I'm always a ghost.

"Must've been the wind storm that passed a few days earlier." Ealdwynn says observantly. Rowan's eyes are drawn towards the flowers crushed underneath one of the many watchers of the forest, frowning.

"Sad…" She muses openly. Meanwhile, her brother is already measuring up the tree, pacing back and forth. "Need help with that, big bro? I can lift it up."

"How." It was a request.

"…very carefully and with a lot of force." She replies, a bit less confident than before.

"Mhm, and I'll ask it to kindly move out of our way." The grin on his face indicates his amusement. "Though it is fortunate we're both here. Remember that spell you've been learning from Dad? We can probably combine it with my wind magic to set it to the side at least."

"Won't that damage more of the Grandpa Whiskers?"

"It'll be fine, Ro." The older brother pats his sister on the shoulder. "They'll grow back. We need to make sure nobody else gets blocked off."

"Alright!" She pounds a fist into her other hand, Warrior of Light style. "Let's get to it."

Rowan moves to kneel behind the tree, running a hand along the dark bark. Her mind drifts briefly. considering how long this pillar of the forest must have been standing guard. Well before her time, no doubt. The wind behind her blows, sending the nearby carnations to dance about in an unnatural waltz, while the leaves above shudder out their rustling song. An effect of Ealdwynn's aero magic, no doubt.

She smiles briefly, focusing her mind with one hand on the tree. She looks to the left, where more of the Grandpa Whiskers had been crushed. The young lady does her best to imagine the tree over there, put to rest in the field of flowers. It sounded like the best way to go. She realized then that's how she would want to leave this world.

The aether runs through her veins, Rowan closing her eyes as she channels the energy. She had her target in her mind's eye, the gusting winds sending her hair flying against her face.

The Marcellian isn't sure how long it takes -- all she knows is that at some point, the feeling of wood vanishes and the winds die down, returning to a gentle breeze. Rowan opens her eyes, looking to her left. The tree to the side of the road now, no longer blocking the road.

"YES!" She jumps up, laughing in delight. She runs over to high-five Ealdwynn, who does his best to play it cool -- for all about five seconds. He returns it (because who would leave someone hanging, right?), then goes down-low -- of course, Rowan follows it up flawlessly.

No, that's not it.

I think it's the fear that this could last. One can only hunt for so long before either their injuries catch up to them, or they grow tired of it. I was fortunate enough to fall in the latter category. Only went back cause I needed the gil bad enough. But this? What I have now? I want to keep it. At the same time, I have to see the issue of my house resolved before it's too late, if it's not already.

How terrible. I feel so greedy wanting to leave one foot in the past and the other in the present, and it's leaving me fearful of the future. I haven't even told her the extent of the danger if we do go back. I thought, maybe once I had recovered, I would leave in the middle of the night. Go back after that near-death experience and see it to the end, one way or another.

Now that I've made those promises, I can't do it. Even if I went back and got my way in regards to Ealdwynn, it would be a void in my heart that would stain my honor until the day I die. This damnable heart of mine; sometimes I wish I was born with the honor of a thief instead of a warrior.

I'll make it work.

I'll tell her some day -- even if it means the end of everything.

It all moves so fast, like a violent deluge of a dam finally breaking. The river of battle unleashes itself in a handful of seconds. Rowan's form reappears where the axe is, getting a look at the beast from above as moonlight shines. The manticore's tan pelt had been seared, raw from the burn wounds. Hateful red eyes similar to her own looked up as she soared down from the heavens. It was as if she were a messenger from the sky, sent to punish the beast for terrorizing those merchants on the roads. The manticore roars, its throat glowing as it prepares to send a blast of energy her way.

Too little, too late.

The adventurer's axe makes a sickening sound as it connects with the beasts axe, while at the same time its flank is pierced by a guandao, a pyroblast melts the tail, and an arrow pierces its heart. It could not even let out as much as a whimper as the hunt mark collapses, Rowan barely managing to land on her feet as she falls from on high.

"Well done everyone!" Toulant's voice calls from behind Rowan. The party takes a moment to celebrate before the smell of burnt flesh from Eldryn's magicks could spoil the mood (and their noses), patting each other on the back and shaking each other's shoulder excitedly.

"Drink are on me tonight!" Rowan calls out, earning a raucous round of cheers.

