#chapter twenty

Mostly, he just saw shadowy silhouettes of fellow Clan cats, ears perked and voices hushed. Thornclaw stood beside him, close enough for his mane to brush against Firestar’s pelt. Somewhere nearby, Bramblepaw was whispering fighting advice to what Firestar guessed was another apprentice, going by their shaky, youthful voice that responded. Every other voice was unfamiliar.

“Think they’re coming?” someone whispered.

Firestar’s ears unconsciously pulled back. WindClan’s warriors had stayed behind for the faux-fight and to help mark the Clans’ allies with mud, while the rest of the Clans (and WindClan’s apprentices) were waiting in the tunnels. Nothing could be heard from the outside but the wind—always present on these moors, but significantly louder than Firestar remembered it usually being. It delivered no scents, no indication of what was going on out there. Nothing.

“You okay, sir?” Thornclaw murmured.

Firestar looked up at him, momentarily confused by the concern in his eyes, until it occurred to him that he was trembling.

“I’ll live,” he replied, unable to raise his voice above “barely audible”.

There was a slight pause before Thornclaw shifted his weight to carefully lean into Firestar’s side. The contact was faint, but it was just enough pressure to relax some of Firestar’s muscles. He took in a breath and returned the gesture. He said nothing more.

He had no idea how long he was underground, waiting as the wind picked up and invaded the tunnels, whirling around briefly and rustling pelts before dying with a cough of dust. It was shorter than the wait for the dog in the first nights of Firestar’s leadership, but not much less agonizing. He was struck by the urge to jump out into the open and run as fast as he could for the Barn. Or just drop dead before the fight began. Either one was preferable.

Gradually, though, the wind did bring them something: faint screeches and yowls from down the hill.

“Get ready,” Rookstar said somewhere around one of the tunnel’s bends.

The message was repeated in whispers down the line. Cats who were sitting stood up and braced their limbs for a jump.

Steadily, the noise grew louder. The wind that coursed up the hill competed to be heard, growing into a howl that made Firestar fight to not shake even harder. It wasn’t too long before grass rustled closer and closer, taunting shouts and whoops from unfamiliar voices following.

Footsteps passed overhead for a few moments before another yowl—Leopardstar’s—sounded off. With the ease and grace of water flowing down a gully, the Clan cats rushed out into the open, a seemingly endless stream of warriors and apprentices. Firestar barely avoided being shoved by the torrent, following a brown tabby and leaping into the fresh air of night.

The Blood cats weren’t prepared. The middle of their swarm of fighters had multiple warrior-fountains burst out and rain down on their foes, forcing the Blood to scramble and skitter backwards to try and fight, only to back straight into more warriors. Firestar could see up the hill that the WindClan cats and their mud-streaked allies had turned around and lunged for the nearest enemy. The Blood fighters at the front were knocked over or rolled down the hill, though some managed to grab onto an opponent.

It was chaos. The wind and the battlers screamed in unison, deafening Firestar as he stopped in place and looked around wildly.

“What’rey’ doing?” Thornclaw shouted to him, standing by his side. He was barely audible over the fight.

“We need to find Scourge!” Firestar yelled back. “He takes priority!”

He had barely finished his sentence before a blue-grey molly caught sight of him and lunged, her claws extended. She gripped Firestar as she knocked him backwards, but before she could do anything but slash into his shoulder, Thornclaw had her by the scruff and yanked her away. Once she was off of Firestar, Thornclaw let go and sliced down her face, catching a claw in her eye. She screeched and pulled away from him, shaking her head violently as she backed off. She didn’t get a moment more to recover; a RiverClan cat tackled her and the two went rolling down the hill.

“I’ve got you!” Thornclaw shouted, returning to Firestar’s side. “Just lookeround for him!”

Slowly, dodging swipes and letting Thornclaw grapple with whoever else tried to tackle him, Firestar pushed through the crowd, looking this way and that, trying to locate Scourge. The noise was overwhelming, the wind shoving him around, and—

Why did everything suddenly feel so wrong?

Even beyond this battle, deep in Firestar’s core, a heavy, taloned sensation tightened its grip around his heart. It tugged at him with a panic he himself was removed from.

There was a cry somewhere to his right of, “The moon!”

Firestar looked up, his eyes huge, as the moon’s beautiful whiteness was being devoured by a furious, deep blood-red. Like a film had been swept over it.

The sky was darker somehow. Was Firestar imagining that the space around the moon was turning a twisted reddish-black?

Battle on a Gathering night, a waking night… Firestar shivered. Suriin is furious with us.

Several cats shouted in shock and fear; even a few of the Blood cats looked up uneasily. The roar of battle lessened just for a bit.

Firestar took the opportunity to keep weaving through the crowd, Thornclaw at his side and shoving away a couple cats who charged them. He caught sight of a small, white shape, almost pink in the moon’s glaring red light, surrounded on all sides by fighting Blood cats, and leaped past two familiar black-and-white giants.

Just as the pair noticed him and turned to pull him back, Thornclaw yowled and tackled the twin with an underbite, biting down on his throat. The other patched tom hissed and immediately went to help his comrade.

Firestar didn’t look back, just prayed for Thornclaw’s safety, as he landed in full view of Scourge, who was staring up at the moon still.

Above the returning cacophony of war, he bellowed, “SCOURGE!”

The tiny white tom whirled to face him. His face showed no emotion, but his pupils were round and his jaw was tight.

“Please!” Firestar fought to be heard. “You’re outmatched! Take your cats and go! No one needs to die tonight!”

Scourge stared at him.

“The orders are to kill you, Scourge!” Firestar tried again. “You and anyone who gets in our way to you! Just retreat! You can survive this!”

There was a pause, during which, somehow, the sound around them seemed to die away. Firestar met Scourge’s pale blue eyes, fighting the sensation of ice coating his muscles. For a moment, he hoped.

Then Scourge spoke, and even though his voice was quiet, he was perfectly audible.

“Your Clan will give thanks,” he said, “when you reach heaven.”

Firestar didn’t get a heartbeat to respond; in an instant, Scourge leaped at him and his small paws landed perfectly on Firestar’s chest.

He was far stronger than he looked; Firestar was helplessly thrown backwards with a grunt of pain and landed on his back. He rolled to get onto his feet, but Scourge was ready with another shove and a swing of his claws. Firestar ducked his head on instinct. Pain bloomed with a vengeance across his brow anyways. His eyes stung and darkened with blood as he tried to stand up and shake his head to free his vision.

Again he was tackled, and again his back hit the ground. This time, though, there were teeth on his throat, and a weight of some kind pinning the rest of his body down.

Teeth. Throat. Tightly gripping him.

It was the dog.

