Running

[Rance]

It was hard to run.

She had never been a sprinter, a runner; her muscles had always been hard wires inside of her arms, hugging her thick bones. Jernos were top-heavy creatures, figures of girth at the shoulders and frailty in the legs. Her lungs rattled inside her chest with every stride. Her stomach ached, hurt, and her breasts, breasts--

Be careful! She is pregnant, warned a fleeing gasp of words in her brain.

Those had never ached before, but here, darting through the woods in bare feet, kicking her ankles through thorns and ferns, she recognized the new pain above her heart. Her cheeks were hot, flushed. The bandaged stump where her left hand used to be smacked uselessly at brittle branches as she and the boy holding her only hand cut through the path cleaved by the wildling's passing.

"Noura," she shouted out. "Noura!"

The wildling ran too much. Always running. She and Cherny had talked of wolves, hadn't they? Wolves, with their vicious teeth and their slavering jaws, their too-strong flanks and weeping eyes, their silhouettes skulking like bad dreams through the underbrush of forests and sleeping thoughts. Couldn't leave her to that; couldn't leave Noura alone to--

(Unspeakable possibilities.)

"What happened," she asked of Cherny as they crunched through woody growth illuminated, blue and dull, by the Crawl Moon. "What did she mean, when she spoke to you?"

An errant question, before she shouted again:

"Noura!"

[Cherny]

Madness. This is madness, this blundering headlong into the woods, into the beast-haunted darkness. If Cherny holds a single certainty at this moment, it is that they should not be here. A boy who aspires to be a knight; a one-handed seamstress, barefoot and breathless.

"She's t-too fast." Dragged along in his sister's wake, but eventually he must slow his steps, must become a weight upon her arm. "She, she's g-gone." The wildling has hunted these woods for months, learning the subtle landmarks and hidden paths. With nightfall the boy's crows have returned to their roost, and their absence is a near-tangible feeling, a half-blindness without their watchful eyes and warning calls overhead.

"W-what?" He'd not caught the greater part of the conversation between the two girls, the hissed argument, could only guess at the context for that question. Any answer he might have is pushed aside as Gloria lifts her voice again, shouts into the dark forest, and his fingers tighten upon her hand.

"P-please, don't." An urgent plea, turning as if to look in every direction at once, expecting each shadow to hide hateful eyes and vengeful fangs. "Th-they'll hear, they'll hear and, and f-find us."

What are they doing here?

[Rance]

What are they doing here?

They both knew what the wolves were capable of; Cherny, with the scars carved into his upper arms, had felt the pain of vicious wolves and had been marked by it, altered, permanently damaged. Gloria had lost her hand to another's jaws, for it had chewed right through her bones and flesh as though she had been just parchment and greenwood. They both had fear in their blood as they meandered through the forest -- the squire's manifested as terror, and hers, as blind stubbornness.

"Do -- do you think I'd let them hurt you, Cherny?" she asked, wheeling around to look at the boy. In the filtered light of the stars, her skin was a bleak gray, the lifeless texture of burlap wrought with droplets of black, reeking sweat. Her lone hand crawled down his wrist like a spider. She put her palm against his, squeezed his fingers, and perhaps he could feel the wild tremors sputtering just beneath her flesh and quaking in her bones. "They could have my other hand if they wanted; they could have my legs, and -- and my brain if they thought it was worth tasting.

"But if she thinks she's done something wrong, we'll have more than wolves to contend with. She'll swallow what's in that vial. And it's not worth leaving her alone to -- to be hurt, or to make a poor decision."

As they cracked and ambled through the thickening brush, she believed, with all of her stupid, sightless fear, that Noura would crawl as much as she could into her own skin and heart and give that beast, that creature her body, her eyes--

"I'm scared too," Gloria admitted. "But I'm more scared of -- of losing a friend than of some Nameless-forsaken wolf."

But now that the boy had let his fear roll over his lips, become voice and sound, hers had begun to coalesce into something harder to ignore. Her breath burst out of her in fragile sputters. She turned away from him and stared through blurry eyes into the black beyond of the forest, refusing to let her blood-droplet sibling see how wide her pupils were.

[Cherny]

Consider the following: a friend runs into the woods, home to murderous beasts. Is it right to give pursuit with the hope of finding them, saving them? What if you know yourself to be no match for the beasts? What if you have no way of finding your friend, if they do not wish to be found? Is it still the right choice to venture after them, when the only certainty is that by doing so you also place yourself in mortal danger?

