It had been a long time since they’d taken a walk this late at night. They had travelled through endless, pitch black nights many times in their life, but there’s an unfriendly isolation that haunts their steps. The alienation of war had placed a hateful distrust in both sides' eyes. Mher had heard about the sudden ambushes that had robbed their kins’ lives, but couldn’t understand why either side were attacking them. Both sides had brought them into this war, for further bloodshed it seems. It’s frustrating and Mher blames both sides for their current predicament. It isn’t like them to be pointing fingers, but they certainly hadn’t brought themself into this pointless war. They had been calling Misthen their enemies, but both sides are at fault, both sides are Mher’s enemies.

They stop to take some even breaths, recognizing their own distrust seeping through. They rub their eyes and temples; a headache forming from delving into the ley line and sleep deprivation. In recent years headaches are becoming more common, but tonight they had little choice.

This isn’t an ‘enemy’s’ forest. This forest belongs to no one, just like Mher. Mher is free. Their predicament is difficult but they’re still an Alderkin, they’re connected to the world and the ley line. Their impromptu mantra helps reset their mind and motivate their heavy and trembling body to continue forward. To travel north.

They have difficulty telling if the path grows steeper or if sleep drags them closer to the ground. When they sense an energy, they think they're imagining it. They fight the wind as they creep closer, the energy thickening. They dreamily enter the ley line and seek out the unit.

Mher’s drawn to an ancient protective energy, an oak, hollow with familiar faces inside. They smile despite himself, glad to have found them. Seton and Emmett rest while Ashford and Foxyn’s eyes are on the forest, in their direction. The relief nearly brings them to their knees; they’re close to shelter. They rest their eyes for the last leg of their journey. Just a little farther.

They come up on the edge of a steep, though shallow, ravine and look into the hollow’s opening across from them. Their eyes meet and Mher gives them a lopsided smirk and says, “Trying to ditch me?”

Ashford- with a look of relief- says, “Animals were attracted by the smell of blood, so we moved downwind.” Mher’s unsteady going down the ravine, their legs feeling leaden, but they manage. As they crawl up the rise they get a better look at Foxyn’s face, his expression difficult to read, but his usual irritation with them isn’t present.

They make room for them, so they can sit in the hollow out of the wind. Mher’s ears had grown oblivious to the noise, but the quiet strips away one layer of their headache. They’re eager to sleep, but they need to look over Ashford and Emmett’s conditions first. Seeing that Emmett’s asleep, having already been given aid by Ashford, Mher decides to check on Ashford.

“Have you replaced any of yours?” Mher asks, gesturing to his bandages.

Ashford is dazed and tilts his head, questioning, “We cleaned them not that long ago though?”

“Yeah, and then you walked through the river and ran back to them, right?” Mher asks with a sleepy smile.

“They’re not wet or messed up,” Ashford assures, glancing away.

“That bandage is gross with sweat,” Mher says, snarkily pointing at Ashford’s forehead.

“M’gonna sleep,” Foxyn murmurs, trying to slip away.

“When did you last change yours?” Mher asks Foxyn with a knowing but serious tone.

“Wasn’t galavantin’ around,” Foxyn mutters, tired eyes staring at them challengingly.

“You spent all that time with Emmett; I want to make sure you’re not infected too,” Mher says nonchalantly. Foxyn sits back down, resigned to getting looked over.

“You’re not a real doctor,” Foxyn grumbles.

“Never claimed to be. Take off your bandage,” Mher orders Foxyn and takes Ashford’s off themself. Foxyn goes slowly struggling to overcome the pain. Ashford endures with little complaint. His brow is least disturbed and his stomach is crusted with streaks of dry blood. Foxyn has managed to slip out of his bandage and presents his shoulder to Mher. It doesn’t look as though Foxyn has jostled it much, so Mher reapplies salve and rewraps it.

Mher is tending to Ashford’s head and torso wound when he blurts with sudden realization, “You're not hurt are you?”

Mher raises an eyebrow- finding the question and timing laughable- then lowers their gaze back to his wounds saying, “Well, the wind was biting.”

“The glowing bear…?” Ashford can’t formulate a full question.

“Left him in a spot rich with healing energies,” Mher answers simply, their mind on contemplating if they should restitch Ashford’s stomach. They hold off, suspecting they’ll need those supplies for Ashford’s arm, the blood already having seeped through the gauze. They clean and cover both forehead and stomach wounds.

“It won’t come after you?” In his sleepy state, Ashford is openly earnest and worried.