Panic overtook Firestar—a fear like nothing he had experienced before stabbed his heart and sent it into overdrive. His vision went blank, not just from the blood. Reeking dog-breath hit his nose as he gasped for air.

Sheer terror clouded his mind. He clawed desperately in every direction, trying to find purchase, something soft and fleshy to cut and drive this thing away. His back feet hit fur and he slashed down with both, hard and deep as he could go, scoring again when the weight didn’t lift off. His front claws swiped side-to-side, and when he felt something make contact with them he dug in fast and repeatedly, gouging with panicked violence. He had no idea what he was reaching. The tongue of that brindled monster? Its eyes? Ears? Cheeks?

The teeth released their grip with a gurgling sound. Firestar scrambled away, clawing the ground to pull him as far as he could go before he shot to his feet and turned around, wheezing delicious, clean air.

There was no dog in front of him. No creature of his nightmares.

A small white cat staggered, his neck and entire underbelly stained a frighteningly dark red. Blood pooled on his tongue and dripped down his chin as his pale eyes bulged, pupils eclipsing blue, and stared up at Firestar in shock and pain. He haggardly lifted a paw and stumbled to the side, balance lost as the ground welcomed his leaking gut.

Firestar was frozen, staring in horror. Scourge collapsed, trying to breathe and only succeeding in bubbling blood out of the hole in his throat. His ice-white claws dug into the ground aimlessly. Things pink and dull maroon were visible, threatening to poke out of his stomach.

Everything around the two was gone. The battle-screams, the tainted sky, the fierce wind. All of it disappeared. Firestar could comprehend nothing but the dying cat in front of him.

“I’m—” Firestar had to tighten his throat to not vomit bile, his voice a shaky whisper. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

If Scourge heard him, he didn’t respond. He couldn’t, really. His eyes only found Firestar’s as he convulsed, seizing up and choking. They held that stare, accusing and begging for help all at once, until the convulsions weakened to twitches and Scourge’s head rested on the ground, now staring at nothing. His mouth stayed open, his fangs glinting red.

The life in his eyes faded. There were no last words.

Gradually, the sounds of war returned to Firestar’s ears, the wind now parting his fur with insistence to be acknowledged. Firestar just stared at the body, unable to move, hardly able to breathe.

That massive white-with-black tom, Bone, pushed his way into view, baring his teeth at Firestar until his eyes caught the limp white cat in front of him.

“Scourge?” he rasped.

No response.

“Scourge—” Bone reached his master’s side and pushed at his shoulder, his voice pitching higher and louder. “Scourge!”

The leader of the Blood was silent.

Marrow-deep fear struck Bone’s face and he looked past Firestar, yelling, “Jumper! Hoot! Scourge is dead! SCOURGE IS DEAD!”

Firestar looked back; behind him, the black-and-white toms had someone pinned down. The one with the underbite turned his head, staring with confusion at his fellow commander, before his eyes traveled down to Scourge. He stiffened to the tip of his tail.

“We need to go!” Bone shouted. “NOW!”

The underbite tom did not need to be told again. He turned to his twin. “Jumper! Come on!”

Jumper lifted his head, his muzzle stark-red. He caught sight of the source of the other tom’s panic. His eyes bulged and he jumped to his feet, abandoning the bloody cat beneath him. In an instant, the three toms shoved their way through the crowd in the same direction, careless of who they knocked over.

More cats turned, distracted by the sudden departure of their leaders, and they realized the source of the panic. Quickly, the yowls and snarls stopped around Firestar.

Then the screaming began. They sounded more like cries for help than tidings of news.

The shriek of “SCOURGE IS DEAD!” ripped through the crowd, and now the Blood cats were fighting to get away from their opponents, scattering in all directions with howls of despair.

“What was this all for?!” a familiar pale grey tom wailed as he limped down the hill, covered in gashes and tattered fur. The sentiment was echoed by several cats, some running his way, others streaking for the road.

The battle was over, the enemy fleeing in all directions, mostly towards the Aulmir. A temporary pause of confusion was passed by and followed with yowls of jubilation, warriors and stray allies alike shouting their triumph.

Firestar didn’t join them. His eyes wouldn’t focus. His voice wouldn’t come to him.

“He’s dead!” Brick’s voice, both relieved and oddly excited. “That went way better than I expected.”

“A shame I wasn’t the one to kill him,” came Leopardstar’s bloodthirsty growl. “Where is he? I want—”

The chatter around the body slowly ceased. Firestar had the faint impression that there were eyes on him. He had turned back to his murder, even if his vision was so blurred with blood and mental fog that he couldn’t properly see the crime.

“Firestar?” Leopardstar again. “What happened? Did you see who killed him?”

It took everything he had in him to fight through his numbing, tight throat and choke out, “I did.”

“You? Really?” Leopardstar scoffed, now next to him. There was a pause, and then her voice softened. “Oh.” Another pause, her voice even quieter. “…Oh.”

“Firestar—” Someone from ThunderClan. They asked him something that took multiple heartbeats to reach his ears. “Firestar, are you okay?”

He said nothing. He couldn’t.

“Stars above…” Was that Greystripe? Something pressed between his shoulders and less-than-gently shook him. “Hey. Look at me. Firestar, look.”

Slowly, with the effort it would take to push a boulder uphill, Firestar turned his head to his left.

Yes, through the red, it was Greystripe. His yellow eyes were soft and deeply troubled as they met Firestar’s.

“It’s okay,” he said, with an almost fatherly kindness Firestar had not heard from him before. “It’s okay. Just– just breathe, alright?”

Dimly, Firestar was now aware that his lungs were pleading for air. When had he stopped breathing?

He inhaled and exhaled mindfully as more cats gathered around him and Scourge’s corpse. Slowly, he reached up a paw, swiped it over his face and shook his head. His vision cleared enough for him to look forward again.

Blackstar and Rookstar were in front of him, Blackstar darkly staring at Scourge and Rookstar watching Firestar with a distant, unreadable look in his eye. Leopardstar stepped forward from Firestar’s right and joined the other leaders, glancing back at him with unusual concern.

His eyes threatened to fog up again. Even his hearing seemed to retreat into himself, losing the sound of the cats around him in favor of the blood rushing through his body, the nauseated gurgling in his stomach, the bile in his throat reaching for his mouth.

“It did have to be done,” Rookstar said quietly.

I knew that if I let my guard down, the bear would surely find me and unleash its fury. I had to stay focused and remember everything the Khotlers had taught me about survival in the wilderness. As I crept through the dense underbrush, I could hear the bear getting closer and closer. I knew I had to stay calm and trust in my abilities.

Suddenly, the bear burst through the trees, its massive form looming over me. I held my breath, waiting for the inevitable attack. But to my surprise, the bear stopped in its tracks and sniffed the air. It seemed confused, unable to locate me despite being so close.