Would it be cowardice to let them run, to abandon pursuit, or would it simply be reason?

Do you think I'd let them hurt you? Bravado, a hollow promise of protection to which the boy might reply, do you think you could stop them?

At least she's stopped shouting Noura's name. At least there's that.

"Sh-she'll do it anyway." His voice is hushed, a raw whisper, breath harsh in his throat. "She w-wants to." He's had time to think on it, time to puzzle over the girl's behaviour, her hostility. Where before there'd been something like a tentative friendship, frail and uncertain, in their last few meetings the wildling has done what she can to murder it at the root, picking pointless fights, assuming the worst of the squire at every turn. He grips his sister's hand tight and cleaves close to her side, his head turning with sharp, fearful movements as he stares into the darkness that threatens to engulf them. He speaks, because perhaps that'll keep him from moaning in fear.

"She wants t-to be alone so, so then she'll h-have to take her d-devil back. She wants a, an excuse, so she c-can say she didn't h-have a choice. S-so she, she's p-pushing everyone away."

We hold no such affection for one another.

"She wants to b-be lost. She wants it b-back. More than she w-wants friends or, or anything."

And the deeper the seamstress and squire wander into the woods, the more they risk being lost themselves.

[Rance]

Cherny's thoughts and considerations were didactic, embroiled with schoolish reason. With every step, the probabilities of their finding Noura became both greater and more remote -- so, too, ascended their chance of meeting hot, yellowed fangs and flaring nostrils at the end of tubular snouts. She fueled every step with hope for the former. All the branches were starting to look like all the others. Every tree seemed to tower at the same height, late in their bloom and sprawled like overturned spiders with their legs reaching up toward the star-spackled sky.

"If that is the excuse she desires," she told him over her shoulder, "then we ought to endeavor to make it a far more difficult choice to make. I'll not make it easy for -- for a friend to follow foolish paths; I'd not leave you to these woods alone, nor would she leave you to them, and neither would you leave me.

"Golben was a labyrinth. These are just woods, and -- and wolves," she reasoned, bolstering her will against her wide-eyed terror, "are scarcely Giuseppe."

(If only she'd known; if only she'd not forgotten what had transpired at the heart of the Pit.)

He was scared, and that truth energized her, burned away the easy haze of her fear like Sunlight on morning mist. She fancied herself a frightful beast at his front, a one-armed warrior, a brutish ogre with browning teeth. Yet, like a rag being wrung dry, her copper skin was moist with tarsweat against her theadbare gown and fat opals of perspiration condensed on her forehead. This charade could only withstand so long; in the end, a girl with four fingers and a shivering squire could only be what they were.

"Elliot," the girl said, "would seek her out, wouldn't he? Both Elliots. Your Elliot and mine. Better we try than -- than leave her to the dogs, and to herself."

Then, swallowing, she hissed through the tall trees, "Noura," like a snake. "Noura!"

[Guppy]

Noura stalked into the underbrush with the ease of one at home in the clinging boughs. Behind her lay the abandoned tavern. Boots crunched softly in the new growth and old leaves. She moved at a rapid pace as she picked her way further into the forest that had been something of a home these past few weeks. The wolves were certainly a risk, but she kept a wary hand upon the vial at all times.

Eventually, she noticed her name being called. The sound startled a small flock of songbirds and they gave flight in a panic. She slowed and let her breath come slower. Let her steps become more practiced, barely a whisper on the wind in the night sky. They, alternatively, were like newborn foals, tromping through the forest like they had little to no control over their own limbs. The brambles dragged at them as if they were hands with claws, but the two still gave chase. Her eyes rolled heavenward, seeking guidance that never came.

With great annoyance, she circled around with the silent steps of a hunt in effort to follow the both of them. She listened as Cherny puzzled through her motives and narrowed her eyes in response. The two had never seen completely eye to eye. Cherny thought her impulsive and she thought him overly cautious. The others tied them together, kept them in one another's orbit, whether they liked it or not. Harsh words had severed any trust they had gained. Time would tell if it was permanent.

Finally, she made herself known with the crunch of a twig behind them. She stood stalwart, hands on her hips and chin jutting stubbornly as she glowered at them both.

