He supposed this was what happened when one was away from home for extended periods of time. But it didn’t make it okay, as far as he was concerned. He stooped to dismantle the rest of the trap. Took it apart, bit by bit, and tossed it into the hovering wagon he’d brought along. This hadn’t started out as a clean up trip, but that was what it was becoming. Initially he’d come out to find a clearing bordering the area that was technically his property that he’d often visited as a child. Who’d have thought that he’d end up spending a few hours clearing out the results of his neighbor’s slow and steady encroachment?

The latest trap made his stomach sink. A pitfall, one he’d very nearly fallen into himself, at the base of which sat spikes. He would’ve been severely wounded if he hadn’t noticed the odd look of the ground in time. If he hadn’t already been looking for traps. Did he really take the time to dig this thing out? Deimos poked at the edge of it with a stick, as if doing so would make the spikes below disappear.

”I wondered who was wrecking my traps…” A voice drawled from behind him.

Deimos stiffened, then slowly turned to look over his shoulder. The last time he’d seen Phobos, the blueblood hadn’t been that much taller than him, but apparently in his absence the blueblood had shot up like a weed. He frowned- just when had he snuck up behind him? Deimos did not consider himself to be an especially unobservant person, especially out in the murderwoods.

”They’re on my stretch a the woods,” he finally answered with the same casual tone.

Phobos’ mouth twitched into a smirk, but those eyes of his… there was no amusement there. Nothing but blank darkness that seemed to search beneath Deimos’ very skin - looking for something. ”You aren’t using these woods, why not let them go to actual use?” He asked after a moment of silence.

Deimos resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Phobos was the type of highblood to be careful around. The type that wouldn’t hesitate to cull a lowerblooded troll in an environment like this- where no one was around to hear screams. He couldn’t quite say how he knew that about Phobos, despite not really knowing the man, but it felt like an instinctual knowledge he would be extremely foolish to disregard.

”Well I’m usin’ it now, an’ this shit’s in my way. You got plenty a land, don’t you?” He waved a hand at the rest of the forest around them. Land borders were… blurry, sometimes, but this section of woods he knew was definitely attached to his hive. He hadn’t wandered that far away from it, after all. The knowledge of that made something inside him shudder. Just how close to his hive had Phobos been going? Should he be worried about Thypion?

”Using it for what?” Phobos quirked a brow, eyes dropping to the hover wagon- fixing on those dismantled traps, laid out in pieces. Useless.

”I don’t really think it’s really any a your business what I decide to do in my neck a the woods.” Deimos replied, perhaps a bit more snappy than he should have. Something glinted in Phobos’ eyes. Dei gestured to the pit. ”What purpose is this s’posed to serve? You’ll wreck your kills.” He hadn’t known Phobos to do… this, exactly. From what little he knew of the blueblood, anyway.

”Oh, it’s not for animals, clearly. It’s for the Hunted.” He laughed, a hollow and harsh sound. ”They’ve been encroaching on this part of the woods. You’d know that if you were around more often.” He shrugged, nonchalantly revealing that he knew quite a bit about Deimos’ long absences.

The reveal earned a shudder traveling up Dei’s spine. He should… invest in an outdoor security system, or something. He wasn’t ready to fully give up his hive, after all. ”Well, you let me deal with that. No need to trouble yourself over it.” He waved a hand to dismiss the idea.

”You were gone almost… three perigees this time, isn’t that right?” Phobos asked, counting out the perigees on one hand as he spoke. He glanced over to Deimos, that one eyebrow still cocked questioningly. ”I wonder what could keep a troll away from his hive for so long…”

Deimos bristled, wanting to go off on this man, but- no. He was clearly being watched for some reason. He needed to find out what exactly had caught Phobos’ attention. ”Project. Why were you watchin’ my hive?” He gave up the first reason he could think of that wasn’t a complete lie. He’d been with the Phoenix Initiative for two solid perigees, working on the Frozen Facility, and then spent another sort of… recovering at Underworld. He hadn’t thought much about not going home - not really.

”Oh I was just concerned, you know, as a neighbor… There were a few near break-ins, you know? And your lusus was just… wandering about, unsupervised.” Phobos waved a hand, his explanation coming smoothly and without any hesitation. Deimos could not decide if he was being genuine, or was simply that good of a liar. For safety’s sake, he banked on the latter.