I took advantage of this momentary confusion and slowly backed away, careful not to make any sudden movements that might alert the bear to my presence. As I retreated, I heard the sound of another set of footsteps approaching, growing louder with each passing second.

And then, emerging from the shadows, was another bear. But this one was different. Its fur was as dark as the night, blending seamlessly with the surrounding darkness. It was a formidable creature, and I could sense the power emanating from its very being.

The two bears stood face to face, a silent exchange of dominance between predators. It was as if they were communicating without words, a tense moment in the heart of the forest.

I watched in awe as the two bears circled each other, their growls echoing through the trees. It was a battle of wills, a primal dance of power and strength. I knew that I had to make my move before the situation escalated further.

I slowly began to back away, trying to make my escape without attracting the attention of either bear. The tension in the air was palpable, and I could feel the adrenaline coursing through my veins.

Just as I thought I had made it to safety, a twig snapped under my foot, alerting the bears to my presence. In an instant, they turned their attention towards where I stood, their eyes locking onto mine with a fierce intensity.

I knew that I was facing a life-or-death situation, and I had to act quickly.

Suddenly, the bears halted, their attention shifting to something behind me. The brown bear snorted while the black bear emitted a low growl. I turned my head to see what had captured their interest. To my astonishment, a tall figure emerged from the shadows. Clad in a black misty trench coat and a fedora hat, this man lacked a discernible face. He stood there, his presence commanding and enigmatic, as if he held some kind of power over the bears. The tension in the air seemed to shift like a new player had entered the game.

Sensing the shift in power, the bears slowly distanced themselves from each other, their growls fading away. It was almost as if they recognized this figure as a formidable force, not to be underestimated. As the figure drew closer, the bears began to retreat.

Then, a familiar caw sounded by my side. I glanced down to see the raven Lenore nuzzling against my leg.

It was unmistakably him.

As the bears fled from the towering shadowy figure, Ingram emerged from within him, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. He seemed oblivious to my presence.

"Works like a charm," he chuckled. "They're terrified of it."

"Why is that?" I inquired, catching him off guard.

"Violet!" he exclaimed, turning to face me. "What are you doing here?"

I shrugged, trying to hide my surprise at seeing Ingram here, of all places. "I could ask you the same thing," I replied, crossing my arms. "What's with the whole act?"

Ingram chuckled, his eyes glinting mischievously. "Well, flower, sometimes a little mystery can be quite useful. Keeps people on their toes, you know?"

"Whoa, why did you call me flower?" I inquired, taken aback by the unexpected nickname.

"I thought it suited you," he replied, a sly smile gracing his face. "Violets are often associated with grief, mourning, death, and even darkness." He emphasized the last part with a playful wink.

I raised an eyebrow, unsure of how to interpret his words. "And what exactly are you implying with that?"

Ingram's grin widened, his eyes twinkling mischievously. "Oh, nothing too sinister. Just that you have a certain allure, a mysterious aura that draws people in. It's fascinating, really."

I rolled my eyes, not buying his explanation. "Cut the act, Ingram. What are you really up to?"

He sighed dramatically, feigning disappointment. "Always so suspicious, Violet. Can't a man have a little fun?"

I narrowed my eyes at him, not buying his innocent act for a second. "Fun? Terrifying bears and lurking in the shadows? That's your idea of fun?"

Ingram shrugged nonchalantly. "Well, it's not like I have many hobbies. Besides, it's all in the name of science."

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite myself. "Science? What kind of science involves scaring bears and dressing up like a character from a noir film?"

Ingram grinned, clearly enjoying the attention. "Experimental psychology, flower. I've been studying animal behavior and the effects of fear on their responses. And let me tell you, it's been quite enlightening."

I couldn't help but be intrigued by his explanation. Despite his eccentricities, Ingram was undeniably intelligent and had a knack for uncovering the mysteries of the natural world. "So, what have you discovered?"

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Fear, flower, is a powerful motivator. It can override even the most basic instincts. These bears, for example, are typically fierce and territorial. But in the presence of something they perceive as a greater threat, they retreat."

I nodded, beginning to understand his fascination with fear. "So, you're saying that this figure you've created, this faceless man, is able to put fear in these bears?"

Ingram nodded, a glimmer of excitement in his eyes. "Exactly! It's all about perception. The bears see this figure as a dominant force, someone they can't possibly challenge. And so, they retreat."

With a flick of his wrist, the tall figure wearing a shadowy fedora vanished into thin air.

I couldn't help but be impressed by Ingram's ingenuity and dedication to his research. Despite his unorthodox methods, there was no denying the results he had achieved. I should probably tell him that there was a bear shifting warrior women clan roaming around the forest that my new family had a truce with but I had decided to keep it to myself for now.

Ingram's curiosity got the better of him as he pressed me for an answer. "What brings you to this secluded part of the forest?" he inquired, his voice filled with genuine interest.

I hesitated for a moment. How should I explain this? As I was trying to think of a response, Lenore flapped her wings and flew off the ground and landed on Ingram's shoulder. He gently stroked her feathers, a look of pure delight on his face.

"I... was just walking around," I began.

Ingram's red eyes sparkled with anticipation, eager to hear more. "Just walking around?" he repeated, his voice tinged with curiosity. Lenore, perched on his shoulder, seemed to share his excitement, her wings fluttering softly. 

I paused, searching for the right words to convey the truth without revealing too much.

"Oh, you're missing me already, aren't you?" he teased.

"No!" I hastily retorted, my tone inadvertently betraying me.

"Yes, you are," he affirmed, a knowing smile gracing his lips.

"Whatever," I muttered under my breath.

"I must confess, I had secretly hoped to see you again. Although I never expected it to be so soon," Ingram admitted, a touch of vulnerability seeping into his words.

My curiosity only grew stronger, my genuine interest in his presence in this part of the forest compelling me to talk to him more. Lenore, sensing the connection between us, remained perched on his shoulder.

Taking a deep breath, I decided to open up to Ingram. "Joseph, your brother, shared with me about your childhood. How your mother passed away during childbirth and your father was absent for most of your lives."

For a moment, Ingram's gaze hardened but then softened as he looked down at Lenore, gently stroking her feathers. "Yeah, it's been a rough road," he admitted, his voice tinged with sadness.

I felt a pang of sympathy for Ingram, realizing that there was more to him than just his playful banter and charming smile. There was a depth to him that I hadn't seen before, a vulnerability that he rarely showed to others.

"I lost my mother the same way," I revealed. "And my father was even worse. He abused me, but not my half-sister because she didn't killed her mother."

Ingram's eyes widened with a mix of surprise and empathy. "I'm so sorry to hear that," he said softly, his voice filled with genuine concern.