"It is not safe for you to be here. The wolves draw close and you are temptation. Besides, they are preferable company to your harsh words and violent tempers," she added sharply. Her arms eased to cross her chest protectively.

"Go back, Gloria." The leader of this merry chase was infinitely clear.

[Cherny]

The squire has no reply to the invocation of Elliot's name, though at the thought of his knight he at least attempts to stand straighter, to hide his fear.

"I'd n-not go in the w-woods alone, so sh-she'd--" Whatever else he might've been about to say is lost to a startled yelp at the sound of a crackling footstep behind them, the squire twisting abruptly to face whatever's following them.

"N-noura." A hoarse whisper, managed after he's had a chance to draw breath again, heart hammering behind his ribs. Noura. Stubborn, petulant, full of spiteful bluster.

"Then it, it's n-not safe for you either." Though her claim that the wolves draw close has his gaze darting nervously for the trees around them as he tries to work out whether or not it's a bluff. Wondering how much of their conversation she'd heard. "We c-can all go b-back together and, and we'll all b-be safer than, than h-here."

What is perhaps meant as an encouraging smile is a sickly thing, but at least he makes the effort. Doing his best to be calm, or at least reasoned; doing his best to brush aside the wildling's comparison between her would-be friends and the wolves. A glance sidelong to his sister for support, a squeeze of her hand before he turns back to Noura, extending his free hand in invitation.

"I, I'm s-sorry for all of it. F-for running, and for w-what I said. And Gloria is t-too - for, for the arguing and f-fighting." Another flick of eyes to the girl at his side, a small nod to prompt her to join in.

"We, we'd n-not be here if we d-didn't care," Earnest, desperate sincerity in his voice at that, and it's not hard to see there are few places he'd less rather be than here, in the wolf-haunted woods. "or if y-you weren't our f-friend. So, so please. Just, just c-come back, and we c-can sort it out. Or just g-go to bed and, and m-maybe talk later." Hastily added, realising that the idea of sorting it out likely holds little appeal at this moment.

His hand shakes as he holds it out for Noura to take, his other hand gripping tight upon his sister's remaining fingers. Begging, pleading, a desperate appeal to - to what? What was left that the wildling hadn't rejected, scorned or cast aside?

"P-please. We, we c-can't go back w-without you."

[Rance]

Behind them, a sound, a snapping twig, a rustle in the leaves.

She spun, feeling the pressure of Cherny's hand close upon her own. Her heels dug into the filth and her nerves suddenly shot into awareness like a burning, scalding wildfire. She swiveled at her hips, expecting the moldering breath, the jaws, the slits of eyes and the billowing cones of misty breath she had seen in her dreams--

But there, standing like an obdurate sentinel, chin tilted high, arms crossed, hips canted, was Noura.

Go back, Gloria.

Her only functional limb was the one bound in fresh bandages. It lunged out from beneath the sleeve of her frock, unexpressive and helpless. It was a nub whose fingers might have been grasping, reaching out to Noura like Cherny's own. The boy's arguments to the wildling were more capable than hers, more literate and pleading. She tightened her grip around his, squeezed until his knuckles ground against one another -- I'm right here, the motion meant to say. I'm not going anywhere.

"To the Veldt with the wolves, Noura. They can draw as near as they desire, and I'll still stand here if you still stand there. Preferable company," she said. "They took my hand from me, Noura. Lifted me up off the ground and shook me until the bones split free from one another. And before that, they shredded Cherny's skin so that it will always, always bear the marks of their teeth. The same they did to you. However violent you may think my temper, it -- it is violent because I love you, and because words were not working. I am sorry, like Cherny said; I cannot help but be sorry, if you feel you need to run from us.

"But these animals are beasts. They will rip you into ribbons, and us too, if you don't come with us. And we're fools," the seamstress said. "We cannot track our way back to the woodline without you."

It wasn't enough. She knew it. She took a weary step forward, torn gown-hem trickling along the ferns.

"What you said to -- to Agnieszka Kazmerrik," she said, "is because you were trying to protect me. I begrudge you nothing."

[Guppy]

Their protests for her safety made her scoff, a sharp noise in the otherwise quiet forest. The birds had been abed for hours and the human presence made the others hunker down to wait for them to pass by. They were predators. Dangerous. "I've been hunting here for weeks now." Though, perhaps that was more luck than anything.

