact he seemed to borderline ignore Jaelnec entirely. This ignited the guilt and pain within him anew, and he decided that rather than dwell on this and hope for a redemption in the southerner's eyes that he might never achieve, he had better find something else to spend his shift doing.

It did not take many half-turns before Jaelnec's eyes finally fell on what he had been instinctively avoiding to look at since he had awoken: Brian's funeral pyre. Even just looking at it made it feel as though a large hand clenched around his heart and squeezed it tightly. In Jaelnec's mind, that pyre was far more than simply the fire that had devoured the body of a fallen comrade: it was a monument of all his failings, the epitome of his ineptitude. Immanuel was a monster that, if the deo'iel records had spoken truly, was capable of wiping out nations; Annabelle was a three-quarter demon that was more powerful and far more dangerous than any demonspawn; Louis had been inflicted with a curse that might taint him for the rest of his days. But Brian was dead. He could not be saved, could not be helped or healed - he was irretrievably gone.
Remaining at where he had slept for several minutes, Jaelnec threw off his hat and once more donned his now-dry ghiril cuirass and only slightly damp duster coat, putting on his gauntlets and finally returning his hat to its perch when it would no longer be in the way. Once more in full gear, he strode over to the pyre, pulling down the brim of his hat as he did so. He stood so close that he could feel the heat emanating from it... and then he straightened, and pushed the brim back up as he saluted the final resting place of Brian Pennyworthy.

The rest of the shift went by rather uneventfully, but Jaelnec found himself too restless to just stand still and look into the wonderful darkness of the autumn night, and too sleepy to dare sit down lest he fall asleep without meaning to. Instead, the squire moved just a dozen feet away from the camp before he began practicing - footwork, first, moving about in a pattern that might have seemed random to an onlooker, but which were actually steps Freagon had taught him in a strange dance-like exercise that trained him in quickly moving his feet about in a number of different universally beneficial placements. After doing this for a while, he also started moving his upper body, twisting his torso from side to side, back and forth, moving his shoulders. He began bending his knees from time to time, until it all came together in a ridiculous-looking pattern that practiced various combinations of foot-placement and evasive and offensive maneuvers, reminding him how to adjust his balance when doing one thing or another.
When he had done that for a while, he went on to more basic exercises like punching and kicking the air, doing push-ups and sit-ups, that kind of basic things. He trained until he was drenched in sweat, and then kept going, fighting the chill of night and the call of sleep.
By the time Jaelnec and Aemoten's shift was over, virtually all of the Nightwalker's muscles were sore and he had managed to work himself to such exhaustion that it kept the bad thoughts at bay, and he actually managed to fall asleep.
This time he dreamed that he was following Annabelle about, watching her contently as she murdered his companions one after another, until suddenly the world looked really strange, with the colors all wrong... and when Annabelle looked at him, she screamed. He looked down at his hands, and found that they were not his hands at all - they larger than his, covered in smooth white hide, and each finger brandished a long pale talon. A long, equally smooth and white tail wrapped around his inhuman, clawed feet, and he bashed his wings furiously as he roared with the voice of a beast and hurdled through the air to brutally tear the paladin to ribbons with his bare hands.

His sleep from then on was sporadic at best, and when morning finally came he felt far from rested, but had managed to acquire some quite visible dark lines under his eyes. The new day had come to him unbidden... but it had come nonetheless. On this cloudy morning, Day of Liya, the Seventh Day of the Fourth Month of Autumn, they would continue their journey towards Zerul and, hopefully, the means to end the Withering... and for the first time, the journey would continue without Annabelle.

---

Standing by the cart with supplies, leaning on it leisurely, Lu did not mean to stare at Usha as she went to dress herself, but he was somewhat curious as to what exactly she was going to dress herself in. Not understanding what she was doing at first as she went over to her equipment, the dark-skinned foreigner's brow furrowed in confusion once the woman's power took hold over the inanimate objects and made them... well, animate. Before Lu's very eyes, Usha's equipment appeared to be equipping itself onto her.
What is she? he wondered, utterly confused and slightly intimidated by facing evidence of a demonspawn unlike any he had encountered before. Demonspawn only have one power - yet she claims to be able to change her appearance, and I have just seen that she can apparently manipulate her equipment... and she has that strange enticing aura that can't be anything but magical in nature. There is demon blood in her, that much my magic tells me, but she is not like other demonspawn, and a true demon would not need, or even be able to receive, healing.
Crossing his arms over his chest, he frowned, finding no answers to any of these questions. Some mystery was well and good, exciting and fun, even - but now it turned out that Lu could not even be sure what Usha was...

Finally Usha seemed about to move back to him, and Lu was about to turn away from her, when he noticed her noticing something on the ground. Frowning again, Lu strained his eyes trying to spot what it was, but all he could see was a faint glimmer on the ground, like from a piece of jewelry. It was not until a finger of Usha's armor unfolded and she made the very characteristic movement of placing the jewelry upon her finger that Lu realized what she had spotted: a diamond ring.
And just like that, the pieces of the puzzle all seemed to come crashing together; the vagueness about her past, her subtle reaction to her last name, her sometimes odd and self-contradictory behavior, her reluctance towards using her old name - all of it made sense when he saw the ring, and the way she treated that ring. Why would she give herself a last name if not because of this? Last names are earned, not given freely. If she was to just fit in and mix with the crowd, she would not give herself a name like that. Annabelle Silversmith... it must have been her ring. Her wedding ring.
Annabelle Silversmith was... is married!

Upon realizing this, Lu hurriedly turned back towards the cart and continued rummaging through its contents, taking out a few strips of ore-lizard jerky from one of the sacks while trying to find something appetizing in the others.
"So," he said loudly, clearing his throat in a manner he hoped did not seem too uncomfortable, "where are we going? Once we get underway, of course."