”Thy can take care a himself, and he knew where I was. Real nice a you to keep an eye on things ‘round here but really, you don’t gotta trouble yourself.” Dei shook his head, ”I’d ‘preciate it even more if you’d get your traps outta here, since you’re around. Since I’m here ‘n all, they ain’t necessary anymore.” Dei glanced at the ones he’d disassembled, then returned his full attention to Phobos.

Phobos who had moved a few steps closer in that small window that Dei’s eyes were not on him. Silently. Dei jumped slightly, eyes widening slightly, and took a step or two backward.

There was that flash of light in those dull, dead eyes again. Interest? Something else? Whatever it was, it made Deimos shudder uncomfortably. He did not like that, not one bit.

”Of course,” Phobos said with a grin that showed far too many teeth. He leaned over to pick up one of the disassembled traps. ”Good of you to take them apart correctly. I’d surely hate to find them broken. There’s been a vandal going around doing just that lately, you know.” He mused, turning the bit of metal over in his hands. He flicked his eyes up to stare at Deimos, even as he continued to manipulate the trap in his hands.

”Right. Well. They ain’t my traps. Sorry to hear you’re dealin’ with a vandalism problem.” Did Phobos think he’d done it? No, surely not… ”How long will you need to clear out the ones you got in this area? Up to the clearin’.”

Phobos hummed, set the trap back down on the wagon, straightened up- (did he get taller?) ”Give me two weeks and I’ll have them cleared out… Aside from the pits, you surely understand. It would take far longer to get those taken care of while also having to disassemble the others.” He flashed another smile - this one clearly meant to be pleasant.

”Two weeks. Got it.” Dei nodded stiffly. He wanted out of this interaction. Now.

”There aren’t any in the clearing, if you were wondering.” Phobos offered the reassurance without any prodding. Somehow that did not make it very comforting. ”Escapees don’t typically like being out in clear view, after all.”

Dei nodded again, glanced off to one side- toward said clearing. It was at least another fifteen minutes trek through underbrush. All in all the walk from his hive to said clearing should only take an hour. It wasn’t that bad a trip, as far as he was concerned. When he returned his attention to Phobos, the blueblood was up in his space this time. Leaning down, all smiles and dead eyes.

”Planning a stargazing party?” He asked, as if the idea of it were funny.

Deimos stumbled back a few steps, heart suddenly racing a mile a minute. ”I- it’s a good spot, I just want the path to it cleared. We got it settled so that’s that, right?” He floundered to regain his composure- this troll was scaring him. He didn’t like it. The idea of returning to Underworld and just never leaving again suddenly seemed very, very appealing. Cerpin wouldn’t mind, would he? But Tevini…

”Understandable. I’ll let you know when I’m done.” Phobos leaned back, still smiling. ”In the meantime…” he looked down at the wagon, ”I’ll take it from here. Your wagon will be returned safe and sound, rest assured.” He reached for the handle, which Deimos was still holding.

Dei immediately released it, letting it drop to the ground with a soft thud. Phobos’ eyes flicked up to his face, amusement clear in his own expression. Dei could not bring himself to care much about the lapse in politeness. Everything about his body was screaming to get away from this troll.

”Right. Yeah. Thanks.” He sidestepped Phobos, intending to return to his hive as fast as he reasonably could without revealing how freaked out he was. (Alas, he’d already done that, hadn’t he?) ”Just leave it on the porch, I prolly won’t hear you.” He said as he began to leave.

”Oh I know.” Phobos replied casually, with a shrug. That nearly made Deimos stop in his tracks. What did he mean he knew? ”See you later, Deimos.” Phobos waved, then stooped to pick up the handle of the wagon. He didn’t bother waiting to hear anything else from Deimos before he began to tug it further into the woods, headed for the traps he’d scattered within them.

The warm, comforting heat in his hands.

Measuring time in hours feels useless, so instead he measures in completed projects. Maps, charts, essays - they demand so much of him to finish but he chips away at the work dutifully. In especially incoherent hours he stops, lies down and stares at the ceiling for an immeasurable amount of time until that sweet creeping feeling of sleep crawls into the back of his mind… When he wakes it always feels too soon. He finishes a project, and sets it aside. He picks it back up later and rechecks it for errors, for coherency, for any sign that it might be obvious just how bad he’s gotten lately.

It’s almost over, but not yet.

