Rannok’s fingers gripped around the whetstone as he tried to run it over the slick surface of the blade. It flung itself out of his fingers for what felt like the hundredth time today and plopped itself into the sand. He swore under his breath. When one did this work right, the metal sang, and came out sharp enough to shave with. Instead, the more times he tried, the more dents he found in his blade.

Gabriel leaned on a wagon wheel a few feet away, his bright-orange wings draped across the back. He watched Rannok with his mouth half-open, like there was something he was trying not to say. Rannok did his best to pretend he wasn’t there.

He didn’t need someone to tell him he was bad at sharpening his sword, he already knew that. Just like he knew he was bad at everything else this place entailed. He tried again and his fingers slipped. The blade bit into the edge of his palm. Rannok pulled it away, then swore under his breath as his cracked rib throbbed in protest and the air hissed out of his lungs.

“Do you need some help?”

Gabriel reached for the whetstone, as if Rannok were a child. Rannok shoved the man’s hand away.

“No,” he replied, even though he probably could have used some. It sucked not being able to do anything because someone else decided it would be fun to break one of his ribs. It sucked even more that he wasn’t any good at the thing he was supposed to be doing instead. He picked up the whetstone again and tried a few more times to hone his blade, but after a few minutes he gave up and unceremoniously dumped both into the corner of the wagon, over the wall.

“Fuck this.”

“Language,” Gabriel replied, not looking up from the book in his hand. Rannok shot him a dirty look. He couldn’t wait until the medic tent was set up again and Gabriel had somewhere else to lurk.

"I'm going for a walk," Rannok said, but he gasped as he struggled to rise. Gabriel stood, grabbed his elbow, and helped him to his feet. It made Rannok feel like he was four, and he bit back the nasty words that threatened to escape his lips.

"I'm fine," he said as he brushed the man off, then tried to take a step forward without wincing. The sun had crested the middle of the sky, and it was too hot to travel even without a broken rib, but that didn't matter. He knew exactly where he was headed. Time to try again at the other thing he'd been trying and failing to do for the last few weeks.

He leaned on the edge of the wagon, took a deep breath out, and started to walk. His wings flapped at his side, looking for balance, which just made his ribs feel even worse. The sun made him sweat without exertion. It was going to be a long walk to the merchants' tents, but that was fine.

For a second he considered just leaving Wren alone, and a weird sort of guilt entered his conscience. He'd framed her for killing a guy. That was reason enough for her to never want to speak to him again, and he understood that. But it also made him feel like shit, the thought of not making it right again somehow. He’d figure out how when he got that far, he guessed.

He ducked between a cluster of pens that held livestock and into a bustling circle that would eventually become the main marketplace. Men darted from place to place, cutting down ropes and setting up tents. Most of them still laid on the ground, half-deflated. From what he’d been told, by tomorrow the place would explode with noise and sound again, until the sales and the water dried up and they departed. Rannok couldn't wait to see it.

A couple of chickens pecked at the ground in front of him, and he pushed them away gently with his foot. The dirt already had scuff marks from people dragging boxes over top of it. He imagined it wouldn't take long for it to look like they'd always been here.

A gaggle of children scattered as he pushed his way into the main circle and toward the place where the general wares tent would be set up. The children stared at him as he walked by, and Rannok wasn't sure if it was because of the limp, or because children assumed that guardsmen meant trouble.

He found them where he thought they might be. A woman struggled to place two canisters up on a wooden shelf. Her long, brown hair hung down her back, hiding her face from him, but he recognized Wren’s mother by the gold band wrapped around the nape of her neck. Rannok swallowed hard as he approached.

"Excuse me, I—"

Meria's glare was just as harsh as he'd remembered, from when he was young and had gotten in trouble, and it made him flinch. There was recognition in her eyes, but not a good sort of recognition. The kind of recognition that made Rannok feel small. He took a tiny step backwards and averted his eyes to the ground.

"What do you want?"

Her voice hissed through her teeth. The bangles on her wrists clanked together as she wheeled around to face him. There was a careful distance between the countertop that separated him from her, and Rannok was glad for it.

"I--was looking for Wren." His voice squeaked out of his mouth so tiny he wasn't sure she'd be able to hear it.

Meria sighed deeply, then set the canister down on the countertop. She kept her expression level and eyed him in a way that made his chest tight. "If you know what is best for you, Rannok, you will leave, now."

Her tone ran a deep chill down his back. She turned to look toward the back of the tent. Rannok's eyes followed her until they met with Maron's. He looked older now, and much more grey, but just as severe as he remembered. He ran a whetstone along the edge of a dagger. When he looked up, his face twisted into a scowl.

"Look, I know I screwed up, but--."