I nodded, feeling a lump forming in my throat. Opening up about my painful past was not something I did often, but there was something about Ingram that made me feel safe, understood.

Ingram took a few steps closer to me. His presence felt comforting, as if he was a shield against the world's cruelty. "We've both endured so much," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "But here we are, standing in this forest, finding solace in each other's company."

I couldn't help but be drawn to him, his vulnerability and understanding creating an unspoken bond between us. It was as if we were two lost souls, finding refuge in the depths of our shared pain.

Ingram reached out, his hand hesitantly brushing against mine. The touch sent a jolt of electricity through my veins, igniting a spark that I hadn't felt in years. It was a simple gesture, but it held so much meaning.

"I never expected to find someone like you," he confessed, his voice filled with sincerity. "Someone who sees beyond the surface, who understands the pain that lies beneath."

"You hardly know me," I replied.

"But sometimes, you just know," he whispered, his gaze unwavering. "Sometimes, the connection is instant, and it feels like destiny."

I couldn't help but smile at his words.

Ingram's hand tightened around mine, his grip firm yet gentle and pulled me into his arms.

"Maybe we're meant to heal each other," he whispered, his voice carrying a hint of hope.

The touch of his hand sent a wave of reassurance through me, as if he were a lifeline in the midst of a storm. It was as if his touch had the power to heal wounds I didn't even know existed, to mend the broken pieces of my soul. In that moment, I felt seen, understood, and accepted in a way I had never experienced before.

As we stood there, our hands intertwined, I couldn't help but feel a sense of vulnerability and trust that I had never felt with anyone else. It was as if he had the ability to peel back the layers of my carefully constructed facade, to see the raw and unfiltered version of myself that I rarely showed to the world.

Ingram's touch was not just physical, but emotional as well. It was a touch that spoke of empathy, compassion, and a deep understanding of the human experience. It was a touch that said, "I am here for you, no matter what."

As I looked into his eyes, I saw a reflection of my own desires and dreams. It was as if he had tapped into a part of me that I had long forgotten, awakening a sense of purpose and passion that had been buried deep within. His touch, his words, his presence, all seemed to ignite a fire within me, urging me to embrace the possibilities that lay ahead.

"Thanks for that, shadow man," I murmured.

Ingram chuckled. "Shadow man?"

"Well, you gave me a nickname, so why not return the favor?"

Lenore's caw echoed through the air, adding a touch of whimsy to the moment. Ingram's laughter filled the air, a sound that was both comforting and infectious. His crimson eyes sparkled with amusement, his voice laced with affection. "I suppose I can embrace that nickname, flower."

I couldn't help but smile at his words.

In that moment, the world around us seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of us standing together in our little bubble of shared understanding and connection. The trees whispered secrets in the breeze, and the moonlight shined in the sky with hues of silver and white, as if nature itself were celebrating our bond.

Ingram squeezed my hand gently, his gaze never wavering from mine. "You know, you have a way of making even the darkest shadows seem less intimidating," he said softly.

"And you, shadow man, make the light seem all the more brilliant," I replied.

We stood there in silence for a moment, the gravity of our connection pulling us closer together. The night seemed to stretch on, each second amplifying the intensity of our shared feelings.

Ingram's hand slipped from mine only to wrap around my waist, pulling me into a gentle embrace. His touch was cold, yet it ignited a warmth deep within my soul. "Are you planning to see me again?" he whispered into my ear.

I leaned into his embrace, feeling the chill of his body contrast with the strange heat that stirred within me. "As often as you'll let me," I whispered back, my breath mingling with the night air.

Ingram pulled back slightly to look into my eyes, his expression a mix of longing and determination. "Then let's make a promise," he said, his voice steady and resolute. "No matter what shadows we face, no matter how dark the night becomes, we will always find our way back to each other."

I nodded. "A promise," I echoed, my voice firm with conviction.

The raven cawed joyfully, her wings fluttering as if applauding our commitment. I couldn't help but giggle. "And I'll see you soon too, Lenore."

Ingram chuckled, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "It seems she has taken a liking to you as well."

A smile graced my lips. "I should return. My coven will surely be worried about my whereabouts."

"Give my regards to my brother," he said with a playful grin.

I nodded, a pang of sadness tugging at my heart as I reluctantly began to untangle myself from Ingram's embrace. "I will," I promised, my voice filled with a mixture of longing and anticipation.

Ingram's hand lingered on my waist for a moment longer before he finally released me, his touch leaving a lingering warmth that I carried with me as I turned to leave. As I walked away, I couldn't help but steal one last glance at him, his figure standing tall and strong against the backdrop of the moonlit night.

The window to the room slammed shut, fine spiderwebs of cracks snaking through the glass from the force of the motion. Several tiny pieces of glass fell onto their bedspread. That would let winter chill leak inside. They would have to repair it later. They settled into the space, chest heaving, slowly mending the cuts to their skin. Phantom’s noxious influence clung to their surface, a ghoulish residue that stank of spectral energy, and melted into every crack and open wound in their metallic skin like ice turning into water. The arctic chill of the creature’s fetid powers carved into their organic flesh and scraped along the inside of the bones. They couldn’t breathe. The damage to their true skin must be impeding the distribution of oxygen. Their primary skull slid away from their fleshy human features, liberating the sensitive, fragile flesh to suck in air for their weaker secondary oxygenation systems.

Their articulation points ached, filling with excess lubricant and swelling inside the casing that cushioned them. They sunk down to the soft fabric of the floor. They needed to recover. They had wounded the creature, but not mortally. It would return soon. Its energy clashed with their own, carving through the protection of their true skin to stab at the organic tissue beneath. Despite their best efforts, they could not keep the wretched creature’s profane powers from skating between joints and digging into fragile mortal flesh. Their human parts were vulnerable. They raked their claws over the surface of their true skin, trying to chase the feeling of its grotesque energy film from their body. A pleasing metallic noise hummed through the air, the sound of two metal rods resonating together after one had been struck. Their human voice joined it as the sensation finally faded with the clawed cleaning of their skin. They would need to use more energy to undo the damage their claws had wrought, but ridding their true skin of the sensation of Phantom’s ghoulish energy took priority. “Valerie?” They turned, enhanced eyes taking in the human by the door. Our sire is home?

Fireheart took a moment to formulate a proper answer for a kit. “She’s not feeling well. We just have to look after her like she looks after us until she feels better.”

Bramblekit looked at Tawnykit, gauging her skeptical reaction, but he said nothing else. He just leaned against Fireheart while they and Goldenflower ate together in silence.

The morning came and the day went, taking the clouds with it. The clouds had protested and spitefully dropped a little bit more snow by the time Fireheart woke up, but the sky was clear and the stars were countless. The spots of exposed ground were once again covered up, though just barely. The earth was still visible under the thin layer of flakes.

