Mher snatches Ashford’s wrist in a death grip and leaps to their feet, obviously panicked. “We have to go. We need to leave the ley line.” Their body’s alert but voice calm, searching past the dark woods for a looming threat.

“Someone coming?” Ashford keeps his voice low.

“No- Maybe, but they’re not near yet.” Mher bites their lip. “...Another unit called for help.”

“Is the unit near?” Ashford tries to pull information from them in order to better help and assess.

“No. They’re south of Soleil’s Hold... but our ley line connected even though she’s far to the west.” Mher’s eyes fade and they look grimly at Ashford. “Misthyr knows we’re here now.”

Ashford’s heart stops. “You’re sure?”

“An Alderkin working for the Misthen is giving out orders not too far from here. It won’t take long for them to search the ley lines nearby. We need to move west.” With a somber smile Mher whispers, “Can’t have more than a moment of peace.”

“You can’t… mask our presence like the glowing bear, can you?” Ashford asks, already doubtful.

“A different Alderkin with the right tools might,” Mher smirks wearily, “but not this one~”

Ashford lets out an exhausted sigh before going to rouse Foxyn. “Get out your map. Pick out a route with Mher.”

“Huh?” But Ashford moved on to Seton, who wakes with a start and knife in hand. Ashford gives him space, and Seton pinches his temples.

“We have to move,” Ashford tells him.

“They spot Misthen?” Seton pulls himself up and begins arming himself with no further prompting.

“They heard communications on the ley line. They’ll be searching for us,” Ashford informs, and Foxyn kicks into gear. Mher lights a candle so they can go over the map. Ashford’s reluctant to wake Emmett, but finds the least injured portion of skin to shake him awake anyway.

Emmett’s breathing stays even deep in sleep, so Ashford, uncomfortably, shakes him a little harder telling him to ‘wake up’. Noticing Ashford’s struggle Foxyn says, “Open his eye.” Careful of his bandages, Ashford places a thumb on Emmett’s eyelid and pulls up. His eye lols, in an uncanny state between sleep and wake where a shrunken pupil drifts to Ashford. When his eye relaxes and registers Ashford lets go.

“We have to go,” Ashford says, grabbing a couple of Emmett’s things to take some burden off of him.

Emmett, half-asleep, grumbles, “I can handle it.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Ashford moves from his reach.

“There’s a camp?” Foxyn, startled, checks.

“Yeah; it’s small and they’ve only just woken,” Mher answers. They’re massaging their head, and within their half-lidded eyes the green glows faintly.

“And to the west?” Foxyn asks.

“There are no ley lines on the Malswept Chain, the edge is somewhat visible and appears clear.”

“It seems unlikely that they’d leave the space open for people to travel through,” Foxyn raises concern.

“Resources are sparse. Maybe they can’t sustain themselves there,” Mher suggests.

“...The mountain’s just so bare…” Foxyn rests his mouth in his hand, elbow jabbing into thigh.

“At this time of night, we might be okay.”

Foxyn gives them an irritated look. “Mhmm.”

Ashford steps in, “Any passages through the mountain?”

Foxyn shakes his head. “I don’t have much on that area.”

Ashford’s fingers brush through his mussed up hair, the dark circles under his eyes deepened by shadow cast from the candle’s light. “We’ll figure it out when we’re out of the ley line,” Ashford decides. Most have to drag themselves to their feet, but Seton appears to be able to force his adrenaline. Emmett tries to get back what Ashford has taken but Ashford’s hold is firm forcing Emmett to give up first. They temporarily debate walking in the valley of the ravine or up on an edge and determine Seton will walk along the edge while the remaining stay hidden in the ravine.

Brush has piled up and each footstep crackles. Those who notice the sound collectively pray the sound of the wind covers it up as opposed to carrying it along. Mher leads, candle extinguished and Foxyn and Emmett trail after. Ashford stays at the back to keep an eye on all of them and an eye out for Seton’s signal, but none come. As they travel, the harsh winds lighten and the ravine flattens out so that they’re walking level with Seton again. They don’t speak- a shared exhaustion keeping them docile- until they step out of the ley line, confident they weren’t followed.

The ground is uneven with an array of rocks of varying sizes and types. Without the forest’s cover the visibility is marginally better.

Foxyn takes over leading, ascending the mountain. With the change in elevation, comes a thinning of the air and a dip in temperature. They bundle up, some pulling out blankets. Ashford notices Seton’s skin reddening, but he does nothing to ease it.