He dreads the end almost as much as he craves it. To finish is to graduate is to be one step closer to leaving this horrible planet -

To leave is to almost certainly stumble immediately into the grips of the Alternian military. Snatched up, twisted and commanded and controlled. He rejects this fate with all of his being - he will not allow himself to be controlled by another. And yet… he is powerless to do anything about it. Middle class is still just middle class, and he’s stretched the tolerance for disobedience so far already.

The chances that they may overlook him are slim, and he knows this. Because even if it weren’t almost guaranteed for all trolls, even if he’s stepped out of line by entering a field unrelated to law (his designated Place as a Teal), his scores are among the highest. Despite the ire and flack  he gets for not complying, the work he produces is sound, accurate, and hard to find fault in. The knowledge that he does so well fills him with pride… and a dread so deeply unfathomable he cannot bear to think about it.

Of course he’s good at it. Better than good, if truth be told. The stars practically sing to him with how easily he aligns them- the math comes easy, the understanding of the way spatial bodies work comes easy. Somehow, no matter how twisted and confusing the models become he always seems to know where he’s going, and where he’s been. He was practically hatched for this.

But he was not hatched to take orders or be commanded and controlled. His wonder and curiosity for space holds no desire to conquer it, merely document. He holds no interest in war or conquest, only discovery of what hasn’t yet been seen by anyone else. Despite how he may like to play at fighting he doubts he has no real interest in killing. He is not meant for warships, and not meant to have his mobility confined to what some other person wants of him.

Often, he wishes he had been hatched somewhere else. Anywhere else. Perhaps even that he wasn’t a troll at all- just some other alien species that didn’t base its entire being on an endless expansion of an already exhaustive empire. These wishes are not things he allows himself to spend much time thinking about - to do so only feeds the ever growing pit of despair in the back of his mind. The longer he stays awake, the harder it is to corral his mind into focusing on more productive things. It isn’t like he had any control over where he was hatched, or as what. 

It’s almost over.

The closer the end comes the harder it becomes to ignore these things he’s done so well at pushing aside. The anger, frustration, fear, anxiety - all things he pushed away and bottled for some undecided “later” - it threatens to all come undone when he runs out of things to do and lies awake, sleepless, attempting to count down the hours until “the end” finally arrives. He does not know how to unpack it, how to sort it out in a safe manner. He is just one troll staring down the merciless machine of an intergalactic empire that always hungers for more.

To be vulnerable is to risk being culled, and despite all his dread and rage at the way things are he has no desire to die.

He gathers his projects. He dresses nicely, makes an effort to control the curly mess of hair on his head… he puts concealer under his eyes to hide just how bad they’ve gotten. These things hold him together like thread keeping an overstuffed plush toy from bursting at the seams. He looks presentable, normal even. Like nothing is wrong at all.

You hate them - but you do like them, at least sometimes. Enough to not want to get rid of them, most of the time anyway. But then the fact that you don’t upsets you as well. Which is it? Are you small and delicate, or are you powerful and capable of destruction? Which do you want? Which do you want?

Can’t you have both? Your throat feels like it's being squeezed- you turn away from the mirror to go find something baggy to put on. To hide this body- it’s not cooperating the way you want it to. You hate it- hate hate hate it- you want to be capable of defending yourself without having to rely on others. You want to be taken seriously. You want to be intimidating- powerful- feared. No… not feared. You don’t want to be like him, but you’d want him to second guess attacking you.

You pull a sweater on, thankful that its bulk hides you for the most part. You’ve put on some muscle mass since starting the space program - some, but not a lot. You’ll never be like Forera, you’ve come to accept that, but you wish you could be at least a little more intimidating sometimes. Trolls are supposed to be, aren’t they? Powerful, good at fighting, not to be messed with… You don’t feel like you’re any of those things- you’re not sure why you care.

At the same time, you like the pretty things that make you less of a threat. You’re at war with the things that you love and the image you want to portray. The reality you want your body to be. You know it's stupid- this black and white mentality is pointless, but still. Your eyes stray back to the mirror.

A cracking stick catches your attention- up ahead there’s a figure moving between the trees, hopping down from one of the large roots. Another troll, they can’t be much older than you. You didn’t even know you had a neighbor! You wave, excited, only to get knocked over by Thypion. Your lusus does not trust this troll, which you think is silly. They’re so far away! You didn’t think about the possibility of the other troll’s lusus being hostile. You have never met someone with a hostile lusus.

The other troll spots you, though. They begin making their way toward you. The closer they get, the better you see-- they’re a blueblood, one tier higher than you. You don’t see a lusus with them, though. Did they have one? You push yourself up off of the ground and dust off the dirt and leaves sticking to your sweater.