The Clan barely had time to finish breakfast before a meeting was called. Everyone sat a bit more spread-out than usual around a haybale in the somewhat center of the Barn, on which Bluestar (with a smoother coat at last) and Speckletail stood together.

“ThunderClan will be going back to the forest,” Bluestar said, a bit faint before Speckletail gently nudged her and she raised her voice. “Speckletail and I have talked together, and we have… we have agreed that we will send a scouting party to ensure the forest is safe for our return.”

Happy voices answered this news, cats looking to each other with bright eyes and curled tails. Bluestar’s head turned this way and that, watching everyone silently.

Speckletail cleared her throat. “The scouts have not been chosen yet. If we have any volunteers, speak now.”

“I’ll go,” Fireheart said, right as Dustpelt responded, “I volunteer.” The toms, seated a small distance away from each other, glanced between themselves in mild surprise.

“Good,” Speckletail said. “You two will go together. Anyone else–?”

“OH!” Brightpaw leaped to her feet. “Can I go? I wanna go!”

“Me too!” Thornpaw called.

Speckletail looked at the apprentices with creased eyes before she said to Dustpelt, “It’s your apprentice and his sister. Do you think you can handle them?”

Dustpelt gave Fireheart an inquiring expression.

“We’ve got it,” Fireheart said.

Speckletail turned to Bluestar now. “I’d say two warriors is enough for just a scouting mission.”

Bluestar said nothing. She just stared at Fireheart with a slight squint, uncertain.

Speckletail waited a moment, then said, “Well, then, yes, that will be enough. If you four have eaten, then you’d better start off immediately. Check out the burned part of the forest and camp, and if you smell fresh dog-scent, come back here at once, no matter how little you’ve inspected.”

Fireheart and Dustpelt stood up at the same time, nodding. Fireheart added a, “Yes, ma’am.”

Bluestar’s head tilted just a bit, her squint narrowing.

Speckletail jumped down from the haybale and ThunderClan spread out again—though Fireheart saw Swiftpaw weave through the loose crowd up to the torbie deputy and ask her something, to which she nodded.

“Brightpaw, Thornpaw!” Dustpelt called, starting for the door. He paused at its entrance to let Fireheart and the apprentices catch up, followed by Swiftpaw.

“Speckletail said I could come with you,” the older apprentice explained. “This counts as my assessment, if, uh, if you have a task for me.”

You asked her instead of Bluestar, Fireheart thought glumly, but he kept up a cheery face and said aloud, “You can help us keep Brightpaw and Thornpaw safe while we go.”

“That sounds good,” Dustpelt said. “Make sure they don’t charge ahead of us or lag behind.”

Swiftpaw nodded fervently, his tail bushy with excitement.

Dustpelt circled around the scouting party, ensuring everyone was fed and ready, and then set off at a trot, Fireheart having to pick up his pace a little to keep up with him. The apprentices followed with high tails and perked ears, only keeping quiet until they were through the hedge and Dustpelt wrinkled his nose.

“There’s definitely dog-scent here now,” he said. “What are they doing so close to the Barn?”

“Maybe they smelled us?” Fireheart hazarded. “But that at least means they’re most likely not in the forest. We just have to be careful coming back.”

“I hope you’re right,” Dustpelt muttered, his ears back.

“I’m not scared of a dog,” Brightpaw said smugly to her brother. “I can outrun any of them.”

Thornpaw gave her his usual stern frown. “You haven’t ev’ seen a dog. They’re big an’ fast.”

“Oh yeah?” Brightpaw cocked her head teasingly. “And how do you know? You haven’t seen one either.”

“They were fast enough to catch a WindClan cat,” Swiftpaw reminded her. “And big enough to do some serious carnage. Our best bet is hiding, not running or fighting.”

Brightpaw harrumphed and playfully swatted Swiftpaw’s leg. “Don’t side with Thornpaw! Side with me!”

“I’ll side with you when you say something correct,” Swiftpaw said, tapping her back leg with his tail. “Which is never.”

“Hey!”

“Almost never, fine.”

Fireheart hid a chuff as he half-listened to the ensuing friendly argument. He said to Dustpelt, “At least they won’t get bored on this walk.”

Dustpelt huffed warmly. “I’m just glad I’m mentoring Thornpaw. He’s a model apprentice.” He flicked an ear. “When he’s not trying to correct his siblings.”

As if on cue, Thornpaw joined the argument behind them. Fireheart caught something about paying attention before he tuned them out and turned to ask Dustpelt about mentoring.

Dustpelt spoke first, in a low voice. “I heard you had to help with Bluestar last night.”

A stone set itself in Fireheart’s stomach. “I did, yeah. She, um, started going the wrong way home.”

Dustpelt sighed, eyes half-shut and mouth stretched back in a grimace. “She’s just getting worse.”

Fireheart’s ears lowered against his head. “Yeah… Whitecloud told me that’s common in their family. Especially after… trauma.”

By the look on his face, Dustpelt knew exactly what he meant. He took a long breath through his nose.

“Well…” he said after a moment. “I’m just glad you’ve been around to help.”

Fireheart blinked.

“At a time like this, we need every cat putting their paw in the puddle, or the water doesn’t rise.” Dustpelt’s gaze focused straight ahead, his voice low but clear. “If one cat struggles, we all jump in to cover their load. That’s the point of Clan life, but you really only see it at a time like this.” He turned his head to Fireheart, eyes lit with approval. “And you’ve demonstrated that better than I would’ve ever expected when you first joined us.”

Fireheart’s ears went warm with sheepishness. He resisted the urge to duck his head. “I mean, I haven’t done that much…”

Approval turned to dry humor. “Fireheart, don’t think we all forgot that you saved us from the fire. Even I was panicking and didn’t know what to do, to say nothing of mira. If you hadn’t been there, we could’ve lost everyone, not just Patchpelt.”

His steps more fidgety than proper walking pace, Fireheart looked down meekly. “Well, but… y’know, you all helped too.”

“Take the compliment, ant,” Dustpelt said with a flick of his tail. “You started our escape, therefore we’re all alive because of you. You can at least agree with that.”

The urge to disagree out of humility and the urge to beam at the acknowledgement warred in Fireheart’s mind. It hadn’t really occurred to him, but now that someone had said it out loud…

I guess I did help, didn’t I?

“Thank you,” Fireheart said, muted. He lifted his head again, unconscious of his eagerness to divert from this particular part of the conversation. “I mean, really, I’m just glad to hear that from you, and not, like…the complete disdain you had for me when I first got here.”

“I can admit my misjudgment.” Dustpelt nodded. “So can everyone else.”

“Heh.” Fireheart’s beam escaped him. “Maybe not Darkstripe.”

