He awoke to see Deme looking through his drawers. Her wavy brown hair hid her face from his sight, so when he called out to her, she jumped in surprise.

“D-Decian! I didn’t hear you waking up!” She grinned awkwardly at him when she turned around. Her eye was wide, and she was holding something behind her back.

“What are you doing, Deme?” Decian frowned slightly and walked over to her. She was just like her twin brother, Firaine. Short. He stood nearly a head taller than her and held a hand out in front of him. “What are you hiding?”

“You have to promise to take it with you on the journey.” She shook her head and took a step back, so he couldn’t take her arm. Her eye stared up at him, full of stubborn determination. A look he knew all too well.

“That depends on what it is.” Decian crossed his arms.

“You’ll need it.” Her nervous grin fell into a serious frown, “I know you’ll need it. You have to take it. Promise.” She insisted.

“Did you see that I’ll need it, or did you decide I will?” Decian chuckled and rolled his eyes. Deme was born with one blind eye and the gift of prophecy. However, just as with her literal vision, her divinations were often incomplete or vague. Sometimes, she liked to pretend she saw something in order to bend people to her will, but Decian could always tell when she was attempting to trick him. They had grown up together, after all.

“I decided you will,” Deme tilted her chin up at him stubbornly, “Because I am going to send you letters, and you’ll need this. For the crows to find you easier. Now promise you’ll take it.”

“Deme, I’ll only be gone for a month, if that. You won’t need to send me letters.” Decian smiled softly at her.

“I will. Your journey will be longer than expected, so take it. Please? For me?” She stuck out her bottom lip, and blinked her wide purple eye at him.

“Did you decide that, or did you see it?” Decian raised an eyebrow at her.

“I saw it.” Both nocten frowned at that and shifted uncomfortably.

“Well… Fine, I’ll take it.” Decian mumbled, wondering why his journey might be extended. If it was about the prophecy… His deliberations were halted suddenly when he saw what his friend had been hiding behind her back. “No.” He said immediately and took a step away.

Deme frowned, furrowing her brows. “You promised! Come on, Decian. Your father would be so disappointed to see it sitting in the bottom of--”

“No!” Decian repeated, louder this time, not even looking at the bundle of rusty orange fabric in Deme’s hands. He didn’t need to. The memories were so clear, even still. He had watched his father dye the fabric, three times, in fact, to get the colour just right. He had sat behind him, peering over his shoulder to watch as his father, always smiling, stitched the cloak together. And then again, every time it had caught on a branch and tore. A young Decian had even been shown to do some of the reparations, himself. He knew every fold of that cloak. Every stitch.

He could still see it hanging from soldiers’ hands, covered in blood and horribly ripped.

“Decian, it was your father’s…” Deme frowned, and stepped forward cautiously.

“I don’t care. It’s… It’s bad luck.” Decian turned away to grab his clothes for the day. “Put it back.”

“It’s not bad luck! It’ll remind you of home! Of the people who love you. Just wear it on this one journey, and I’ll never pester you about it again.”

Decian sighed and fingered the feathers that rested on his dresser. Both were mostly white and tied together to a thin chain. One had bright orangey red mixed in, like his father’s cloak had once been. Like his mother’s eyes had been. The other was tipped with blue, like his father’s. “I have enough to remind me, Deme. Why are you so insistent?” He didn’t look back at her as he pulled the shirt to his uniform on.

Deme was quiet for a moment, rubbing the fabric between her fingers. It was still soft, no matter how many times it had been torn and mended, stained and cleaned… She had her own memories of it. A young Decian, beaming with pride as he showed her the first repair he had done to it. She could remember the last repair he’d done, too… Just a boy, sniffling over the torn fabric, barely able to see past the tears that fell onto the newly cleaned cloak. He wore white, the colour of mourning. From his ear, hung from a long, thin silver chain, two feathers rested against his chest. “The day you mended it…” Deme spoke softly, staring at it instead of him, “You put it away, and never took it out again. You put them away, and started training, and I’ve never thought that was okay. You can’t just push aside your emotions every time they’re inconvenient.”