The other troll stops a few feet away, noticing that Thypion appears to be on edge. You pat at your lusus’ leg, trying to tell him to calm down. It’s just one troll! There’s no harm.

“What’s your name?” He asks.

“Deimos.” You reply.

“I’m Phobos.” He says.

The two of you hit it off rather well. As it turns out, he lives not too far away from you. He asks you to come back out this way tomorrow, because he has to go back to his hive. You readily agree. Thypion does not object. You part ways, and return to your respective hives.

-----

You’re four sweeps old, and Phobos is your best friend. He comes over a lot, usually whenever he wants. You don’t object much, besides, it’s like he says, “you’re not doing anything anyway right?” It doesn’t cross your mind that he is slowly pushing your boundaries inward until it seems there are none anymore. You think this is normal. He is your best friend, after all.

It strikes you as odd that he always asks what you’re thinking and feeling, but never really tells you what he’s thinking or feeling when you ask him in return. Still, you readily give the information. It’s what best friends do, right? You think the world of him.

Phobos is three sweeps older than you, and you admire him a lot. He seems so grown up for his age, always has an answer for everything. But sometimes, sometimes he gets angry. You tell him that it scares you when he does that, and he seems to quiet down. You mistake this for thinking he is taking your feelings into consideration. He is, but not in the way you think. When Thypion isn’t looking, he gets back to it. You don’t notice the connection.

Another half sweep goes by, and you haven’t really made any other friends. “You don’t need them, do you?” Phobos reasons. You suppose he’s right, you don’t. You don’t really like other trolls anyway. You spend all of your time on your puzzles, and exploring the forest with Phobos. Thypion follows. You have yet to see Phobos’ lusus. You ask him about it once, but he changes the subject without you realizing it.

Sometimes, he convinces you to sneak out while Thypion is taking a nap. At first, you refuse. You cherish your lusus and would hate to damage your relationship. Eventually Phobos learns that you are much easier to convince when you haven’t had a lot of sleep. He comes over more often. You don’t sleep when he does. Sometimes, he sets off loud sounds when you drift off, startling you into wakefulness. Sometimes, you cry, because the sound was so loud and so close.

Phobos tells you to stop being a wriggler, it was just a joke.

You nod, yes, of course… it was just a joke. You don’t tell him that it scares you.

He eventually convinces you to leave, its been three nights since you had a real day’s rest and you’re not in full control of yourself. You’re only four and a half, after all. He tells you he has something to show you, something you’ll really like. You try to follow him through the underbrush, but it’s just so hard to walk in a straight line. He takes your hand and tells you he’ll help you, don’t worry about it. He’s there for you, after all. You smile, and thank him. It’s so nice to have a real friend.

The thing that he wants to show you is not something you enjoy.

You feel sick at the sight of it- a body, strung up on sticks and strings, scavenged off of. Green blood oozes from rotting wounds, the troll doesn’t have much of a face left and their horns are gone. Phobos seems overjoyed… You just want to throw up. You do throw up. Phobos asks how you’re feeling- what you’re thinking- what does it do to you to see this?

You tell him, all of it of course. You don’t want him to show you these things anymore. You don’t want to see what happens to the trolls in the Hunts. You feel sick, and scared, and you want to go back to your hive. He’s smiling the whole time, but you can’t see very well through the tears. He takes you back to your hive, and promises he won’t show you those things anymore. You believe him.

------

You’re five sweeps to his eight, and he’s getting out of hand. He comes over more frequently and demands much more of your attention and time. You’re so tired, so tired, but he just won’t let you sleep. You tell him he needs to not come over for a while, you need to sleep.. You have to sleep. The face he makes frightens you. You’ve never really told him no before, just asked, or pleaded, but this time you did not give him the option to come over and just hang around while you nap. This time you told him you wanted him to not come over at all until you tell him he can.

You begin to regret having this discussion out in the forest. You really regret not making sure that Thypion was there. He was your friend, right? He wouldn’t do anything to you- you knew he liked to mess with the Hunt trolls (they were going to die anyway, right? That’s what he told you) but he’d always promised never to hurt you.

The promise does not appear to matter. He shoves you down, dangerously close to one of the traps he’d just been showing you. You try to push him off, but he’s too strong- he’s always been strong- stronger than he should be but he won’t tell you why that is. He says he’ll come over whenever he wants, you can’t tell him no, you’re just a tealblood and he’s higher than you, better than you, and you should be honored that he even spends time with you at all.