[xbriannova]

A raven, the same raven that was a messenger for Annabelle, was circling overhead as the sun was rising, as the people below it was stirring awake. It was searching for its intended recipient with eyes wide and scrutinising, but Annabelle would not show herself. It circled many times, making sure that it did not miss its target, but it was all in vain. As if an intelligent man-messenger, the raven swooped down and landed on an object that once belonged to its recipient- the visor that was once hinged on Annabelle's sallet helmet. As if investigating the disappearance of the paladin, it began observing its surroundings, and as if becoming distraught, it started pecking at the visor as if Annabelle was beneath it and would be awakened.

When all of its effort came to naught, the Raven surveyed its surroundings, noting the dazed occupants of the pond's shore. It eyed Jaelnec for a bit, who appears unrested despite his sleep, and decided that it should go to him instead for the message to be delivered. Spreading its black, ominous wings, it flew a short distance before gliding and landing before the nightwalker. Almost as if it knew what happened to Annabelle, it began cawing aggressively at him, as if screaming unintelligible fury at the boy who was relieved of his command. Eventually however, it moved closer before sticking its right leg out, waiting for Jaelnec to take the scroll strapped to the avian limb.

In the meantime, Louis had been awake for an hour or two before Jaelnec had woken. He remembered everything he did vividly, the experience of being... changed by the whim of what was once Annabelle and becoming a soldier on the side of the former-paladin monster. He attacked and hurled threats and declarations of loyalty to the beast, that much he knew. It traumatised him that there was a monster in him somewhere, that it was reached by a demon. Instead of panicking, shouting, screaming and struggling against his binds as any normal man should, the young soldier of Liya was instead in a state of deep, reclusive thought and daze- his eyes wide open and searching the ground before him as if it every single moment that he betrayed his friends were relived.

[Player2]

A hand tapped at Natyr's shoulder and the Melenian groaned, opening his left eye, his ear rising in time with his eyelid. “Time already then?” he sleepily murmured to himself, taking a few seconds to stretch his body out to a length with seemed unfeasible for his shorter body to accomplish. He rolled his neck as he rose, his torso soon following suit as his body became fully vertical. The sleep was rubbed from his eyes. It was always the good dreams he was woken in the middle of, never the bad ones. He sighed, gathering up his gear and trying to recall the already fading details of the dreams that had come to him. He remembered a name, but putting a face to it proved difficult, and he gave up on the task as he sat with a huff next to the fire.

The wood was getting low. It was the first detail his dreary mind took notice of, and everything else seemed to follow like ducklings behind their mother. He looked to the sleeping forms to identify if anyone else was up and about, then the pyre which stood now as a pile of smoking charcoal with bits of red flame peeking from within. The temperature caught him next, a chillier feel than when he'd laid to rest earlier. Insects and other nocturnal creatures called out in a symphony of noise, and Natyr entertained himself with trying to find a tune in the chaos of their calls. Having little success with this, he instead opted to copy the calls as best he could. It brought a smile to his face. Little pleasures such as this often did, probably due to the fact he'd put little thought towards them in his child-hood. His mind had instead been filled with attempts to gain knowledge of all varieties. Generals, scholars, mages, anything he could get his paws on. And now he remembered almost none of it. Natyr stared absently at the fire, coaxing it with a stick while resting his free hand on his jaw.

Hour after uneventful hour ticked by, the creatures of the forest apparently warded away from the an early drink by the smoke that drifted through the area. Which meant no fresh meat in the morning unless Natyr planned to split from the group. And while certainly refreshed, his limbs were still fresh with soreness from the prior days obstacles. He could go see if there were any berries or edible plants about, but that would mean leaving those relying on his watch unguarded, and he doubted he could find enough to provide any amount of nourishment to anyone. It would probably be best to just wake a bit early and push forward hard to Zerul, where one could find a filling, warm feel for just a few coin. Again though, Natyr was a bit lacking in currency, though he imagined he could pick up some work for his food. There was always labor to be done after all.

As the sun began to bleed the sky, Natyr moved about the camp, rousing the others from their slumber with a gentle shake. Normally, he would've woken the others a bit earlier, but he imagined they could use the sleep. Some would've probably even preferred a bit more sleep, but it was best to move while the air was still cool. He used one of the bowls which had been left out to carry water over to the pyre. A few trips saw it doused, a few clouds of smoke drifting skywards the only remnant of the once magnificent flame. He gave a nod to the dieing smoke, then returned to the barely burning fire a couple feet away, resuming his task of rolling the coals and prodding as he waited for everyone to ready themselves for the trip ahead.

[Shienvien]

