Vision darkened from the aftereffects of the lightning, Clover doesn’t see the knight get his kill, but he hears it. The terrible ripping sound of flesh, the gurgled last cry of a terrifying beast, and the wet squishing thump of a body crashing into the mud. And worst of all Clover can feel when it happens. Clover isn’t much of a fey, but he’s fairy enough to feel the twinge of the Unseelie’s death echo along the Fluxx and the brief spike of sadness that isn’t his, Yggdrasil mourning the death of one of the World Tree’s children.

By the time Clover’s eyes fully adjust the knight is back on his feet, holding his blade out in the rain to let the weather clean his blood-stained longsword. He stands over the body of the beast like a vengeful Valkyrie, the bear monster now long quiet. For as terrifying as the Unseelie had been just seconds prior, it paints a sad picture in death, sinking into the mud, eyes open and unblinking, dull and lifeless. Already tiny sprouts of greenery have begun to bloom where its blood stains the ground, daisies and dandelions pushing up and into its carcass. Wildflowers will bloom with a nearly rabid abundance for the next decade, the plants magically enhanced by the fragment of power from the world tree that’s in the blood of all fey.

More so than ever Clover is aware of the Fluxx buzzing around him, close enough to feel but never touch. He’s also equally aware of the green blood flowing in his own veins and for a second the horrible thought of this backwoods dirt road being littered with clovers springs to mind before he uproots the thought like a weed.

‘If I act like prey then he’ll treat me like it,’ Clover reminds himself of Nor’s teaching. ‘Besides I don’t think he noticed,’ he assures himself, as his eyes once more find the human.

The knight’s breath is not even labored after his impossible feat of slaughtering a fey. He stands with a confidence that has been clearly won with blood and bone, uncaring about the wounds littering his body. The sword glitters in the faint moonlight, the knight checking that the iron is clean before he turns, shadowed helmet focusing on Clover.

Once more Clover wishes he could see the knight’s eyes, for he feels woefully exposed like this, drenched in the rain, lute clutched to his chest like a safety blanket, and his apprehension painting his face clearly for all to see. But he swallows down his nerves and flashes a smile, hoping it’s not as fragile as it feels.

‘Really this would be so much easier if I could tell what this guy is thinking,’ Clover thinks to himself as he continues looking into the darkened helm. The two of them could be having an epic staring contest and Clover could be totally winning by a landslide for all he knows. Or the knight could be blind, and Clover is being super rude right now or the man isn’t looking at Clover but at a particularly interesting knot in the tree at his back.

‘Yeah Clover,’ he taunts himself, ‘the murder man is totally not looking at you. Internal lies still count as lies. Just because I’m a fairy that can’t sense lies doesn’t mean I can suddenly tell them either.’

Though Clover does still wonder how the guy can see so well if he’s always stuck in a shadow. ‘Would really like to know when he will try to kill me… Well, I guess I should say ‘if’ he will kill me. I should try not to manifest a murder knight into existence.’

Clover laughs nervously at his own thoughts, kicking himself mentally for thinking about the very thing he’s supposed to NOT think about. Awkwardly shifting where he stands Clover pulls his boots out of the mud and blinks down at the jewelry box scattered at his feet in confusion before he remembers that his bag spilled during his first fall.

“Oh, fuck Loki! My bag—!" and Clover completely forgets about the very dangerous human staring him down as he drops to the mud and begins to scoop up his belongings. “Damn it, these rings weren’t that expensive, but I still like them! And my present for Áine was in that box—.”

Clover continues to talk to himself as he fishes everything out of the messy mud and back into his bag. Once he’s done, Clover’s pretty sure there are more weeds and dirt in his backpack than items, but he can’t do much in the dark rain. So, he resigns himself to the awful task of having to also wash out his bag on top of everything else he owns once he gets somewhere that isn’t here. Clover is rather tired of “here”, even though he doesn’t super know “here” is.

He risks a glance over at the human who had just single-handedly (minus Clover’s very clever and useful distractions) taken down the beast. The knight is still standing under the rain, but it seems the rain is already letting up, as if the gods had just wanted this fight to be extra dramatic. Clover makes a note to remember that detail, he’s sure he can milk that for a pretty good line later. Cause now that he has lived, Clover would be the worst bard ever if he didn’t capitalize on this. A mortal knight defeating on a crazy Unseelie monster is a once-in-a-lifetime kind of story, and Clover is going to write a ballad worthy of Valhalla’s halls.

He coughs into his hand as he slogs his way back onto the road, where the mud is sightly less awful. “Well as fun as...” Clover motions around them, hand lingering on the corpse at the knight’s back, “This has been.” He flinches as his terrible word choice. Clover swears he’s a good bard normally, but its hard to be a wordsmith, when half of your brain is dead tired, and the other is in flight mode (cause Clover is under no delusions about him being able to fight this human). “I don’t really want to keep hanging out in this downpour so I’m going to—”

Clover squeaks as he’s tugged back harshly, the knight suddenly behind him, moving faster than Clover could sense. Unseen eyes boring into him as the human holds out his other hand, palm up as if expecting something.

“Uhh… look buddy I really don’t want trouble,” Clover pleads even as the knight basically shoves his waiting hand under Clover’s nose. “Super amazing work killing the crazy monster and all, but I am just a charming and very delicate little bard—”

He gets cut off by a deep rumbling voice, as if the man has a permanent low growl to his vocals. And the pure power of it shakes Clover’s shoulders from where he’s awkwardly tucked into the knight’s side, “My pay.”

Clover blinks, the words almost echoing in his brain before he finally registers the meaning behind them, “Oh right!” and he fishes around his pockets, pulling out a collection of half-broken pencils, some really smooth rocks, and… three copper pieces.

He can feel how unimpressed the knight is at his back, but he forces the dirty copper into the man’s waiting hand, “Not sure how much monster slaying is these days, but uh… can you put this one on my tab?”

The hand on his arm gets a fraction tighter, and Clover can hear the low rumbly growl of annoyance. Clover scrambles, “I mean!” he starts way too loudly, heart thundering in his ears, “I mean I’ll get you the rest once we are in town! Give me three-no-two nights! And I’m sure I can get whatever other coin I owe you!”

The knight seems to size him up, helmet moving just enough to let Clover know the man is scanning him, and Clover is sure he paints a rather pitiful picture, covered in mud and soaked to the bone, lute tucked under his arm and bag slipping off his shoulders.

Maybe having decided Clover isn’t worth it the man lets him go, pocketing the dirty copper and turning around as if to just leave Clover in the dark, during a rainstorm, and in the middle of fucking nowhere.

“There’s a cave!”

Clover flinches at his own high-pitched voice, coughing to get it somewhat back under control as he (perhaps stupidly) steps into the knight’s space making sure that the man sees him point in the direction the Unseelie was chasing him in. “The bear thing was living in it and seeing as how you… you know… solved that problem,” he gestures towards the imposing body of the beast in front of them, “I don’t think the former owner will mind if we crash there for the night. Better than trying to make camp in the rain at least, right?”

The knight doesn’t say anything, but he does pick up his own backpack that the human must have cast aside sometime before the fight started. And instead of heading off down the dirt road, he follows the trampled path the beast craved through the woods in its haste to make Clover its dinner.

“So… that’s a yes?”

Unsurprisingly at this point, the human does not comment, doesn’t even slow down to show that he heard the bard at all. Clover sighs and adjusts his own backpack before racing to catch up to the silent knight.

‘This really is the worst day ever.’