You’re having trouble breathing- his hand is on your neck- you kick, but it doesn’t seem to phase him at all. You scream, using up the last bit of breath you have in your lungs in a desperate attempt to attract Thypion’s attention. He has excellent hearing, after all. Phobos tells you to shut up, and hits you- really hits you. You see stars- and not the kind you like.

He’s dragging you to your feet, you can’t get your body to move like you want- you can’t make him let go of you. You gasp for air, desperate to tell him to stop this isn’t funny this isn’t something friends do--

He laughs, what do you know about friends? He’s your only friend, this is how being friends with him is. You know if you tell him he’s not your friend anymore he really will hurt you. He’s dragging you deeper into the forest, toward the place you’re certain his hive is. It dawns on you that you’ve never been to his hive. He always told you it was boring, your hive was much more interesting.

You try to pull away, hands gripping his in a desperate attempt to pry his fingers off your shirt enough to make a run for it- you’re sure you can get away if you can just run. His grip does not let up. You’re begging him at this point to stop- you don’t like this game, Phobos. You want to go hive, Phobos. You need your lusus, Phobos. It’s not safe in these woods, Phobos.

He ignores you. You decide there is no way to get free of his hand, and instead slip out of your shirt- or try to. Your horns get stuck on the collar of your shirt just long enough to delay your escape- he grabs you by a wrist and yanks. You scream again, how is it possible that his grip is so strong? He’s not much older than you- not much higher than you- he throws a punch for your gut, causing you to double over and gasp for air again.

Where is Thypion? You look around desperately for any sign that your lusus might have heard your screams, but you cannot locate him anywhere in the woods. Phobos grabs you by a horn and drags you up to your feet again. He’s so much taller than you are. He tells you not to pull anymore tricks or he might just do something more drastic. He has a sickle out now. You don’t want to know what drastic means, so you whimper in agreement.

He smiles.

The smile only fades when a loud crashing sound from behind you distracts him. Twin heads roaring with anger, Thypion finally emerges from the forest at a full on charge. He drops you immediately and makes a run for it. You crumple to the ground, all tears and shaking with fear. You never want to see him again. Thypion stops just before he reaches you, both heads leaning down to inspect you for any wounds. Aside from the bruises forming on your wrist, neck, and stomach, you are relatively unharmed. You pick up your shirt and pull it on, tearing a hole when your horns snag again. You wipe your eyes, and then climb onto Thypion’s back. You tell him you never, ever want to see Phobos again. He grunts, you think he agrees.

You never do see him again, but you never forget. It’s dangerous to let other trolls in so close. When you find another mentor, you try desperately not to get too attached, but it's hard not to be drawn in by her smiles and the way she talks. She says she’ll teach you how to fight. You need to know how, or maybe Phobos will come get you again. You don’t tell her about him- no one needs to know about him.

----

You are almost six sweeps old when the next bout of insomnia causes you trouble, but you refuse to reach out. You cannot bear to be taken advantage of again- you’re terrified that someone will realize you’ll do whatever they want in this state. Thypion does his best to protect you, but he needs his sleep too.

gore cw, spider cw, death cw, uhhhhh i think? that’s everything?]

amputation cw]

Something had to give. Deimos had been able to work something out before, a way to trick his mind and body into sleeping. Running himself ragged, working his mind until he couldn’t think straight- neither of these things were working. He was exhausted, thoroughly exhausted to the bone and yet still when he closed his eyes the familiar sinking feeling of sleep did not come. In a fit of desperation, he’d gotten extra strength sopor slime - a truly expensive venture - but it didn’t seem to help at all. Even the most comfortable of pillow-and-blanket setups did nothing to bring sleep in. He was willing to endure the dayterrors just for a few hours of rest - fitful as it would be.

Despite his best effort to avoid having to travel with anyone but the Guardian, Kaigo found himself in the company of Junin during the journey back to Kalypo. How or when Nenian had found the time to get Junin to join him was a mystery that the man was unwilling to reveal. He was, at least, good enough company. Junin elected himself as the wagon lead, which allowed Kaigo to ride separately on his elk. The distance allowed him to escape most of the nausea he had been dreading. It also allowed him to keep an eye on the other horses the refugees had brought with them. They hadn’t bothered trying to find space for them on the small boats that traveled up and down the [river name], and so they had been tied together in a train to be led back to the city with the Guardian and any supplies they couldn’t fit on the boats either.