"I will be asleep soon enough," Aemoten assured the Daywalker as she seemed to almost be rebuking him for the fact that he was still up and moving about. What he was saying was furthermore entirely the truth - the foreign man no longer had something that had to be taken care of this evening and no later, and he no longer had enough energy left to deal with anything which did not come across as a dire necessity. - Especially now that he had lent most of the little strength that remained in him to the Daywalker instead, given that considering the circumstances, she probably needed it far more than him. He would be asleep soon enough indeed, whereas she would be responsible for keeping watch.
A part of Aemoten had noticed that Thaler smiled, though wearily, when he approached, and when he moved on from the topic of whether or not she would know when to wake the next shift with a simple 'good', and addressed Thaler herself, another, less weary smile touched her lips. One of her hands once more found his on her shoulder, and she insisted she would be fine. The foreigner, at that moment, wanted to believe it. - If a person could still smile after an event like that, and do so without pretense, then there was the hope that the happenings had left no lasting damage - and that perhaps it would be possible to get across everything which might wait in the future the same. He himself was a skeptical pessimist, Aemoten knew, and the odds were against them, but nevertheless, as he said to the Daywalker at that same moment, he would always continue to move on regardless - forward, towards the goal, no matter how bleak and hopeless things looked.
He shifted, though, when Thaler went on to claim that she did not know whether she would be of any use, so that for that moment he was in front of her rather than by her side, and could set his other hand on her opposite shoulder, one hand on each shoulder. It left the impression that she did have faith in him, but not so much in herself. For a second or two before speaking he simply looked at her.
"You underestimate yourself, and the part you have already played here." Aemoten seemed to contemplate saying something further, even drawing in a deeper breath in preparation, but that was let out as a weary sigh a moment after. "I am now going to take your advice and wish you a quiet shift," he finally said instead.
Removing his hands from Thaler's shoulders and momentarily setting one down onto the ground for support, Aemoten stood for the last time before the much-needed rest, however this time he was not going any farther than to the blanket he had earlier laid down onto the ground barely a handful of yards away. The man half-collapsed, half lay down on top of it, only briefly shifting to find a more comfortable position before he, in about the next five minutes, had already fallen to sleep. - It was an useful ability to a warrior, to be able to fall asleep quickly at almost any location and any time, at the same time being well capable of waking up even quicker at the first signs of distress from others or at any irregular disturbance, and being fully alert and functional just a blink of an eye later. During the past week, he had gotten little rest solely because he simply could not trust all of his own comrades not to take the opportunity and kill him or one another as soon as there was the chance, but now at least that threat had been eliminated - and with as tired as he had been, there would have been little possibility he could have stayed awake for much longer when lying somewhat comfortably on a horizontal surface anyway.

***

Aemoten was woken by someone gently shaking him. His eyes opened in an instant, and for a moment his muscles tensed in immediate readyness to act, but soon his body relaxed with him once more remaining motionless outside of his lips forming a single sentence and with that dully informing the Daywalker that he was indeed awake now.
He had been drawn away from the Spirit Realm midway through a vastly confusing - or so it seemed to him after he had already woken up - dream involving a woman dressed entirely in black, in whom he had recognized Lady Dabalimon. Her figure had been wearing a kind of flowing full-length multiple-layered robe of a design one would not easily encounter in Rodoria, and a veiled hat on top of her head to cover even her face, her hands in return being concealed by elegant gloves and feet by heavy boots. It was how her real self had had used to move about while traveling, whereas mostly only the people who visited one of her dimly lit temple-like residences could see her pale skin and face, flesh-colored irides and deep crimson pupils, and flowing white hair. Albino individuals did not take sunlight falling to their skin well and their eyes were highly sensitive to all light, without the latter giving any notable advantage over normal-eyed people in actual darkness, Lady Dabalimon herself had once explained. The woman appeared wide-shouldered and had a fairly strong frame, but her form compensated it and made her appear full rather than blocky; one could call her beautiful and she moved like a deigan - only, she somehow managed to come across as more real, earthly.
There had however always been something irritating in her personality, way of acting and speaking, and the constant distrustful scrutiny of her bodyguards did not help the Sekalyn with feeling comfortable around the woman - especially the evident disdain that one large man whose real name Aemoten never managed to memorize, and who was essentially Lady Dabalimon's right hand. There had been little Lady Dabalimon and he could ever agree on, even though Aemoten had once traveled along with her and a group of her men for the entirety of almost three months. How exactly, he was not certain, but it seemed that where it had been necessary, functioning as a team had somehow simply worked out.
In the dream she had been greatly amused by something at that particular moment, but he was unable to recall why even when he tried to. It had not been positive, and there was the impression that her attitude had been almost mocking - even if the dream might have exaggerated that aspect of her, it seemed plausible, whatever the cause had been.

Casting the dream aside, Aemoten sat up - slowly, in a manner which seemed almost painful. He might not have been wounded or otherwise injured to any significant extent, but still his body bore many bruises and had become uncomfortably stiff and painful. The man almost winced when he stretched. He would have liked to remain asleep for longer - or so his body insisted and soul agreed upon - but consciously he could recognize that unlike before his mind was clear and he could move about without much effort again. - At least once his muscles did not offer protests against it anymore.
Since the younger Nightwalker was already awake - Olan had woken him already - he wished the first shift good night from his own part and offered to lend anyone who might want it the blanket (he would still have the tent-cloth to sleep on top of himself).
The night was still quiet save for the occasional faint rustles in the plants - some harmless animals barely larger than a man's fist that had come out for the night - and a few birdlike calls - young owls of some sort. It was however notably colder than before, and damper.
For a while he stayed by the fire, first idly drinking his abandoned cup of tea - he had forgotten it after Jaelnec had come to talk to him; it had gone cold, but that was not a significant enough reason to complain by itself -, shortly after finally taking to helping himself to some food from what was available. Now, since he had gotten an amount of the rest his body had been demanding above everything else earlier, exhaustion no longer forced the feeling of hunger into the far background.
He was intently listening the entire time, producing little noise himself, and every now and then his eyes scanned the surroundings despite the fact that with as close to the fire he sat, the ambient light barely sufficed to outline the surroundings. Nothing noteworthy was moving about that he could detect, save for Jaelnec, who was the one person who shared the shift with him.
Trusting the Nightwalker's vision and span of attention, Aemoten spent some time adding the paladin's daggers to his more permanent set of equipment - to replace his lost knives -, and then got up at last, walking away from the fire to let his eyes get used to the relative darkness instead of the fire's light. The moon was out, thus it was not dark enough for his human eyes to be useless. He might lack a Nightwalker's vision, but as long as there was an open sky overhead, it was never completely pitch-black...