The Ishgardian makes her way over to the fridge, dumping the fresh carp into a bowl. She places the bowl on the table, clanging on it with a stray wooden spoon several times. The call of the beast to emerge from its lair and sup upon its prey. The pitter-patter announncing the ferocious charge echoes throughout the otherwise empty halls of the cabin, and before Rowan knows it, the fearsome ferret buries its head into the bowl, scarfing down the raw fish. Rowan places an elbow on the table, propping up her tilted head with a hand.

"You know Mari, you remind me of myself sometimes. My mother used to scold me the way I'd run up and down the hallways for what seemed like hours on end. She swore I was the fastest woman alive when that dinner bell rang." She chuckles, scritching behind Marigold's ears while she eats. "Don't think that lesson ever stuck with me sadly. At least her sense of duty did. Thought I was going to dread doing house chores today, but it's not so bad. So long as I've got my trusty note here, my memory will never fail me."

Rowan taps two fingers to her temple, a lopsided grin aimed at the ferret who is licking her chops clean. Marigold tilts her head quizically for a moment, then moves to Rowan's shoulders, wrapping herself around the midlander's neck in a warm and fuzzy embrace. Rowan pats her gently a few times, smiling in spite of their on-and-off "feud".

The legs push forward, through the snow. The body shakes as it's forced to trudge onwards, even though it wants nothing more than to rest for an eternity and then some. It moves on instinct towards--somewhere. Somewhere good.

Snow eventually turns to stone at some point, though when that happened isn't clear. Concerned voices fill the air. Some point, while others turn away. The clanking of broken armor tries to drown them out.

Then--warmth. All enveloping. A surprised shout for a nurse? It doesn't matter. Help was coming. The body is guided away, to somewhere quiet. A name. Your name?

Nothing.

Hands -- ones that aren't attached -- begin to work. Sewing up the stinging pain. The pain can only be described as something that is simultaneously tearing itself open with thousands of tiny little fingers while also pulling itself together to close the volcanic chasm of crimson. Eventually the work is completed. Something about scarring, to take things easy while it heals. Tch, as if that was going to be an issue.

Resting was the only thing left.

"Can I ask for your name, ma'am?" The question comes through with surprisingly clarity, like being stricken with a fierce clubbing blow to the head.

"It's…"

…

Get it together. The name. -Your- name.

Her father's study was an impressive sight to behold. Towering bookcases that stretched high, towering over her. These great wooden monoliths carried a thousand years of history, passed down from generation to generation of Carwynn. Though they were a newer noble house within Ishgard, they had been fighting this war for as long as they could remember.

Strewn about were various tables littered with documents, correspondence, and other knick-knacks. Rowan often left things behind in the study -- it was so big that it took her a handful of minutes to find things she left behind at times.

At the back of the room on a raised staircase lay her father's desk made from cold obsidian. She didn't like it much. It gave her the chills whenever she put her palms on it. Thankfully they weren't there -- instead, she had posted up by a small window, leaving it open to invite the pleasant spring breeze of Coerthas inside. It was one of the few things in the room that didn't make Rowan feel small, which she was grateful for.

"It'll go as long as it needs to."

"Hasn't it been long enough?"

Her father frowns, squinting his eyes. Searching for something.

"Are you afraid, Ro?"

"No…" She blushes, brushing a few strands of hair away from her face. "I just--I wonder if there's something more to this. More than just training to fight in a war."

"Hmh…" He runs a hand through his beard thoughtfully. "Well, you don't have to fight--"

"I do." She cuts in, her determination setting in at once. She looks out the window, towards a foggy horizon that stretched on eternally. The voices, which had an almost ethereal quality before, had been silenced. The courtyard is empty now, save for the trees that sway to and fro in an unknown ritualistic dance. Somewhere further away -- she doesn't know how far -- a dragon roars. A battle was occuring somewhere. The wheel of violence continues to spin.

Rowan sighs.

Was that the fate that awaited her? A bracelet, a locket…maybe even a ring, if she were lucky enough to live that long. Rowan's would be inlaid with a pearl, while Cleone's would have a ruby of course. Reminders of each other when they were away. It was enough to make her smile briefly -- only in the next moment for it to fade, imagining that same ruby cast to the sea. A lone, dying crimson flame suffocating in the depths. It tries to hold on, flickering in defiance. For a moment it believes in the miracle that it can blaze into a raging inferno beneath the sea.