"You're even stupider than I remember." Her voice was even sharper than before. "I didn't forget what you did to my family. Nothing you say will help you, Rannok. We don’t owe you forgiveness and if you know what is good for you, you will scram." Meria drew closer and closer as she spoke, until he found her finger shoved into his face. He stumbled back and held his hands in front of himself in defense.

"Just listen to me for one second."

Meria narrowed her eyes at him, then folded her arms. She leaned back against the countertop, then brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. "Honestly, I don't care what you have to say. I care about my daughter. Do I need to tell you to leave again, or should I go get Maron?"

"I just want to apologize," Rannok insisted, trying to keep his voice calm despite his pounding heart. He didn't think it was working. He regarded Meria as if she were a snake about to strike. She certainly looked like one.

"There is nothing you can say to me, boy. We have to pay for the mistakes we make, and you made a big one. It's time you learned that. As for where she is..." Meria rubbed her thumb across her forehead. "I don't know, if that's why you're here. If I were you, though, I'd stay far away from her or there will be trouble."

For a moment a shadow fell over Meria's face, and it looked like she'd aged a decade. That little worm of guilt ate away at Rannok’s stomach. Maron looked up from the dagger and went to rise from his seat. Rannok backed up a step before Meria raised her arm in front of her husband.

"Just go," she said, waving Rannok off with a hand before he had time to say anything else. He wanted to fly away as fast as he could, but his cracked rib wouldn't let him. He thought back to that day in the market. He'd given her a final glance while the fireworks went off around her, before he'd ducked around the corner of a nearby building and left her forever. His stomach sank. Running away just seemed to get harder, the longer he tried to do it.

He crossed back around the marketplace, toward a shop that sold hot sugar-buns, which by some miracle was open. He shoved a few coins into the hand of a little old lady, who handed him a stick topped with golden-fried dough, wrapped in syrup and spun sugar. He savored the crunch as he bit into it, but the taste just didn't have the appeal it usually did. As a matter of fact, Rannok felt sick to his stomach. As soon as he got to the edge of the caravan, he tossed the treat away.

The water shimmered with the soft glow of the afternoon sun. Lily pads sprawled across the surface like a carpet. Rannok had never seen anything so green. Lush plants crawled around the edge of the oasis, as if defying everything the desert stood for. He could have stood there and watched it all day, even though the water smelled uncannily like there was something rotting in it.

But then she was there, perched on a rock near the bank, obviously trying to be alone. And he couldn't resist walking over to bother her. He might not get another chance, without interference. She had to know that he was sorry, even if it didn't change her mind.

"Hey," he said.

She turned to face him, and at once her face twisted into a scowl. She stood up and turned toward him, fists balled, and Rannok couldn't tell if she was about to run, or punch him in the face. He wasn't sure which he preferred.

"What are you doing here?" she spat. Her eyes bored a hole into his, and he was sure that if she could have, she would have killed him with them. Rannok stepped away from her and thought hard about an answer to that question, because honestly, he didn't really know.

"Looking for you," he decided after a minute, even though it was a lie.

Wren folded her arms and leaned away from him. "Why? I don't want to talk to you."

She sounded very much like her mother, but Rannok didn't say that. He doubted it was what she wanted to hear.

"I wanted to apologize. I shouldn't have..done...what I did." He pleaded with the universe that she would please, crows, just accept the apology. He would have given anything for a friend. A friend that wasn't forced to be around him like Griffon, or pitying him like Gabriel.

Wren's face turned into a deeper scowl, and red crept up her neck and across her ears. Her lips pursed until she looked like she was physically restraining herself from hitting him.

"Friends? You want to be my friend? Were we friends when I bought those fireworks for you? How about when everyone called me a murderer and you just sat there and watched them? Were we friends then? Where were you when my parents lost their business and we had to move? I sure could have used a friend then, Rannok, but I didn't have one. Maybe if you hadn't left me we could have been friends eventually, yeah." She turned away from him, then returned to her seat on the rock.

"I didn't do it on purpose," he said quietly, but she ignored him. The slight guilty feeling that had hung around all day in the pit of his stomach deepened until he thought he might throw up then and there. He stared at her back for what seemed like an eternity before he finally turned around to leave.

"It doesn't matter if you meant it, It matters that you did it," she said as he was walking away. He didn't say anything back to her because there was nothing to say. In the end, she was right. He could have taken the fall for her. He could have admitted those were his fireworks. Even if they hadn't believed him it would have lessened the sting.

Now it was too late. Rannok realized that he was very stupid. He would have done anything to take that moment in the market stalls back. To take her pain and put it on him. But it was too late now. He had to make it up to her.

Perhaps he could do that by leaving her alone.