The pyre was still burning, though by now with a lower fire, with plenty of the firewood having turned to bright-glowing coals. It would be many hours till it would have burned down completely. Aemoten barely looked at it, but was rather walked about the fringe of the small camp, staying away from both the fires and people. Somewhere nearby, the Nightwalker was practicing by himself - something Aemoten did not even consider with the current state of his body, though he was restless the same. He settled somewhere in between being relaxed and being active in his measured pacing, never picking a definite post to stand - or sit - guard at. Unlike the Nightwalker, he would have had no fear of falling asleep even if he had went and lied down. Right then he simply needed to distance himself from people - he would have went farther from the group if it would not have prohibited from keeping watch over the sleeping forms - and made a rather valiant attempt of sorting out his own thoughts and viewpoints, even if most of what he found in his mind served to distress him rather than agreed to fall into place. As usually, dwelling on the past was a torment.
He saw no signs of anything alarming till the first signs of the dawn nearing, upon which point he roused Natyr - the cat-man muttered something about it being the time already and getting up - for the last shift and went back to sleep himself.
Weak wind had risen and the cold had turned more evident, so this time he wrapped the coat a bit closer around himself. There were a few scraps of cloud in the sky, but nothing that promised rain any time soon still.

***

The next time he awoke it was full dawn out; it was the Melenian who woke him - this time from a dream which mostly seemed to consist of searching something unknown and frantic fights. The wind had turned stronger while he had slept, with trees swaying restlessly in the stronger gusts, and what had earlier been just a few shredded-looking cloud-patches had now spread to cover most of the entirety of the sky. The pyre was no longer burning with an open flame, but had rather been reduced by coals covered by a thin layer of ash, still emanating strong heat. Natyr soon poured several bowlfuls of water over it, thusly putting it out.
Aemoten himself had spent a few moments painfully attempting to get his body to move once more, and then attempted to make a list of everything which still had to be done this morning.
In the end, he requested the Melenian to gather an amount of the roots of the same edible plant he had noted down to himself earlier - he pointed one of the plants out to Natyr, just in case the cat-man did not know what he was talking about -, and asked Olan whether he could make something to eat for all of them while he dealt with other things himself.

The Sekalyn himself went over to Louis. The remaining Pennyworthy was already awake, still tied down to a tree and with a blanket spread over most of his body - as much as the tree allowed -, his eyes wide open and searching. The boy appeared frightened now, with the red glow of his eyes gone, with no trace of hostility left.
Aemoten knelt by the bound person, looking at the other's face. The Sekalyn appeared concerned, and little else. Not angry, not suspicious.
"Louis?" the foreigner finally asked, not certain what to make of the dazed and unseeing look in the younger Pennyworthy's eyes. The Sekalyn was not even certain the boy would comprehend him in this state, or be able to recognize him.
"I am going to untie you now," he then carefully added, so as to inform Louis what he was about to do.
Aemoten first removed the rope he himself had applied, gathering it over his arm, then went to undo Naty's efforts to pacify the Pennyworthy and untied first the boy's boots and finally removed the remains of his shirt which had been tied around his wrists. The bindings had cut quite deeply into the latter.
"Do you think you would be able to stand and walk?" With Louis having been bound the way he had been through the entire night and with the multiple minor injuries he had sustained, it was entirely possible he would be unable to, at least immediately.
Surprisingly, the Pennyworthy got up on his own without a significant effort once the possibly forever-changed young man had his eyes momentarily fall on the foreigner next to him, though he did so in an unnaturally mechanical manner which rather made Aemoten more worried than eased his mind any. Without sparing him a single word, the boy started walking off towards his horse, and Aemoten went along with the limping figure, for a moment uncertain whether he should stop the other, but deciding against it for the time being as Louis was technically doing nothing harmful.
While walking, he sent a sideways glance at the raven which was now pecking at Annabelle's visor in the pile of things he had gathered up. He had noticed the bird circling overhead a bit earlier, but had not paid much attention to it as it just could have taken interest of the wolf's carcass as a potential source of food or some other of the things they had scattered about. Now, however, he was almost certain it was the same bird that had been delivering the demonic woman messages, especially after he noticed there was something tied to the bird's leg. He could not get to it, though, since he was already occupied and furthermore he doubted the raven would let a stranger close.
"What do you remember?" the Sekalyn asked the seemingly unresponsive Louis, briefly turning his attention back to the Pennyworhty.
The bird, however, meanwhile decided to practically assault Jaelnec with an implied demand to take the message, and the Sekalyn was once more forced to turn his head, observing the situation. True, Jaelnec was about the same height and had fair skin and blond hair like 'Annabelle' had had... Perhaps the raven had decided it might just as well give the letter to the next person most similar to the intended recipient.
"Take from it what it wants to give you and bring it here," the Sekalyn finally called over his shoulder to the younger Nightwalker, still with his attention divided between the Pennyworthy and the unexpected commotion.

[xbriannova]

As Usha turns around to catch another welcoming sight of Lu, she noticed that he himself had turned. Owing to the coincidence of him doing so as she was dressing up and putting on her finger, she was certain that he did so to avoid being seen doing as such, and to avert her gaze as he busied himself with breakfast. Of this, the three-quarters demoness could only be certain of one or two things: that he was either ordinarily enough just peeping at her to satisfy his carnal pleasure (not that she disliked it in any way; she welcomed his free indulgence of such pleasures), or he had seen her ring and deduced that she had either promised marriage to a man, or had already fulfilled such promise. It was likely both.