Keeping the Guardian alive was the true challenge. His fever worsened slightly as the day went on into night. Kaigo changed his bandages two more times, mostly out of an abundance of caution and due to the poor quality salve that was meant to help with the infection rather than a need to deal with blood. He’d bled very little, which was odd. His wounds hadn’t healed quite as much as Kaigo would’ve expected for there being so little blood coming from them. It was a blessing though, and Kaigo would take any blessing he could get for a man he couldn’t really heal, and felt nauseated any time he had to touch.

Junin drew the miniature caravan to a slow stop once the sun began to well and truly dip beyond the horizon. Kaigo hopped off the back of his elk once Junin’s wagon had come to a stop. Wordlessly, Kaigo set to work unsaddling his mount while Junin tended to the cart horses. Between the two of them, all of the animals were tethered safely in the grass just off of the road within a few minutes.

“How’s our Guardian?” Junin asked as the two of them made their way back to the wagon.

The last time Kaigo had checked on him had been a few hours prior, for the last dosage of willow bark tea to reduce his fever. “He’s… still alive. He’s not really getting any better or worse,” Kaigo shrugged. It was a relief that he wasn’t getting worse, but the fact that he wasn’t getting better was also troubling.

“You can’t just burn the infection out of him?” Junin asked as he wiggled his fingers in the air, as if he planned to literally burn the infection out.

Kaigo simply stared at him until he dropped the finger wiggling in favor of a playful pout. “You know how it is. Too much healing and it will only do the opposite. Better to let the real medicine do its work.”

“Well, we’ll just have to hope he lives then. I think that group will riot if he dies before we reach Kalypo,” Junin said.

Oh, Kaigo had figured as much. Bijiu’s intense stare filled his mind’s eye, followed swiftly by the sight of the other villagers being held back by Charunan scouts. It was clear that they were extremely fond of the Guardian, which only added to the pressure of making sure he didn’t die. “It… won’t come to that, I think.”

Junin set up a small fire pit using rocks left behind by previous travelers or other scouting groups. This particular spot along the road from Kioule was a popular area to rest overnight for those who hadn’t opted to stay at one of the established waypoints along the road. Junin rubbed his hands together, intensifying his body’s natural heat until he could light the kindling he’d placed inside it, a small fire started up in the pit moments later. Kaigo opted to busy himself with giving the Guardian another assessment while Junin dealt with the fire and getting an evening meal ready.

The Guardian, Kota, was still unconscious. Even still, getting within arms reach of him made the hair on the back of Kaigo’s neck stand up. When he braced himself to lift the man’s shirt to check for blood coming through the bandages, he felt a wave of disgust pulse up through his hands. The Guardian did not react. He was blissfully unaware of everything, it seemed, and likely would remain that way for a while. Another blessing, in Kaigo’s opinion. The last thing he wanted to deal with at the moment was a conscious Guardian. He could see no blood showing through the bandages, and so he forced himself to place his hand against the man’s sweaty forehead. His temperature was still high. Kaigo pulled his hand away, shaking it a little as if to remove the tingling sensation of wrongness from it. He dug out the tea container the refugee healer had given him, then climbed out of the wagon to go brew it along with the dinner Junin was making for the two of them. It wasn’t going to be anything fancy, the meals they had on the road never were, but it would be good and filling and that was all anyone could ask for wasn’t it? Kaigo commandeered the small teapot they all carried with them to brew the tea, much to Junin’s dismay.

“That stuff tastes so bad,” he whined.

“You don’t have to drink it,” Kaigo replied.

“It’s going to make the whole teapot taste bad.”

“You can take mine, then.”

“Yours will taste even worse.”

Despite how dour he’d been feeling for most of the day, Kaigo laughed, and shook his head. “Well, I suppose you’re doomed to have bitter tea contaminate everything you drink for the next day or so.”

Junin rolled his head back and let out an exaggerated groan. Kaigo repaid his theatrics by gently shoving his shoulder. Junin had a way of making the people around him feel a little less heavy, without trying, it seemed. It wasn’t long before the tea was ready, and Kaigo excused himself to coax the still unconscious Guardian into drinking some.