Dustpelt snorted. “He’s really not hiding how much he hates you. It’s getting silly at this point. Just get over yourself and move on, you tabby idiot.”

A chuff burst out of Fireheart and he quickly contained it again. “That’s not very nice.”

“Oh, don’t defend him,” Dustpelt said, rolling his eyes. “He’s been absolutely useless for two months now. I don’t even know why he’s still with us, frankly. He looks like he hates every heartbeat he has to be around anyone.”

Fireheart had to pull up some sympathy for Darkstripe out of the depths of his heart. He didn’t want to admit that it was getting more and more difficult to do. Given this problem, he chose not to say anything, just shake his head and keep trotting forward.

Soon enough, the patrol sped up into a run as they went down WindClan’s slope. They only slowed when they reached the neutral grounds and the youngest apprentices were huffing and puffing in exhaustion. Swiftpaw walked alongside them, his eyes square on the pair as he talked to them and they caught their breath. Fireheart and Dustpelt chatted too, conversation going between the task ahead of them and inanities regarding their Clanmates.

By midnight, the party arrived at the border of the forest. Fireheart’s stomach twisted at the remains of charred trees: once magnificent and standing tall, even without leaves, and now black, crumbling and empty of all life. The thin snow had perched on what remained of their curdled branches and on the dark ground beneath them, creating a sharp contrast that promised no prey or hope of seeing these trees grow again. Several branches had fallen off entirely and almost entirely turned to cinders where they’d landed. Even with the snow, it smelled of smoke and ash.

“But I don’t smell dog,” Dustpelt remarked. Even with his causal tone, Fireheart didn’t miss the lump in his throat and his claws digging into the grass.

The apprentices fell quiet. Fireheart glanced back to see their tense faces, Thornpaw in particular copying his mentor’s grip on the earth.

“I think it’s safe to go in,” Fireheart said with precise calmness. “Swiftpaw, walk behind Thornpaw and Brightpaw, and make sure to keep an ear open for any weird sounds, please.”

Swiftpaw nodded gravely and obeyed, standing tall and straight at the back of the group. Fireheart and Dustpelt made eye contact, and with a jerk of his chin in the direction of the forest, Fireheart led the way into their home territory.

One nice thing, Fireheart thought, was that he could see healthy (if naked) trees in the distance to their right. The fire hadn’t been able to take over the whole forest; Fireheart silently thanked the humans for their work. Still, the smell of burnt things was everywhere, and as they walked, one particular burnt thing worse than all the others flitted through Fireheart’s nose. He didn’t know what this belonged to, but his instincts told him it wasn’t anything good.

“What is that?” Brightpaw asked with a sniff, her voice like a thunderclap in the silent forest. “It smells awful.”

Fireheart opened his mouth to gently ask her to be quiet, but his eye drifted and he caught sight of a massive lump of black next to a charred tree. A branch had fallen onto it, and the ground around the lump was scratched and dug into.

And the smell was coming from it.

Dustpelt held up his tail for everyone to stop and wait, and he made his way over to the lump, crouching and sniffing with a grimace. After a moment of looking the thing over, he straightened up and turned back to the patrol.

“I think that’s a dog,” he said. “It’s way too big to be Patchpelt.”

Swiftpaw sighed in relief. “So that’s one down.”

“However many more to go.” Dustpelt returned to the patrol. “It must have gotten trapped and couldn’t get loose.”

Fireheart shivered. “What an awful way to go.”

“It’s a dog,” Dustpelt said sternly. “Who cares?” Before Fireheart could retort, Dustpelt shook his head. “I know, you care. Let’s keep going.”

The patrol hurried past the dog’s remains (was that a bit of bone sticking out, or part of the burned branch?). Despite Fireheart being a bit lost with everything being so different, Dustpelt managed to figure out the route to camp. The walk felt so much longer and quieter than it would have been without the fire. No birds, no scrabbling of mice over grass, not even a distant bark of a stag. There was just nothing. Somehow that was worse than if the dog had been alive.

But, at the very least, there was no dog-scent.

They soon found the wall of brambles that surrounded the front of camp—miraculously, it hardly looked damaged, just a little darker than normal, with some plants ringed around it. The lichen curtain of the leader’s den was shriveled and dry, but still present. Going through the entrance revealed that even the sand hadn’t been burnt—in fact, the fire had not reached camp at all.

“Thank the stars above,” Dustpelt breathed, exhaling a weight that visibly lifted off his body. “Home’s safe. That was Suriin’s doing, I know it.”

“This is a total miracle,” Fireheart agreed, poking his head into every den. “Look at this—not a scratch on anything. I mean, the brush back here’s dry, but it’s not burned off.”

“Thank you, Suriin!” Thornpaw called to the sky.

“Yeah, thanks!” Brightpaw shouted. She looked eagerly at Dustpelt and Fireheart. “Does that mean we can come home?”

Horoa’s warmth flared in Fireheart’s chest. He looked to Dustpelt, and the older tom nodded, beaming himself.

“We can come home,” Fireheart said to the apprentices. “Let’s get back to the Barn and tell everyone.”

Brightpaw cheered, bouncing on her toes and almost knocking into Swiftpaw as she turned around and started for the entrance again, Swiftpaw and Thornpaw chasing her and calling for her to slow down.

“One quick thing,” Fireheart said, causing all of them to stop. “I want to check something out while I can.”

Dustpelt squinted. “What’s that?”

Fireheart said nothing, only padded on the blissfully cool sand to the nursery, sticking his head in through the hole under its tree. The inside was a lot more spacious than he’d expected, and even with the cold outside, it was somehow still warm. The earthy ground spread out wide enough to house a couple mollies and their kits, and the whole place smelled like motherhood. The roots of the tree curled over the den as its ceiling. Fireheart had a sudden urge to dive in and settle down to sleep.

He managed to resist that urge, simply pulling his head out again and saying to Dustpelt, “I always wondered what it looks like in there.”

“Is she going to be safe with Ivar?” Torvi questioned then. “I know she can fight, we trained her before she ever left, but if she’s left with him…”

Hvitserk again spoke. “She will be,” he said. “I cannot explain it, but he cares for her.”

“He cared for Freydis too, and you see where that got her,” Björn argued.

“Freydis betrayed him,” Hvitserk countered. “Aethelind has done the exact opposite of that.”

“Exactly,” Björn agreed. “And she’s done the opposite of what she was meant to do.”

“But, exactly as I suspected she would,” Lagertha finally said. All eyes turned to her with shocked expressions, none of them having expected what she apparently had. She chuckled softly, and explained herself. “Björn, you questioned if the Princess would be capable of standing up to Ivar, did you not?”