"So," the man from afar said awkwardly before clearing his throat, before continuing even more awkwardly, "where are we going? Once we get underway, of course." The true child that was once a lady named Annabelle Silversmith did not answer immediately. Instead, with Lu's deed fresh in her mind, she sashayed casually towards Lu, still trying to get as used to her alien legs as possible without falling over- her strides had improved somewhat. She felt like a baby learning its first steps, but now she was a baby proud of walking across a room. At the very least, she had learnt how to use the right muscles, to choreograph her legs properly. It was harder- humans had only three joints in each legs to worry about. She had four each.

"I've been thinking... Darling." Usha finally said when she was at arm's length from Lu. When she got close enough, the near-demoness went behind the foreign magic-wielder and from there, look at what he was preparing for breakfast. At the same time, her right hand went up to his shoulder and there it hung as she squeezed it gently. She leaned against the cart, just being her casual self. She saw a rich assortment of food, some identifiable, others not much so. As much as she was a housewife, there were a few things which cannot be found in Rodoria and some which she never really come around to buy from the market anyway, "I see that we're close to Pelgaid City. I've *love* to go there as I... know a few people there that I would *love* to see again."

Then there was the matter of Lu. No matter how eager he seems to be with her, he was brought to Rodoria without choice. He may have agendas of his own, and it would be unfair to rope him in. Deep down however, she knew that it would be... beneficial to have him along, and that it would be fun and pleasurable to seduce and control him. The temptation was great, but she held it back, remembering that she fought on the side of good. She was nearly quivering with unfulfilled desires however, which made it difficult. Her grip tightened slightly on Lu's right shoulder as her gaze went from the meat and fruits to the man's face, becoming amorous. She held back, "but... If you... Prefer to go elsewhere... I wouldn't mind. A warning though, darling- I may not stop in the city. What do you say, handsome?"

---

As Aemoten was speaking to Louis, the younger warrior did not reply, at least not immediately. He was still distant, his head barely containing all the conflicting messages that was forced into it, between the plates of his skull. He stared into the distance, his ears still hearing things that were already over. It was only after a while that he realised that Aemoten was there, and that he was talking to him. Finally, his eyes, which was once innocent and young, settled upon the older warrior, bearing the scars of conflict and reality. The surviving Pennyworthy wanted to say something, but decided against it. As if distant from his own self, he stood up without regarding his injuries nor exhaustion, and began walking away, towards his horse. A short distance later, his desire to speak his mind caved in, and he turned around, "I know not anymore who is friend or foe." He said before pausing- and after deciding what comes next, he continued, "Usha spoke to me in visions, Aemoten, and I understood her and her actions. Yet, I do not blame you and the others for acting against her." At this, he felt that there was a contradiction somewhere, but knew not how to explain himself, "But I cannot accept any of this, I cannot stay."

With that, he continued on his way to the horse, barely even caring if he had enough provisions nor supplies to last him on his trip back to Borstown, where his family resided. He was intending to go home, and forget about adventure altogether while at the same time, bring home the memory of his attempt at the greater good, at trying to be someone bigger, better. Most of all, his family would want to know what happened to Brian Pennyworthy, the eldest son of the family. With a rather beaten and bruised gait, he walked on, having seemingly aged a decade or two within a day. What he knew to be his world had all but been shattered and evaporated. What was underneath had become unveiled, and he did not like the rot that he had found.

[Dark Jack]

As it seemed to have done with everyone else, the daylight creeping over the eastern horizon to illuminate the white-and-gray cloudy sky and turn night into morning was unwelcome to Olan, who squirmed and grumbled to himself on the blanket Thaler had offered him at the end of their shift, at that particular moment feeling very far from his usual old cheerful self. His chest ached, he felt sick to his stomach, his head was sore, and his face hurt like hellfire. For long moments the old Nightwalker just lied there, groaning and feeling immensely sorry for himself, until he finally managed to gather what passed as his wits about him enough to sit up relatively straight, though doing so required tremendous effort on his part. Chewing Spiderweed was indeed rather entertaining as long as one was chewing it, he concluded, but feeling this way afterwards? So not worth it. He felt as if he was going to die... which, had he ingested just a little more of the poisonous herb than he had, he might very well have.
It took another several seconds of looking around groggily before Olan noticed his lack of depth-perception, and in a moment of thoughtlessness let his hand go and see what prevented his left eye from seeing, touching the cloth there and the wound through it, sending lightning bolts of searing pain shooting through him as his fingertips came into contact with the gashes. He cursed to himself - something he was very surprised at afterward, since he did not usually do that - and quickly decided not to grope at his injured face anymore than was absolutely necessary.
An additional dozen seconds later he remembered what his plan had been about his injuries, and it was with no small amount of glee that it occurred to him that he could just make the pain go away and heal himself. For a moment he sat still, smiling in relief that his agony would end... until he realized that nothing was happening.
Smile fading as his relief was substituted with worry, Olan began trying more intently to cause his wounds to regenerate - something he yesterday had been able to do with barely a thought, more just allowing his own magical energy to mend the damage he had sustained than forcing it to do so - whereas now, it seemed that even when he tried to wrestle his own soul into submission, it only bent to his will reluctantly. Sweating with the sheer effort and focus, Olan grit his teeth as he very slowly felt the wounds close on his face. Even then the damage was not repaired completely, and he could feel that scars remained even when he had thought he could restore himself utterly.