Decian pushed the old earring through his earlobe and secured it, letting the feathers rest against his shoulder. He turned around and shook his head softly at her. “I’m doing my best, Deme. To make them proud, to try to… to make sure that doesn’t happen to anyone else. What else am I supposed to do?”

“Don’t block them out.” Deme took a step forward and held the cloak out to Decian. “You’re going on a grand, exciting adventure. Take them with you.” She smiled reassuringly at him.

He just looked away and fingered the feathers. “I am…” He mumbled.

Deme rolled her eyes at that. She took his hand and put it onto the fabric. “We both know that this cloak has more of them in it than those feathers do. You have to let yourself think of them. Of the good things. You never talk about them anymore…” She frowned softly, watching Decian’s hand sink into the fabric. His eyes shut, and his fingers tightened around the cloth.

“You’re right. You always are, it’s just… Been so long.” He frowned deeply. With shaky hands, he took the cloak, and let it fall unfolded in front of him. He could clearly see the shoddy repairs he had done the day of the funeral. Father would have wanted me to at least repair it, he had thought as he sat over it. He remembered how he had kept that thought playing on repeat in his mind, especially as he had come across a part where the fabric was so shredded, he didn’t know how to repair it. He hadn’t let himself think of how he could no longer have asked his father for help. Neither nocten said anything as he wrapped it around his shoulders, clasping it in the front and arranging the hood so it fell comfortably. Decian was amazed to feel its weight on his back, no matter what the years had done to it. Deme marvelled at the fact that no matter how many times the cloak had been torn, the only repairs that were very visible were the ones that had been done on the last ones.

“There’s a start…” Deme smiled softly and reached up to kiss his cheek.

“Why now, Deme?” He asked, eyes on his feet. He couldn’t bear to lift them. Of course, he knew the answer.

“You know why… Come on, let’s not keep Brabil waiting. Grab your things.” Deme stepped back and motioned to his pack, which rested against his dresser with his weapons.

Decian just nodded. Of course, Firaine had told her of the duel yesterday. He took a small leather pouch from the top of his dresser and put it in one of the many pockets on his pants, along with his hair clip, some clean cloth, a bag of dried fruit, and a spare knife in case he lost one of the ones from the belt he had looped around his hips.

“I know I should have asked sooner, but must you wear your uniform?” Deme asked once he was ready and had slung his pack over his shoulder.

“I’ll be on duty, so yes.” Decian chuckled, looking down at the black shirt. Deme had known even before she asked that he wouldn’t have worn anything else. He was too proud of his position.

“You don’t even have a spare shirt for the meeting, do you?” Deme raised an eyebrow.

“Of course I do!” Decian laughed as he walked toward the door.

“I mean a spare shirt that isn’t the exact same as the one you’re wearing.” Deme smirked, following closely behind him. Decian’s silence was the only answer she needed. A smirk spread across her lips. They walked in silence toward where Brabil had told Decian to meet him for a while. “Oh, and I put a pouch of tea in your pack. In case you want something warm.” She smiled sweetly up at him. She looked so pleased, as if she had pulled off some great surprise, that he couldn’t bear to tell her that he’d been able to smell the raspberries when he picked up his pack… Or that he was fairly certain the pouch had already spilled.

“Thank you, Deme.” He smiled softly to her instead. “For… everything.”

The two fell back into silence after that.

Brabil was waiting exactly where he said he would be, with a few other nocten. Firaine waited with them. The next ten minutes were spent saying their farewells and summoning their mounts. When Krenn appeared, the great cat heaved a yawn, and Decian couldn’t help but laugh softly at that. Her black coat twitched as she shook herself awake. As soon as Brabil had summoned his leopard as well, the two nocten were off. Decian fidgeted with the cloak around his shoulders and stayed alert. Deme’s words came back to the front of his mind. He wondered again what might extend his time away from home.

“You didn’t need to wear your uniform, you know?” Brabil glanced back to him as they wove their way down the path, widened for easier passage between the capital and other cities.

Decian couldn’t hold back the slight smile as he kept an eye on their surroundings. No matter who said he didn’t need to, he considered himself on duty. The woods were dark, and dangerous, and he knew too well what could happen if he were to let his guard down.

Nothing caught either Decian or Brabil by surprise throughout their travels.