“She is a Shieldmaiden now,” Hvitserk corrected. “She says she is giving up her English titles until she knows she does not want this Norse one.”

Lagertha hummed, and nodded. “Then I stand corrected,” she easily acquiesced. “But Björn, did you not question this?”

“I did,” he confirmed. “And it would appear I was right! Who knows what she will tell him, now she has betrayed us?”

“She has not betrayed us,” Lagertha said. “She has done what she came to do, just as Hvitserk has said. Ivar has given up the throne. All she did was go about it in a way which did not require her to betray anyone. And I expected this from her- before she left, I could sense what you all could, that she cared for him. Hvitserk.”

The youngest Ragnarsson left in Kattegat looked up at Lagertha, wondering what she wanted with him just then.

“You were here with them, for a time. Did you not see that develop?” she asked.

He chuckled a little. “It’s why I made no move to stop her when she left,” he confessed. “We all knew how he spoke of her when he first returned from Wessex, when our father died. It made sense how they reacted to each other. I had never seen such… disbelief on his face, than when she entered the Great Hall. He cleared it immediately for their reunion.”

Lagertha gave a knowing nod, smiling a little. “Some say the heart cannot win a battle,” she said. “But women know different. She allowed her heart to lead her with him, and I think perhaps, she convinced him to let his do the same.”

Whether this was true or not became a frequent topic of debate between the five, but far away from Kattegat, the truth of the matter was being played out. Ivar the Boneless and the Shieldmaiden Aethelind had begun to travel toward the Silk Road. It was a slow journey, and Ivar’s legs were aching, but they needed to keep going.

Eventually, however, Ivar began to stumble from the pain, and Aethelind decided they needed rest. But, she knew him. If she suggested they stop because of his legs, he would get angry and insist he was alright, and they should keep going. However, if she were to need the rest…

She wrapped a hand around his arm, and leaned against him a little. “Ivar,” she said, letting her voice sound tired. “We should rest. My feet ache, and I’ve all but exhausted my energy.”

He paused in their walking and turned to look at her. He’d grabbed his cloak on the way out, hoping to hide his identity with it. So, when he looked at her, it was from under the hood of his cloak. She reached up to pull it back so she could see his face better.

“We need to put distance between ourselves and Kattegat,” he said. “My brothers will be faster, they could catch us…”

“We’re far enough to just stop and rest a moment,” she assured him. “If we could find a stream somewhere, I’d like to at least wash all this blood off. Then we can keep going if you still feel so inclined.” He didn’t seem quite convinced yet, and so she reached up, brushed back a strand of his hair that had fallen from his braids, and asked, “Ivar, please?”

He sighed and looked around them just a bit. Eventually, he gave a nod. “We can find a place to clean up, and rest there,” he agreed. She grinned as a way of thanking him, and he smiled a little at her happiness.

They continued on walking for a little while, and soon in fact did come to what appeared to be a small river. When they found it, the two walked over, and the first thing Aethelind did was kneel beside it to wash her face. The water was cool, and sent a chill to her bones, but watching the blood wash down the river made it easily worth it.

“If you want to get in, I can watch and be sure no one comes,” Ivar offered after a few moments. Aethelind stopped and looked up at him with slightly widened eyes.

“You mean..?”

He chuckled a little and nodded. “Shieldmaiden, we are going to be travelling together for quite a foreseeable time. I assume you were able to come with me because you trust me. I will warn you if I see someone, and you will have plenty of time to dress again before they would see you. Hm?”

“Well, yes, I trust you not to let anyone else see me, but…” she began, and stopped when he chuckled.

“You Christians are funny,” he said. “I will keep my back turned. Clean yourself, Shieldmaiden.”

Ivar found a rock to sit on, and sat facing the road. Her cheeks were still flushed bright pink, but she did undress, and slip into the water. He was alerted to this by the little gasp she gave at the cold, and chuckled again with a small smile on his lips. She was certainly very amusing, wasn’t she?

And the concern about her modesty was endearing. He doubted he would soon forget the cute blush on her cheeks, and the almost appalled look on her face when he’d suggested she undress to bathe. She’d had thralls to look after her in Kattegat, but he figured that was the difference- they would have all been women assisting her with her bath.

Not that he was really assisting with anything other than protecting her from someone with ill intentions, but… He figured it was the fact he was there at all which made her so quick to become flustered.

He’d have been further amused to know she still had her back to him. At least until he called her name, and she instinctively turned toward him to see what he wanted. “Hm?” she prompted, and without moving, he answered her.

“We should leave our armor here,” he said. “I have been thinking- if we take it, people will see we have been in battle. It may be easy for them to draw a connection, if the news spreads about what happened in Kattegat, and that we have escaped.”

He was right, and so she nodded, though he couldn’t see. “Alright,” she agreed. “I’m keeping my sword, though.”

Ivar chuckled and said, “I didn’t intend to ask you to leave it.”

No one came along while Aethelind washed, and soon enough, she was crawling out of the river and pushing the water off her body as best she could. She dressed herself only in the tunic, trousers, and boots she’d been wearing before, leaving her armor off as she returned her sword to her hips.

“I’m finished,” she announced to Ivar. “If you’d like to wash as well, I can keep a watch out for you.”

Ivar chuckled and said, “I’m not so worried as you were.” 

She turned red again. “Then… I’ll just give you some privacy for my own comfort, if you’ll take none from it.”

Ivar gave a small roll of his eyes, still amused with her, and gestured for her to sit beside him. He had to undo the braces on his legs if he was going to bathe, and truthfully, the privacy was a slight comfort for him. It meant she wouldn’t see his legs, and if she didn’t see them, perhaps she would never become disgusted with him as Margrethe had.

He still thought of Freydis as the one off, not Margrethe. Surely, Freydis had to have been the special one to have not cared, and most women would have responded the way Margrethe had. He never once considered that perhaps Margrethe had had the more uncommon reaction.

So, his assumption was that Aethelind would have felt the same way as that woman had, as would anyone who saw, which made him happy that Aethelind wouldn’t see, and would be sure no one else did either.

His fingers worked quickly over the various buckles, but he paused in his work when he felt a weight against his arm. Ivar looked over and saw it was Aethelind who leaned against him- and of course it was, who else could it have been? Her eyes were nearly shut, and she gave a small sigh.

“You are more tired than you have said, aren’t you?” he asked, and she nodded. The adrenaline had finally worn off for her while she was in the water, and the day’s events were catching up to her.

“Perhaps we should find somewhere to truly rest,” she suggested. “There must be somewhere well hidden enough for us to be able to sleep for an hour or two.”

“We can keep an eye out for somewhere like that,” he promised her, and found himself reaching up to push some hair from her face. He didn’t expect her to smile a little when he did.