Moving to comply with Aemoten's request for him to make something to eat - odd, but Olan seemed to remember something about the Sekalyn being made leader of the band... - the old explorer wondered at this new difficulty at healing himself. As he sat down by the fire and began cutting slices of a loaf of white bread he had stored in one of his pockets, he tried experimenting a little, trying to reach into himself and vent just a little of the gargantuan stores of magical energy he knew his soul contained, to just weaken the seal he had placed upon himself a little... but no matter how hard he tried, he just could not seem to do it. It was as though that huge excess of energy he had hid away was just... gone. Or at least wholly inaccessible.
Cutting some meat off of the wolf carcass with somewhat frantic movements, Olan started feeling even more ill than the Spiderweed made him. Desperately he began searching within himself for the part of him that had been lost, only to realize that there was even more that had disappeared. He knew he had thought about being someone else several times over the last few days, he had thought about himself by a different name... but now he could not remember who he had been for the death of him. In fact, most of his memories seemed to have blurred in his mind, and... he was not actually sure they were memories. Considering how unlikely some of them were, he thought it more probable that they were some of the wild stories he concocted from time to time to amuse others and himself. Yes, that had to be it. He... his name was Olan. He was Olan.
Dropping wolf meat into a cauldron with a bit of boiling water over the fire and then starting plucking bread apart to throw in there as well, his thoughts fell on Thaler, and it occurred to him that he did remember the True Words. Odd... he had forgotten so much - or at least, he thought he had - but the True Words remained, although now he was not entirely sure why he knew the True Words.

Sprinkling some instinctively selected and measured spices into the makeshift wolf-meat soup - some spices brandished from one of his many pockets, some produced with the herbs gathered last night - Olan let out a sigh. He did really not feel very well, and he had a bad feeling that it was not just because of the Spiderweed. A couple of times while cooking the soup, he actually had to turn away and cover his mouth while he coughed dryly, every cough hurting as though they were tearing his lungs apart. His stomach felt as though it contained a mass of writhing snakes, his head now downright hurt, and although he was sitting in front of a campfire, he still felt a bit cold.
"I once met a really weird demonspawn, you know," he told the soup with a crooked smile. "Pretended to be a Paladin of Liya, she did, until she lost her mind and tried to attack the people she had been traveling with. So, there we were, with her about to choke the life out of this Sekalyn fellow, and what do I do but pounce on her, you know? Just throw myself at this screaming, murderous demon." He chuckled at himself, finding the story quite improbable... only to remember that this actually happened just last night.

---

It took several seconds of groggily staring in front of him, pulling down the brim of his hat and rubbing his eyes for Jaelnec to actually convince himself that he was not hallucinating, and that there was actually a raven standing in front of him, cawing at him in a manner that very much made it feel like the bird was reprimanding him for something. Bluntly put, the squire was speechless, and quite clueless on how to handle this. He had been trained in many things concerning both combat and how to behave around nobility and such during his time with Freagon - he knew how to address people of almost every conceivable title in Rodoria to show them proper respect, and he knew how to fight virtually every creature mentioned in the libraries of the deo'iel. He knew countless different maneuvers to use during a swordfight, he knew a lot of different plants that were edible, he knew enough about magic to fear it... but he had no clue on how to handle a carrier raven ripping him a new one for no apparent reason.
So he sat where he was, astounded, staring uncomprehendingly at the winged messenger even as it stopped its cawing and appeared to offer him its leg, until Aemoten urged Jaelnec to take what the bird offered. Somewhat awkwardly, Jaelnec gingerly retrieved the scroll tied to its leg and, his brows knitting, unrolled it to figure out what was going on.
At first Jaelnec was sure that it had to be a mistake, that the bird had delivered a message that was not meant to be delivered here, but meant for someone else, somewhere else entirely. He read slowly, not being a particularly good reader, but he worked his way through the letter thanks to it having been written in the Human Cipher, and being Rodorian. Anything else and he would have no clue on how to read it.
When he read who had signed the letter, he abruptly understood with stunning clarity what was going on. The scroll slipped from his trembling fingers, and he went pale.

Dear Mother,

Please be careful of the bad people. I wish I could see you again. I miss you. When are you going to come home? I know I have been asking this again and again, but I can't stop myself from writing it. When are you going to come home? I cry every night in bed, even when grandmother punished me for doing so. Sometimes, I cry even in my dreams and I woke up only to discover that I cried in reality.

Father's getting worse day after day. He was getting better when I sent the last letter. Why is this happening to him? To us? The priest who came in weeks ago said he was going to be fine! He lied even though you told me priests don't lie! He is sleeping for most of the day so I couldn't talk to him. He is so much thinner and even if he talks to me I could only weep.

Mother, Wolfric's been taken yesterday by uncle Lawrence for apprenticeship. He and the others said that he could still be a smith as he is not as spoiled as me by you. I miss him too. Mother... I hate the others in the clan. They are mean to me and they are mean to you. Why must they be so mean? So what if we are not dirty, sweaty blacksmiths like they are?

Mother, please come back soon. I miss you so very much.
Isabelle Silversmith

Feeling very uncomfortable about just about everything right then, Jaelnec slowly picked the letter up again and got to his feet, to comply with Aemoten's instructions and hand the scroll to him. But even as he walked over there, his mind had resumed its destructive cycle of turning upon itself over and over again. The letter was meant for Annabelle... from her daughter. Annabelle's daughter. It speaks of family... her family. Annabelle's family. And they don't know what she -... what happened.
He bit his lip, feeling downright sick with guilt. They still think she is going to come home, that she is still the person she used to be. They don't know about... Usha.
Will... is it our duty to tell them? We probably should... But... the Withering...
He groaned to himself. Did Roland the Ambitious ever have this kind of problems back when he and his companionship roamed the lands? Did Vilhej the Righteous? Or even his own kinsman from a thousand years prior, Felgon Dragonslayer? Was something like this common during grand quests, or had he just been extraordinarily unlucky with his?