Her mind's eye falls dark.

Something else falls at the same time, bouncing off the pot and landing against her foot. She had clipped off most of the branch by accident while pruning one of the house plants. The warrior let out a long sigh; no doubt she would be getting an earful later such a stupid mistake.

By the time she registers something running up her leg, the presence is perched on her shoulder, observing the branch in her hand.

"Come to mock me, Marigold?"

The ferret looks at the house guest briefly. Quick as ever, she snatches the branch out of Rowan's hand. Before the hyur can even protest, she's popcorned out of the room and back out the door, having earned the first piece towards building her new fortress to rule over The Black Forest with.

"Maybe…I don't have to live up to her." She muses, thinking on the stolen branch. "I just have to be the best I can be. A new branch."

Rowan smiles.

--

"You saved our asses, Rowan." The last of a line of congratulatory fighters claps her shoulder firmly, offering a weary smile to the fighter. "Without you, we would have lost Eldryn and Hidetora. Hope the arm will heal up alright." He chuckles, lighting up the dream as he turns to those gathered around the fire, raising a mug.

"Three cheers to Rowan!"

--

The faint smell of carnations and daisies permeated Rowan's nose, causing her to smile as she buried her face in the endless field of white. Outside was dark, save for the occasional firefly that shined through the window, providing a brief glimpse into the outside world.

-This- is what her world felt like, this little room inside a cabin out in the middle of the forest. It's why nighttime was her favorite; no need to worry about the burdens outside. Just her and…

--

"Nice shot, Ro! Bet I can do better!" A boy with matching crimson eyes flashes a taunting smile at the girl, beating his chest with a fist.

"No you can't, Winnie." She giggles as the young lad takes her place, readying his bow.

"You sure about that?"

"Alright…" Rowan taps her chin thoughfully, trying to come up with a way to raise the stakes. "You have to split my arrow. otherwise we're even at best!"

"Hmph…" He pauses, looking over at his sister wearing the dress that had been given to her a week prior, a birthday gift from their mother. This was her third time wearing it already! "Fine."

He nocks the arrow, pulling back on the bowstring. A pair of patrolmen fly overhead, the flapping of wings causing a gust of wind to violently rip through the air. Ealdwynn keeps his balance, not so much as flinching as he measures his shot. Footsteps echo from the hall, approaching their direction. Rowan turns at the sound of her name being called. The arrow flies free…

--

The sound of a door creaking open stirs Rowan from her daydreaming. The earthy aroma of the plants hanging about reminds her where she is. The book she had been reading had fallen to the floor at some point, opened to a different page than the one she had been on. Her cheeks felt hot for some inexplicable reason; it was probably from being in the sun for so long.

The film came to an end. She took a deep breath, running her hands along the chair arms a few times, attempting to find stability in the present. What was she chasing just now…?

Fleeting things. Perhaps this too was a fleeting dream, leaving her with a single question:

There are so many it's hard to track which is which these days. Only the most prominent of your scars and the most recent one linger in the mind. It doesn't help some of them overlap, trying to cross paths with one another -- or perhaps muddle your mind so that you can't curse them any longer.

Your hand runs over the bridge of your nose. It doesn't feel the same way it does when she touches it, but that's okay. She doesn't need to know that. She doesn't need to know everything about it -- at least, not yet. Maybe some day. Maybe tomorrow.

"When it feels right." You tell yourself.

Your greatest failure. Your greatest fear. Somehow the smallest wound carries the heaviest burden of all. A story you're never going to forget, long after its conclusion.

A knock at the door jars you from your thoughts. You hear her voice, concerned. You answer back with something you don't even remember thirty second later, but it's enough to get you dressed. How long had you been staring at those wounds? Tales that were lost to time, their only memory being one of many marks upon your body?

Why hadn't you gotten them patched up? Was it "cool" to keep them? Was there some sort of twisted sentimentality tied to these disfigurations? A fleeting hope that somehow you'd remember everything, and channel those experiences into some hidden strength when the time was right?

Too many questions, not enough time to answer. You can barely muster a smile as you step out of the bathroom.

He starts again. "Heard you sent some smallfry to the hospital the other day."

"Yeah."

"…Thanks." When she gives him a confused look, the Tonawawtan elaborates. "For not killin' the kid. Sometimes you ought to put them in their place, remind them that the tales they hear in the saloon are rare as opposed to the norm."