His hand extended and Gloria's severed one lifted as well. They reached for her, eyes hopeful, and her own remained across her chest. Her lips pursed with displeasure. "No. You are not seeking absolution, Cherny. You meant every word," she responded, matter-of-fact. "You simply want to escape the woods. Well, no one is stopping you." Hips shifted as one foot was placed behind and she gestured grandly back the way they had come, knowing full-well that neither would leave.

Gloria's insistence that she held nothing but love for the wildling was met with a brief glare. "You lay hands upon me out of love, Gloria? That logic is faulty. It sounds very much like the creature you condemn." She wondered when things had changed - Gloria had demanded that Niall release the creature. Allow Noura the choice. Something had shifted. Perhaps her brush with death, perhaps the child she carried.

"They only hunger for me. They will use you both to gain revenge on me. It is best if I remain distant," she explained after a sigh heaved with begrudging acceptance of their concern. Why could they not understand? "The creature is adept at using magic. It will end the danger before it begins," she insisted, not wholly understanding their mistrust. The creature had been an annoyance, but it had not done any lasting harm to either of them.

She hesitated. Considered. And then: "Niall told me what the creature was. When it lived." This was hardly the place for such a discussion, but her revelation did tempt questions.

Finally, she reached out to claim Cherny's hand carefully. Their helpless fumbling as they stumbled through the forest seemed to have softened her stony resolve. Her fingers were kept loose and were rather uncommitted, but she attempted to lead them both back in the direction of the Rememdium.

"Stay sharp," gruffly.

[Cherny]

An apology rejected, which earns a stiff half-shrug from the boy, hand still outstretched, still trembling.

"D-doesn't mean I, I c-can't be sorry f-for it now. If, if I h-hurt your feelings th-then I'm sorry f-for that." Flat defeat in his tone, ready to eat whatever pride he might possess if it means she'll come with them. "I d-don't want to be h-here. You, you're right. B-but I'm here, because you're h-here. That's w-what's stopping me. Us."

Noura's insistence on being alone, on keeping a distance for their own protection; their presence here as her friends turns that about, effectively taking themselves hostage in their refusal to leave her. Their following her into the forest and stubbornly placing themselves at her side forces the wildling to make a choice - abandon them to the wolves, making a lie of her professed concern for their safety, or leave the woods with them, thus seeing all three of them safe.

He is silent through Gloria's reminder of what the wolves did, the hurt they cause and how close it came to being worse, nodding his mute agreement at his sister's warning. He doesn't immediately understand what Noura means by the creature, a confusing few moments in which he assumes she still speaks of the wolf; a sharp shake of his head follows as he realises she speaks of her devil.

"You, you d-don't need it." His only offering on the subject, perhaps deeming it a topic more suited to discussion elsewhere. So when she takes his hand, however ambivalently, his fingers grasp tightly about her hand as if afraid she'll dart off into the trees again. No more to say, but palpable relief in his raw voice as she begins to lead them out of the woods.

"Th-thank you."

[Rance]

"I slapped you," she whispered. "Doing so does not make me equal with a devil, with It. It makes me your sister. You're oblivious to the damage the creature can do, Noura. Even if It saved your life--"

She dislodged her hand from Cherny's, trusting that his leading grip was better suited to Noura's touch. She hadn't that other hand, nor any other means by which to attach herself to them; there was distance, a realization that reminded her of the quiet, throbbing pain underneath the bandages wrapping her mutilated wrist.

Stay sharp, Noura had instructed.

"Even if It saved your life, your passenger bears the desire to harm others," she said, her attention shifting out to fall across the bleakness of the silent, sprawling forest. "It put its power under my skin, Noura, and seized me with -- with talents that manifested like a lightning-strike. It wore Niall's flesh like a cloak. It deceives. It deceives you," the girl added, "with promises of potency that -- that you think will eliminate your shortcomings. That's too dangerous a contract to sign."

Underneath her heel, a jagged edge bit into her skin. She stepped aside and pried a fist-sized stone out of the earth, leaving a pockmark in the needle-littered soil. The seamstress lofted the rock, a makeshift weapon, and held it over her shoulder in the event that it might need to be wielded. All too often in their retreat, she pivoted, twisted around, and gazed behind them, keeping herself focused, alert.

"The distance you think you require," said the seamstress, "has been far more than physical. Let the wolves come. If they are a pack, then we ought to be one as well."