Arriving before Aemoten, Jaelnec offered him the letter. "It is for Annabelle," he told him sadly. "From her daughter."

---

Although Lu usually would have responded to the sound of Usha's footfalls - hooffalls? - by turning around to watch her approach, probably even leer at her a bit and say something clever and flirting, he could not bring himself to do so now and instead just kept looking through the contents of the cart. In fact, even as he dug out a loaf of rye bread and a hunk of cheese, his mind was far too preoccupied to actually appreciate any of the things about Usha that had fascinated him so until now.
So, Annabelle Silversmith had most likely been married... and Usha and Annabelle Silversmith were the same person, this highly unusual demonspawn that was approaching him in that very moment. How, he wondered, was he supposed to proceed? Had Draigen known all this when he had left Lu there? Well, of course he had - Draigen apparently knew just about everything since Lu helped him unlock that terrible power of his. But what did it mean? What did any of it mean? Lu was no stranger to casual love affairs, though he had not been with a woman since his imprisonment and subsequent first encounter with Draigen - but as casual as he was about things like this, and as casual as Usha most definitely gave the impression of being, was he really willing to let this woman violate her vows to a man who presumably genuinely loved her, just for a roll in the hay? Could he do that to someone? Had he strayed so far from his father's ways that he would indulge in such depravity?
It only added fuel to both Lu's desire to ignore such moral issues and his doubt when one of the first things Usha said as she reached him was to call him 'darling', and leaned against the cart casually, placing her form in his peripheral vision so that he was left feeling an almost overwhelming urge to just turn his head a little bit so that he could take in her exotic beauty. It took a moment before he realized that she had put a hand on his shoulder, as he could barely even feel the weight of it and not at all what she was doing through his large metal pauldrons - but when he noticed, it became even harder not to turn and look at her.
The way she emphasized the word 'love' when she continued to speak was borderline maddening, especially when he figured that the "people" she "knew" there and wanted to see again most likely included a husband.
Finally turning his head to look at her directly, Lu saw her expression and read therein unspoken promises that made him want to find the nearest arctic area to take a bath in. He felt her aura of temptation very clearly with her this close to him, and by the time she spoke again of going elsewhere if he preferred so, Lu had already made up his mind. After all, what good did it do him to have survived all those things if he turned down opportunities like this?

"I don't care where we go," he told her truthfully, beaming her his most charmingly crooked white grin. "I've just been going about aimlessly for quite a while anyways, seeing the sights and such. Am- Draigen said I was to be your guardian, so I'll just go wherever you want to go, mea pulchra. If you want to go to Pelgaid City, then we will go to Pelgaid City."
He did wonder what she meant by her last comment concerning their destination, though. 'I may not stop in the city'... What did she mean by that? That she wanted to keep going west, or what? He had not been in Rodoria for quite some time, but he seemed to recall something about Pelgaid City being special, somehow... but he could not seem to remember how. Annoying.
"To Pelgaid City, then," he summarized merrily, stuffing a bit of ore-lizard jerky into his mouth and chewing on it eagerly. He had developed a liking of ore-lizard meat during his stay in Golerin these last few weeks, where it was considered a delicacy to the point of people actually breeding the little vermin for the sake of selling them as food. The pale gray meat had a curiously creamy taste to it, slightly bitter and salty, with a somewhat metallic aftertaste.
Considering for a moment, Lu reached into a sack and pulled out a bottle of drakehorn wine with a flourish, setting it down next to the bread and cheese. "Then what?"

[xbriannova]

The raven eyed Jaelnec angrily as he read the contents of its scroll, and as he dropped the roll of paper it jumped back, as if in shock and screamed at Jaelnec, almost as though it was asking him to pick it up again. When Jaelnec recovers from his shock of realising the harsh truth around Annabelle's family and went on his way to meet the new leader, the raven followed the nightwalker on foot, trailing him, expecting a letter to be written and delivered.

---

Usha was beginning to see that her new ways were starting to affect Lu, slightly if not completely influencing his every move. He had decided to go with her, and apparently he cared little about where he was going, citing that he was assigned her guardian. The near-demoness knew that she was likely a part of the exotic man's decision making. Had she appeared as a nagging hag and drowned her aura of attraction, he would likely have abandoned her. She gazed at Lu as he spoke in reply to her statements- and felt more and more of the temptations within her. She noticed too that her new companion seemed cute when he started chewing on some grey flesh. She licked her left fang, her lips slightly opened such that it was visible- fang-licking was becoming something of a habit, likely born from now she was unused to the elongated teeth. Having lost more of the discipline of Annabelle Silversmith, she started stroking Lu's neck until it came time for her to reply.

"I may stay in Pelgaid, but then... There is a boy I have grown rather... Fond of, that I need to look after, and a group of-" At the mere thought of Jaelnec's companions, the smile on Usha's face became something a little more aggressive, menacing despite having changed little, exposing another side of her that was far less casual and accepting, a side that no one would likely want to trifle with, "rather... Undesirable low-lives he chose to associate himself with that I would love to kill slowly." It was almost involuntary, and the three-quarters demoness was unsure if it was the remnants of Annabelle Silversmith talking or just her native self. Having realised that she had grown what she had come to associate as 'ungraceful', she fell back on her somehow less menacing smile and giggled apologetically, "sorry, I was getting carried away there." She continued stroking Lu's neck after that, as if as recompensation for her self-perceived transgression.