"Mhm."

"You afraid you'll get done in some day? Eventually you'll get found by a real pro, you know. Not some young lad looking to make a name for himself."

"Not really, at least not anymore than anyone else is afraid of dying. Not much of a life if I have to hide in the shadow of a story from long ago." Lei sniffs the air. Acrid smoke fills her lungs, making her cough. She wasn't sure what else she expected. "Gods--anyway, way I see it, I have as much as purpose in death as I do in life. Those vultures in the sky?" She points to the faint shadows in the horizon gliding effortlessly. "They guide me from place to place, dictating each step of my life. My only friends. My hhetso. I view it as an honor to be under their wings for so long; when I die, I hope my pound of flesh can serve as a worthy offering for their guidance."

"I see." Hohuloma ashes out the cigar, standing up. A few black strands of hair escape from the bandana on his head, waving farewell to Lei. "Break's over. Gotta get back on patrol."

His shadow lingers over the hhetsarro's briefly, considering something. It grows long in the street, kicking up dust along its path as Hohuloma heads south. She watches him, remaining still the entire time. Waiting…

Wanting.

The shadow her past fades into the desert, leaving her to linger in the shade.

The birds continue to circle overhead. She looks up, this time with a faint smile.

The wood clinked against steel with each strike. Slow at first, leaving a half-second of silence between each round. Then it picked up, faster and faster, driving deeper into the wood. Chips started to gather on the table as the knife went faster and faster and faster and--

"Fuck!" Blood flowed between the cracks into the tiny slices that had been carved by his hand. A small reparation given in service to the damage done, though money may do more good in the long run.

"My turn." Lei takes the knife, wiping it with a rag she had prepared for this showdown. Her eyes fell on the ten pel set aside - five from each of the competitors. Winner takes all: just how she liked it.

She went around once. Then twice. Stab. Stab. Stab. Stab. Keep going Lei, quicken the pace, show him that you're the boss.

"Hey--you don't need--" She heard the man protest. His voice was rising, heat radiating off his cheeks. The ground beneath her feet shifted, a fine layer of dust flying her direction as he adjust his arm, reaching for something. Of course, she made sure he drew first. A knife went into his shooting hand, pinning it against the wall.

"You're worth a lot more than ten pel, friend. Sorry I had t'play ya, but money's money." Lei raises her hands in mock surrender, the other tavern goers looking on in shock.

"C'mon--give it here! I worked for that!" She growled, drawing a knife. The vulture didn't so much as flinch. It knew its place in the world -- and hers, for that matter. Proper respect had to be shown. A king must be shown proper tribute; the peasant forced to kneel and proclaim its undying love in exchange for a gift. The hhetsarro throws up her hands, letting out a exhale of frustration through her nose.

"…Fine…you can have the head…"

The fish plummets from the heavens, its God finding the believer worthy of such a sacred gift meant for it. A mercy, and one with a just reward at the end of it all. Her hhetso effortlessly catches the fish head thrown back at blinding speed, disappearing back into the gray skies above.

"Stupid fuckin' old ways. I hate tradition." She bites into the fish, letting the juices run down her chin, savoring nature's gift.

Somewhere in the night, a vulture sups on a tender well-cooked fish head. A bandit slinks off into the desert, having successfully robbed a passing caravan. A duel is about to begin in Hhutsatahwi, guns ready. A dust storm rages on in the west.

Lei sighs contentedly.

"There's still money in bringing you in. The law has given up on bringing you in, sure, but there are others who want to skin the cat." He lets out a lowly cackle that blends in with the dying campfire's crackling, producing an unholy, indescribable sound. "Wanna know the best part?"

"No."

"What--"

The curt denial is enough to make his finger on the trigger loosen enough for Lei to strike, a knife within her jacket flying through the air before he can even register what was happening. His gun flies into the fire as the knife embeds itself in his hand. The masked man begins screaming and writhing in pain on the ground. The "hunted" lets out a long sigh, realizing this would continue for an excruciating amount of time. She dismounts from the tree, making her way over.

"Get up. You'll live." Without waiting for his reply, she carelessly rips the knife out of his palm. A herd of nearby dogs join in a howling chorus, performing a brief, harmonious melody. Shame the lead singer was off-key. And also crying.