You, you d-don't need it, Cherny had told the girl. With a turn of her head, she acknowledged both the boy -- and the wildling -- with a faint, cork-toothed smile that supported his statement.

"You need us," she said in the dark. With words as short as these, the tired hillocks of her accent flattened into simple plains. She sounded normal, indigenous, and genuine.

"And we need you."

[Guppy]

Cherny's hand clasped about her own tightly. It was a makeshift leash for her tendency to flee.

This deep in the treeline, they would be lost without her. Easy prey for the figuratively circling wolves.

The huntress picked her way carefully through the thick vines, the press of ancient trees. All the way, Gloria's words were like gnats around her ears inciting her displeasure. Cherny could likely feel her mounting exasperation in the tighten of her fingers against his, the straightening of her spine.

Noura whirled finally, eyes flashing, to face the girl following more slowly. The distance between them was of her own making.

She would not stand for such derision cast upon the being that saved her. Her free hand rose to punctuate her words with stabbing index finger in the air. "It saved Niall's life too. That was your plan, remember?," she reminded the other, her expression stormy. Her ire chilled and she deflated, looking more tired than angry any longer.

"You only look down upon the creature when you don't need It. At least It is honest. There are few secrets between us." Mention of secrets again. Pointedly spoken. The woman turned to again lead them to freedom, her fingers tugging softly at the squire's in effort to make him more a little faster. The sooner she was rid of them, the better.

"Our distance has to be more than physical. You are stubborn. You would not stand for it otherwise." The weary words were said with as much annoyance as genuine affection. "Pray do not assume this is easy for me. My stomach aches with it." What she wouldn't give to crawl into Son's blankets to snuggle against his warmth. To sit on the porch and gossip with Gloria. To tease Cherny about his perceived crush on the fae-girl.

They needed one another, Gloria insisted. Her shadowed eyes caught upon Cherny's, however briefly, over her shoulder. The genuine hope held within the seamstress' words made the somewhat jaded wildling sigh to herself. Guilt snapped at her heels for refuting the sweet statement, so she focused ahead of her instead. Her resolved was steeled against their naive sentiments as her eyes peered at each and every shadow.

"Yes, and what a capable unit we are against slathering wolves on our heels. One who runs to hide in the stables, one who rails against them wholly unsuccessfully, and one whose overwhelming terror makes her magic impotent," she muttered. "Whether we like it or not, we need monsters to hide behind in Myrken Wood."

"Monsters like Catch and the creature."

Whatever their feelings on the man, he was as chaotic as her own demon. Their love just obscured their vision.

[Cherny]

The squire is quiet through the wildling's tirade, shifting restlessly as she berates the seamstress, clearly preferring that they delay this argument until they are out of the woods. It's a brief thing, thankfully, and soon enough she leads them on, little goading required to keep him at her heels.

His shoes crunch on the old leaf-litter as they hurry on, and he reaches to take Gloria's hand again, fearful of losing her, of leaving her behind in their hasty travels, a glance over his shoulder to be sure that she keeps pace. A frown as Noura compares Catch with her devil, however, for all that he doesn't immediately voice this objection.

"M-monsters like Rhaena?" A challenge and he knows it, brows lifting slightly as he glances to the wildling. "Or the W-wormwoman? Always t-turns out well, th-that does." Hoarse, flat words, already bracing for a scornful reply even as he continues.

"Or we c-could try being b-better than, than monsters." A naive idea; idealistic, unlikely to earn much but a scoffing dismissal, and yet there is an earnest conviction in his tone, in the set of his features. "We could t-try to b-be better, and, and n-not do monstrous things. And even if it d-doesn't work, at least we t-tried. At least w-we're not monsters, at l-least we're n-not saying, oh, b-being a monster is f-fine as long as it g-gets us what we w-want."

[Rance]

There was a moment--

Noura turned to look at her, wielded her words like thin little blades. Reminded her of the body, the covenant made between a spearwielder and the Passenger, a desperate girl's only chance to remedy what she thought was altered beyond repair. Her cheek twitched, the corner of one eye flinching as if in reaction to Noura's first question. Her blunted fingernails scraped against the face of the stone as she tightened her grip around it. Impulse burned in her eyes. A monster, prideful and Jernoan, who swallowed like burning sand the urge to snap back her hand and launch that rock at something other than a wolf.