Eager to change the subject in order to bury her less elegant side, Usha continued, and sensing that she had done enough to make Lu feel welcome, she swung her right arm around (the one that was on him), and brought it to the side of the cart, so that she may lean on the cart with both her armoured arms. She continued to smile as she gazed dreamily at Lu, her head tilted to her left, "which brings me to the next topic, handsome. I would need to practice the use of my powers again now that I am back to being myself, and I would... Enjoy it more if you would help me."

[Hymusia]

When she had fallen asleep she had paid little heed to the cold of the ground or the position which she took, she had simply gotten as comfortable as she was able and closed her eyes. Her sleep had been deep and peaceful, the voices, the smells, the feelings within her dream state were quiet, subdued and serene. Making the whole night far more restful than she would have otherwise hopped it would be, it was only when Natyr woke her on his rounds to wake everyone that she realised what a huge mistake she had made. Sometime during the night the grass had gotten damp, which mean t the rump of the shirt and jacket were soaked through, as were the tattered boots she wore. The cold of the stone and the ground itself had leached all her body heat so as she woke she was still shivering from her attempts to stay warm. All her muscles felt locked in position and stiff, aching from the cold they'd endured and the position she'd been in.

Very slowly she lowered her arms and legs, a series of pops and cracks emanating from her joints as she did so causing her to wince. Blood rushed to the abused limbs and a sharp sting pervaded the numbness that set into her feet and hands. With a great effort she moved her hands to rub her forearms, upper arms and each other, coaxing feeling back into the red cold digits while forcing her chattering teeth still and blued lips closed. Once the feeling had returned there she rubbed her own face until she felt some heat returning to it and the chattering subside, before then repeating the process with her legs. Finally she stretched both legs and arms, clicking her sore back for rubbing at it.

Despite all the aches she had slept incredibly well and her strength in every way had returned. Where she could not bear to think about the events of yesterday before they'd bedded down for the night, the whole evening replied in a matter of seconds before her eyes. It was one fact she was remembering in particular, a sacrifice, a death. Carefully she lifted herself up, grabbing the make shift cane Aemoten had given her and briefly leaning on it as blood rushed to the limbs it had been restricted too. Almost stumbling when she took her first step she was careful from there on to use her cane to seek out the ground and pay attention to her hips until their stiffness wore off. Some small way from the camp, by the edge of the trees she searched for something. That would fulfill the purpose she had in mind.

To her absolute relief she could once again see, with a low whistle the whole area lit up for a brief spell, fading outwards like the rippled n a pond. She didn't pay attention to the details but looked for something particular and she found it quite quickly. It was a large rock, she couldn't tell the colour but she knew it was heavy and it seemed to have a vein of some dirty semi-precious stone running through it, likely quartz. Shifting the cane ot be pinched in by her arm pit she lifted the heavy rock and rolled it up against her chest. With some effort she turned back towards the camp fire, emitting low, quiet whistles so as not to bump into anything or anyone.

The night before she hadn't the emotional, mental or physical strength to process Brian's death, or any of the destruction that had happened, today though was a new day and she owed it to the Pennyworth to pay him some last respects. As she approached the pyre she noticed some kind of object, stuck into the ground forming a vague cross, likely Aemoten or Natyr had done that. Of course in a forest anything that looked useful was often hauled off. That was what the rock was for, carefully she rolled it down just in front of the cross shape. Then quietly she offered a few words to the deceased boys ashes, ushering him onto the spirit realm in the old tongue's prayers before promising vengeance. Her thoughts turned to what they weren't strong enough to the day before, the bloody handed monster who had killed her own, turned on her friends and her comrades, who had cast aside everything in a moment to reveal the truly ugly beneath. Usha had blood on her hands, and like a wild animal she doubted once she had a taste of that blood that she would stop. For her own good, but more importantly for everyone else's as well, she had to be destroyed.

After she was done she stood, once more taking her cane in hand and offering a low whistle to locate the others. Aemoten was some ways off; distinguishable by his voice alone, with Louis no doubt, Olan was only just stirring from Natyr's waking, and Jaelnec was standing alone. Deciding to see how the younger nightwalker fared she began to head towards him, relying both on the cane and her own low whistle to sense the environment around her. Though she froze as she heard the screaming of a crow, forcing the 'good morning' that was on her lips back into her throat where it remained until the crow had silenced. Once again with mouth open and about to ask how Jaelnec fared, Aemoten shouted over for his attention in some matter. Clearly the fates did not wish her to speak to him this morning, so offering him what she hoped was a sincere smile and a light wave of her fingers she turned her attention to returning to the camp fire. She did have a patient to tend to after all, it was about time Olan's bandages were changed.

He too had received orders from Aemoten and she paused once more, Olan would likely comply for he was a generous sort, kind and caring, certainly not someone who deserved to have his face mauled by a rabid beastly monstrosity in an effort to preserve it's life. Sighing lightly she listened, Olan was indeed moving about to make breakfast, “Olan, do not over do it. I will clean your wounds for you again once you are done. I hope you slept well.” Finding the cauldron's had been moved to be filled with fresh water she took the discarded bandages and threw most into the fire to be burned, while the few that remained were kept in her hand as she made her way to the water's edge to wash them. She couldn’t' treat an injury with dirty bandages after all and she truly wouldn't want to either.

Kneeling at the waters edge she'd had the good sense to pull up the coat and shirt enough to stop it from getting too filthy. The fabric bundled in her lap and kept in place by her stomach as she crouched over her own knees. Carefully washing each of the fabric strips with her knuckles, but with no way of knowing how much of the staining she was removing she repeated the process several times. Only to put the strips she felt happy enough with over her own now bare knees. When all was done the cleaned cloths were taken back towards the camp fire, the cane once again guiding her way, but this time without her low whistle. Hopefully there was still some of the Osier treatment left, it would be a pain to have to remake it.