By the time he returned from that chore, Junin had finished cooking their dinner. The two of them ate quietly, not wanting to disturb the peace of a decent meal. By the time they were finished, the sun had well and set and the moons were rising high overhead. Since Junin had cooked, Kaigo cleaned up the meal. They had water to clean things with, but a walk to the river wasn’t that long and it would give him some time to be alone for a while.

He gathered the dirty dishes, teapot included, and made his way across the prairie. The end of summer was coming, and most of the plants were either ending their blooming season or just beginning a new one. They filled the air with the scent of growth and sweet pollen, two of Kaigo’s favorite smells. He took his time as he walked, eyes focused on the stars overhead as they blinked into better view. With each passing year as more and more of humanity gathered together, it sometimes felt as if he had less and less time to admire them in peace. This far out in the middle of nowhere, the sky was a rich tapestry of color and light, unhindered by night market fires keeping streets well-lit.

The small riverbank was overgrown with tall grass here, too. Kaigo settled himself on a mostly flat, protruding rock to work on rinsing out and scrubbing the cookware. He took his time doing it. Junin had a bolstering effect on his mood, but he still sort of wished he’d been able to make this journey alone. Nausea-inducing effects of the Guardian or no, it would’ve given him more time to be less… less… He couldn’t think of the word. What was it he was trying to be less of? He got so caught up in trying to tease out that line of thinking that he soon found himself finished with his task. He’d utterly failed at procrastinating, and had no reasonable excuse to stay away any longer, and so he made his way back to the campfire.

Upon his return, Junin had already set up his bedroll and was snoring. He could’ve taken all the time in the world after all, it seemed. Kaigo put the dishes away as quietly as he could, then settled onto the ground just outside of where the fire’s warmth would reach him. The weather hadn’t quite turned to being cold at night, so he felt no real need to set up a bedroll for himself. He always slept better in direct contact with the plants and dirt around him anyway. He closed his eyes, breathed in deeply, and tried - unsuccessfully - not to think about the events of the day.

By the time Junin was stirring from sleep the next morning, Kaigo had managed to drift off once or twice, but every time he found himself drifting deep enough into sleep to begin dreaming, the looming presence of the Guardian jolted him back into consciousness. He was already packing things away by the time Junin tossed his own sleeping gear into the back of the wagon. The scout paused to stare at him for an uncharacteristically long time, which Kaigo tried to ignore.

Junin decided not to let him do it. “How much did you actually sleep last night?”

“Enough, why?” Kaigo spared him a glance and noted the furrowed brows making creases on Junin’s forehead. It was an odd look for someone he normally saw smiling.

“I think there are circles under your eyes,” Junin said.

“There’s never circles under my eyes,” Kaigo paused to fish out a breakfast roll from one of the packs and held it out for Junin to take. “You’re imagining things.”

Junin’s eyes narrowed, but he took the roll and dropped the subject, thankfully. While he was more bold and would press Kaigo where Nenian wouldn’t, he would drop things before she would, at least. Truth be told, he did feel tired in a way he wasn’t entirely sure he’d ever felt before. At least, not in a very, very long time. The two of them brewed tea for the morning, Kaigo checked on the Guardian once more, and then they were off again. Junin took up the lead, allowing Kaigo to trail behind the wagon with the train of horses, and think.

He sipped his tea, taking a moment to do some internal processing. It was true that his eyes did feel a little dry, and perhaps he wasn’t thinking as clearly as he was used to. He twisted his free hand in circles, flexing the wrist and then the elbow, finally up to the shoulder, and found that the joints felt stiff in some way. Frowning to himself, he switched his tea to the other hand and repeated the process with the other arm. When was the last time he truly felt stiff?

The vague memory of the first time he’d dispelled Malischa from a local farmer’s field bubbled to the forefront of his mind. While his father negotiated with the farmer, Kaigo had wandered off to the woman’s field in search of something that kept nagging at his senses. A bundle of bad energy, a seed that was extremely sick. He had found it based on an instinct he could not name, and dug the pulsing black thing up from the earth. The woman and her family had come shouting upon realizing what he was doing, but he could not hear them over the wrongness of the seed in his hands. He remembered closing it between them, though it was so large he couldn’t cover it completely, and how it had left him feeling breathless and dizzy when he poured what felt like his very life essence into it. The blackened shell cracked, letting loose a bright and shining plant that quickly reached out and down for the ground to take root, the tiniest shard of light held within them. He could not let go of the seed pod as the plant grew exponentially. The light of it made the farmer and her family freeze, fear clouding their faces as they watched something that none of them could understand.