But Cherny reached out for her. He spoke on behalf of both of them; he was a shining idealism and a cool balance between Noura's coldness and Gloria's hot, smothered fury -- they both knew her well enough, that she wanted nothing more than to lash out, especially now, when pleas of peace and softness had been turned away by the wildling's retort.

Or we c-could try being b-better than, than monsters.

Her bandaged wrist jerked, rose, meaning to accept Cherny's hand. The only fingers that flexed were phantom ones, invisible and unreal, imagined--

She strode behind them, thorns clinging to her skirts, denying the boy's touch only for the comfort of the rock clenched in her palm.

Pray do not assume this is easy for me. My stomach aches with it.

"Your stomach," she said. "Your stomach. The one worthwhile skill I had, Noura, is lost to me, all because the last thing I wanted was to see someone I love torn into pieces. I gave you everything I had: my truths, even if I was afraid to say them; my smallest sliver of courage, that you wouldn't be mauled by -- by a wolf. What else do you want me to give you? Do you want this hand, too?" She held the rock out, elbow locked, wrist trembling. "Would that be a sacrifice suitable enough to -- to convince you that you can't be rid of me? Of us? Of Son and -- and Cherny? Of Catch?

"Hide behind whatever monster you choose, Noura. Say whatever things you wish to degrade us diminish us. But that devil in your pocket? You do it no use out here; it cares nothing for wolves or your revenge. Your Creature wants us, that at least It might have something to abuse or corrupt within its immediate vicinity. Without that, without us, you have no more to offer It than anyone else."

She kept walking, her dullard-eyes shining -- and they softened with relief, too, when the underbrush became sprawling blue lawn, and the Crawl Moon hovered like a swollen yellow coin over the Broken Dagger.

"I'll look your Passenger in the eyes." Her voice shivered, trying in vain to retain its firmness.

"I'd do that, as long as it meant seeing you."

[Guppy]

The thunderous anger was almost palpable and Cherny was caught in the tide of fury between the two girls. Noura cast a glance back, her eyes flickering towards the stone so tightly grasped. The look in her eyes as she lifted them again was knowing. It challenged. Gloria's impulses and tendency towards violence were well-known. The fact that the stone did not find itself lobbed through the air was testimony to how far she had come. The still-stinging cheek of her friend was not.

They spoke of monsters in a general sense. The creature should not be trusted, they said. Noura should not give credence to her murmurings, they insisted. They threw stones from their lofted perches when their hands were just as dirty.

Cherny's mention of Rhaena received a sharp look in return. "Rhaena Olwak had her humanity to hide behind. Catch and the creature are barely that." Neither of them had seemed intrigued by what the demon was. That knowledge to herself with more than a little disappointment. It was not often that she was the one with rumors to sweeten her conversation. Still, it was Niall that had spoken of Its origins and she could not be certain it was the truth. No need to bring it up again.

The squire was right to assume that his suggestion for traveling the high road would earn nothing but dismissal. The wildling just shrugged at him. "You need not trouble yourself with being a monster. Your hands remain clean." It was time to bring them around to their real purpose. Enough of philosophy. "And anyway, the creature will stalk the wolves and bring back their pelts. They are lesser predators circling around her brood and they will not be tolerated." Or so the girl hoped. She had not questioned the being on the matter. Her bravado was false.

Gloria spoke of the sacrifice she made and it was a punch to Noura's gut. Her heart throbbed all over again, the attack playing on the inside of her eyelids. It was almost enough to make her abandon Cherny's hand completely. In the end, she clenched upon his fingers even harder. Until he might very well protest.

Defensive, she remained petulant in response. Instead of what she wanted to say - I am very sorry, Gloria. And please, please do not do such a thing again. It almost killed me. She said, "Yes, well. Maybe you should leave well enough alone and let me fight my own battles."

Immediately, her shoulders slumped and regret washed over her like a wave. Gentler, then. "I want nothing. The demon wants nothing from you. You should not have come to my rescue. I did harm to his mother-wolf and it was me who should deal with the consequence. The creature is the only one strong enough to avoid harm. Please, I pray that you can understand." Her voice dipped low, trembled.

The Dagger stood, resolute, within the moonlight. Its windows were half-shuttered with the late hour and it appeared to be dozing as a result. She paused, resolute, in the treeline and gestured grandly. She kept her back to them both.

"We have arrived. I leave you here."