She kicks him. Not hard enough to cause any serious damage, but enough to deliver the message "Go home." wordlessly. After a few more bouts of sniffling, the unknown man scampers off. Lei sighs, shaking her head.

Lei feels a hand push her off - more of a shove, really. The blood clung to his coat. She left her mark on him, perhaps in more ways than one.

"Lei…" He starts, swallowing hard. "How many were in there?"

"All twenty-one'a 'em, including Ol' Bourbonbelly himself."

"…"

The silence hung in the air. After a moment, the Dustwatch officer put his hat back on, heading back down the trail. She watched as his hat disappeared beneath the valley, the tassel waving goodbye as a dust cloud blew by. Lei waves back for several seconds. Blood flies onto the dirt, seeping between the cracks. A horse whinnies in the distance.

She looks up to the blue skies above. A single dark cloud looms in the distance, moving in her direction at a rapid pace. Was this an omen?

"Nah, jus' some rain. Maybe it'll wash me off a'fore I can reach the lake."

Lei walks down the path opposite when she came and where Hohuloma departed from. There was no honor to be found within the halls, no grand fantasy being fulfilled.

It was a job. A job for the people -- no, a job for Shaaloani.

Lei places her head in both of her hands, letting out a loud groan. "Just 'cuz I got a name don't mean I'm a miracle worker, stupid." She pushes herself off the crate she'd be sitting on, raising her hands in defeat. "I'm out, John-boy."

"Y'can't--hey, wait!" John places a hand on her arm, attempting to yank her back. Without hesitation, Lei sinks her fangs into his hand, causing the man to yelp. She licks the blood, spitting it on the hardwood floor. "You bitch--yer gonna regret this, I swear it!"

"Yeh, well, I look forward t'seein' th' day ya try. Later, John-boy."

"It's Johnny! Johnny Two-Shields!"

"Them shields won't matter when ya got twenty-one knives stickin' out yer back, bud." She dusts her hands off, two-steppin' her way on out of the makeshift saloon. A caw rings out overhead.

Her tongue passed over her fangs. Somewhere nearby, a caw rings out as she hears the sound of something being torn apart.

"Y'already got yer share, let me have mine! Yer lucky I didn't take th' kidneys too!" Lei shakes her fist into the dark.

Spin. Spin. Spin.

"Aw hells, I ain't ever huntin' a gator again. Stupid fuckin'--hurry up!"

Spinspinspinspinspin. A frustrated sigh when the meat still looks a bit raw.

"Whatever, if it has worms, I'll just eat them too. I hate this. Bet nobody even has you as a hhetso, you're so useless."

With her slander complete, Lei pulls the Toari Alligator meat off the skewer, sinking her fangs into it. The taste is mild, probably because she hardly seasoned the thing. Still: food is food.

The hhetsarro moves to a nearby tree, wrapping her tail around a branch and dangling herself like an opo-opo would while supping upon her trophy. The juices run down her face, spilling onto her scarf - which was already bloodied from the hunt. She swings back and forth, doing her best to raise her spirits through her stomach.

Only after tearing at one end of the alligator meat does the hunter realize that was the only sound in the air along with the crackling of a campfire. Before Lei could free herself, the sound of a gun's hammer being pulled back makes the hhetsarro freeze.

"We've explored many a tale, pondered on unexplored futures - what if we had won the war? What if I had to take the lead during a siege, with my commander slain? What if…" She pauses for dramatic effect, spreading her hands out. "…I hadn't made it back in time before Merrilyn threw up all over the inn?" Less laughter than before, though enough to indicate the audience was following along. "In the same vein, we've explored the past and the present. Memories of what was. How a life lived, though mundane, may contain some level of excitement - you're welcome for that by the way, making me include details that would cause any lady to blush." She joined in with the laughter this time, shaking her head.

"As for why I tell you these things, the answer is simple: I had to tell my story, and I managed to find a room of folks clueless enough who to pay me to do it!" That got the loudest rection of the night, with Arliene having to wait a handful of seconds before she could resume. "No, no, but seriously…some of these tales, well…they could be fabricated in some form. They could be completely fictitious. Or, mayhaps they all carry some modicum of truth, an insight about me. Whatever you glean, friends, I think tells as much about yourselves as it does about me; in much the same way a good game of Kharaqiq does, as shown to me by a Doman fisher."

They clap throughout the morning and into the night. At least, that's what it felt like.

Perhaps this was all a dream, too.