“You don’t need to tough it out. We won’t think less of you as a mercenary,” Ashford reassures blearily.

Seton dimly registers Ashford’s words letting slip a, “Hm?” His fingers twitch. Stiffly, he pulls out his thin blanket draping it on his shoulders.

Mher’s cloak is thick to protect them from wind and cold, but moisture remains from his walk through the river. The emblems and pendants hanging from the collar-bone area are imbued with protective qualities, not prepped to handle weather conditions. Still they fare the best as they carve their path up the mountain. For Mher there’s an aching silence so far detached from the ley line; it’s not unfamiliar but under these circumstances it’s more discomforting. Mher finds uncertainty in all their faces, but Ashford outwardly projects a willful determination powering through the sleepless night.

The night passes and their world begins to take on a blue hue, the sunrise still awhile off. The unit’s breathing is audible and they trip more often, unable to do more than drag their feet.

Mher stops, their vision hazy. When Ashford stops the rest of the unit stops. Mher rubs their eyes to get a clearer look. They point; “We could… stay there.”

Their group stares, unable to make out the location, but toddling in its direction. A cut in the mountain, shadow-like without a light source, it is tight and only a little taller than Emmett. It’s not too deep but provides ample shelter, so they enter collapsing. Emmett doesn't wait; he lays down and is taken by sleep.

“Foxyn should stay up. He’s had the most sleep.” Seton’s icy statement is drawn out both logically and accusatory. Foxyn naturally gets defensive but can’t put together a sound argument, only managing to glare.

“No, me and DeLuca will-” Ashford had spoken with intent to diffuse the situation, but is in a near dream state himself. His hand is brought up to cover his eyes in an instant letting through only a pained frown. The tension from Foxyn drops; Ashford hadn’t said his name in days. None of them had.

Guilt sits in the pit of Foxyn’s stomach. “I can stay up. I’ll look for a new route.”

Foxyn gently touches Ashford’s shoulder. He gives a resigned inhale and barely answers, “Alright,” rubbing his face.

Mher fumbles around his cloak and holds out a candle for Foxyn, but he says, “It’s light enough out; don’t waste it.”

“If you’re sure,” Mher mumbles before lying down.

Seton flexes his hand experimentally then reties his hair in a bun before finding a space along the wall.

“Sorry,” Ashford offers Foxyn, lightly tapping his shoulder back, “You can switch with me in a bit.”

“I’ll be okay, I’m feeling a second wind,” he grins. Ashford half smiles before tucking in, hands trembling under the grasp of the blanket. Thoughts of DeLuca flood his mind and he can’t keep from tearing up. He hides his face and smothers the emotions with pure exhaustion falling into a fitful sleep. Foxyn sits in the mouth of the cave, able to stare down the unguarded cliffside, even able to observe an early morning mist settling over the valley. He unfolds a map, roughly pinpoints their location, and searches for a miracle passage to Inveilin. The mountain’s elevation raises the further north they travel, but a thick forest full of resources runs alongside in its valley, ideal for Misthen units. Strangely, north of the forest is a massive gap in information. Logically it should be more forest or possibly a stray peak, but it’s empty. Up to the line indicates forests and rivers; Foxyn wonders if a different, hostile, group occupies the territory, killing any who come close. However if that were the case there should be descriptions of the enemy present or some sort of warning.

He looks to confirm that everyone is in a deep sleep before nibbling on his thumb’s knuckle. He doesn’t want to be seen doing such a childish fixation, but if no one’s looking he’ll use it to ease his stress. The anxiety is overwhelming and ever present these days and this never ending war continues to drag out. The members of the Wallard army are unrecognizable from when they first enlisted. If more than half of them haven’t died then they’ve aged unrecognizably as a consequence. A lot of soldiers called their unit ‘boyish’ in appearance, but Foxyn could see the change in Emmett and Ashford. Where there had been a desperate hope there’s now a survivalist fear.

His thoughts are spiraling, dread building up, gnawing the entirety of his thumb. His gaze pulls from the map as splashes of light spill across the drifting mist. A rolling mist similar to port towns and birds riding the gale. Whether his mind warps the details or not, he’s comforted by memories of the sea. He escapes back to his ship, the waves carrying him far from this desolate mountainside. The crew who adopted him flaws and all, theri travels and his charts, a strange sort of family who hadn’t known he was gone for about a year, but sent a letter to ask where he left his money.