Ivar quickly finished undoing his braces so he could get in the water, and he was freed from them, he slid off the rock, flipped himself over, and crawled to the edge of the river. Aethelind just readjusted so she was sitting more comfortably, and waited.

He was rather quick to wash, and climbed out shortly after he had gotten in, and while he was dressing, he thought of something. “Aethelind,” he called, once he’d at least gotten his pants back on. Just as before, she instinctively turned toward him.

Aethelind’s eyes widened a little as she watched him reaching for his tunic, and her cheeks turned pink. She’d have thought that, perhaps, having been raised with two brothers would have helped her not to be this way. But, Ivar was rather not her brother, and she’d always found him to be a rather handsome man as it was. Her mind betrayed her by reminding her of those moments they’d shared in Kattegat, and where they might have led had he not been married.

The thought of his wife brought Aethelind’s mood down exponentially. She should have been there with them, should have been able to escape with them. But, had she survived, she likely wouldn’t have come anyway. After all, she had joined Björn’s side in the end. The Shieldmaiden would have been torn between Freydis and Ivar.

At least she’d have been alive. Aethelind would have put up with any pain that came from having to choose, if it meant Freydis could have lived.

Ivar looked up when she didn’t make any sort of noise in response to his calling her name, and immediately noticed the look on her face. He quickly finished putting on the tunic he had grabbed while waiting, and crawled over to her. The ground was rough on his hands, as he hadn’t put his arm braces back on yet.

When he reached her, she looked down at him. Her thoughts were clouded by the pain in her chest at the loss of Freydis, and he could see that whatever was on her mind was causing her pain. His hand came up to take hers on her lap, once he got himself in a somewhat comfortable position. Aethelind finally let her eyes meet his, then, and she smiled sadly at him.

“What is it?” he asked her, his tone gentle.

“I miss her,” she confessed. “I know… it must not be easy for you to hear, I shouldn’t-”

“No, I miss her as well,” Ivar interrupted, and gave her a tight-lipped smile. “I wish she had not betrayed us.”

Aethelind nodded. “I was thinking how she should be here, with us, not… lying in Kattegat waiting for a funeral you and I will never see. But then I realized, even if she lived, she would not be with us. She’d have stayed in Kattegat with Björn, and we’d have lost her all the same.”

“I would have,” Ivar said, thinking he was correcting her. “She would have wanted you at her side, you know that.”

“I do,” she replied, her eyes looking up and toward the horizon now. “But… I don’t know if I would have stayed.” She could sense Ivar’s questioning gaze, and so she explained, “I’m not sure I’d have been able to leave you alone. Or, let you go alone, rather.”

Ivar gave her a strange look then, tilting his head thoughtfully. “You would have left Freydis to journey with me?”

Aethelind chuckled. “Perhaps I would have left, and asked you both to journey with me,” she suggested. She smiled wryly, clearly halfway wishing she’d been able to do that. “Maybe I should have asked when the battle first began.”

Silence fell over them, and she soon found herself freeing her hand from his. He looked back up at her, and found her looking back at him. She tilted his head down so he wasn’t looking at her any longer, and let his hair out of the braided style he had it in. Before he could ask what she was doing, Aethelind started to run her fingers through his hair.

“I miss my father,” she confessed after a few moments, since apparently they were to be talking about those who had gone before them. Ivar tried to look up at her, but she moved his head to keep combing through his hair with her fingers. “He died about a year ago. When your army came, we ended up in the marshes for quite some time, before the ordeal at York. Alfred was ill, Aethelred grew distant, my mother was always tending to Alfred… I grew close to my father.”

She was looking off into the distance again, and she sighed softly. “I never knew the man who was my biological father. He was killed… probably before I was ever born. But my mother’s husband stepped in where my father should have been, and raised me as his own daughter.”

When her hands in his hair stilled, he looked back up at her, and noticed she was now chewing on her lip. Her eyes had become slightly red, and he realized they were watering a bit. “There’s not a day goes by I don’t miss him,” she said. She let out a soft, sad sort of laugh, and he saw the tears finally begin to fall down her cheeks. “Do you ever wonder why… it seems sometimes that those we need most… they’re the ones who go so soon?”

Finally, her eyes looked to his, and Ivar found himself smiling sadly as well, before moving to haul himself up onto the rock beside her. She watched him do so, and he said, “It is so we learn to rely on ourselves, and not on them.” He brought a finger up to tap the side of her head, and he added, “It is in times of hardship that we learn. Hm? A very wise woman once told me that.”

Aethelind couldn’t stop the laugh that left her, and she leaned into him, laying her head on his shoulder again. Ivar found himself wrapping his arm around her, hoping it would offer some comfort to her. “My father was gone for ten years,” he said. “I grew up without him, for the most part. A few years when I was young, but I don’t remember. A few weeks when he returned. But… not enough to feel like I knew him. My mother was too protective of me, always afraid I would break a bone. The only person she seemed to trust me with was Floki. The boatbuilder.”

The shieldmaiden lifted her brows a bit, and looked up at Ivar’s face. She hadn’t expected to hear he was so close to the man who’d killed her birth father. “He became like a father to me as I grew, but he left while we were still in your kingdom. I begged him to stay, but…”

Ivar frowned, shaking his head a little. “He committed himself to the seas, to the will of the gods. I have not seen him since, but I pray he is well. I pray he is happy, wherever he is.”

“Then we both have a father to miss,” she said. “Two fathers to miss, really. Those we barely knew, and those who raised us.”

He smiled tightly, and nodded. “We are both orphans, aren’t we?” he commented then, seeming to grow a bit thoughtful. Aethelind nodded. “Our brothers are not at our sides anymore. We have lost one, and the others are somewhere we have left behind. We both lost my wife.” She couldn’t help but laugh a bit at how that sounded, though it was the sort of laugh that came when one has just been crying.

“We have each other, though,” she said. “And our faiths.”

Ivar gave a slower nod, and hummed. “We do,” he said. “So we are not totally alone.”

“No, we aren’t,” she agreed.

The sun had begun to set, and they both watched it as it grew lower and lower. Ivar was taken back to that day when he noticed the similarity between Aethelind and Nótt, and Freydis and Dag. Skinfaxi, and Hrímfaxi. How strange it was that as the day ended, he had lost the sun, and yet the moon remained at his side. One final light in the darkness his life had become.

He’d been told by the Seer that they would all descend into the dark. The Seer had also told him that a snake was buried in his skull, and that he would be pulled like the tides at the command of the moon.

The first two had proven themselves true. And now, as he glanced down at Aethelind, who was still watching the sun disappear from the sky, he began to wonder in what ways he would be pulled to her will.

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius, @wilhelmyna, @katfett, @fangirl-nonsense, @zuzus-sun, @heavenly1927, @pomegranates-and-blood