“No, he can’t track me by ley line. I left him with enough to spoil himself for a bit.”

“...Then how did you track us?”

“I didn’t. I just went with my instincts in the direction that felt ‘safest’, then I came upon the protective energies of the oak.” Mher takes Ashford’s arm and unwraps it with extra care. Foxyn’s aghast by their blind wandering mentality. Ashford grits his teeth, bearing with it as Mher uncovers the mess. The stitches come off with the bandage, and fresh blood rises to the surface pooling over the newly ripped skin. Mher pulls out needle, thread, and clean bandages to stitch the horrific criss-cross of cuts. Foxyn blanches and looks away while Mher works. Ashford bites into the collar of his coat. Mher frequently has to wipe the blood from their hands and is almost grateful to be exhausted to the point of delirium, not recognizing how sickening Ashford’s arm is. Foxyn feels too faint to remain conscious for the process, so he lays down by Emmett.

Mher focuses on stitching so that they don't draw it out for Ashford and so that they can both rest. It’s not an easy task, Mher’s not sure how to sew the frayed cross sections of cuts.

“Are you cold?” Ashford mumbles the question around the fabric.

“Hmph, I went swimming before I came back, but don’t worry the wind dried me off,” Mher answers with light humor.

“We could make a fire,” Ashford suggests.

“I’m sure the dry bark of the oak would love that,” Mher says sarcastically, though it sounds nice.

Ashford checks to make sure Seton, Emmett, and Foxyn are asleep before saying, “We couldn’t really talk about it at the waterfall but I told you to run from the fight. It’s not your fault that we got hurt.”

Mher’s look of confusion is quickly wiped away by realization. “I’m not sorry I ran- I’ll run from every fight- I’m sorry I didn’t catch them. It was avoidable and it was the one thing I said I could do.”

“Oh…” That explanation seems obvious to Ashford now. “Well, for what it’s worth, none of us noticed their approach even though they were so close.” Ashford half smiles.

Mher tries to half smile back, but theirs resembles a grimace more. “I would have caught it if I had my source sachet.”

“...You wouldn’t be here if you had your source sachet,” Ashford says with a mix of wit and sincerity. Mher can’t find the words, but Ashford continues with seriousness, “Thank you for… helping… despite being stuck with us.”

Mher is struck, they want to rebuke the appreciation but they also want to promise they can do more. “...While I’m stuck with you,” -a cocky smile forming- “as long as you keep me safe, I’ll help you.” They look out the hollow opening at the black forest; “Assuming we don’t get killed.”

“Well, there’s nothing I can do about glowing bears, but I’ll do my best.” Ashford gives them a cheerful grin.

Mher gives a small amused laugh and finishes patching up Ashford’s arm. “You should probably keep it in a sling so you don’t move it around as much,” Mher says.

“There were extraneous circumstances this time. I’ll be more careful.” Ashford lets the sensitive appendage finally rest in his lap, feeling minor relief.

Mher considers the question they have in mind intrusive, but as the stand-in medic decides to ask as a part of the ‘patient’s medical history’. “Have you faced a worse injury than this?”

Ashford looks inward, contemplative, not many standing out or easily remembered. “One of my first few battles I got hit in the head. I was out for a few days and disoriented. Foxyn told me that the doctor’s said head injuries can be ‘iffy’.” Foxyn clinging to him sticks out most in his memory; he glances at Foxyn lying near Emmett and wonders if that incident made him like this.

Mher opens their mouth to ask but decides if Ashford said ‘doctors’ and not DeLuca then it probably wasn’t DeLuca. The unit hadn’t been bringing him up, so Mher wants to respect their mourning process. They wonder if they could have contacted someone in the main unit about collecting DeLuca on the day they left. “What part of your head?”

“Um,” Ashford feels around, the fingers of his right hand landing on the side of his head a little above his ear. “Around here I think,” Ashford says uncertainly.

“It didn’t scar?” Mher leans in.

“It was just bruised,” Ashford says.

“That doesn’t sound right-”

A screech shoots through Mher’s sense, their ears fly up and eyes immediately light up searching.

“HELP! I’M SOUTH OF SOLEIL’S HOLD! MY UNIT’S DEAD! PLEASE COME HELP ME!” she wails. Mher recognizes her and the one that answers.

“Blaze Squad move to Soleil’s Hold. Execute Flash Fire.”

Mher had latched onto Ashford’s right wrist at some point and pulls him up. “We have to go.” Their head swivels. “We need to leave the ley line.”