Black veins peak out of the curve of Ashford’s eye. The unit is crowded around to see. Emmett, with only one eye struggles to see it while Seton leans back.

“You said you remember some of the plants for it, we can use those to stave off the effects,” Foxyn addresses Mher anxiously while holding onto Ashford’s shoulder.

“They’re not here,” Mher answers, voice hollow.

“Not on this fucking mountain,” Foxyn snaps, “We’ll get down to the forest. Either going back or-”

“This region. They’re not here in this region.”

“...What?” Foxyn’s dumbfounded, his baseless anger has nowhere to go but Mher. “What do you mean? How would you get it or know of it then?”

“We trade for it. We could possibly get some in a trade city,” there’s little hope in Mher’s tone.

Foxyn stares at Mher with mixed emotion, so Emmett decides to ask the obvious question to Foxyn, “What’s the closest trade city?”

“Inveilin.” Foxyn doesn’t need to consult his maps; it’s something he knows inherently and it’s what both Mher and Seton suspected. “...If we get there before the siege date we can search for the ingredients.”

“If Wallard catches us going to Inveilin they’ll think we turned traitor. Even if I went alone, a trade city likely has a ley line that my kin could use to catch me and turn me in,” Mher says.

“...Would other Alderkin have them?” Emmett asks.

Mher thinks it over. “I wouldn’t expect anyone from my community to have those plants, but they’d remember the recipe. The Alderkin I know in this region... are aligned with the Misthen. They won’t help Ashford because he’s ‘Wallarden’.” Mher chews their lip. “Wallard has forbidden communications, but if I can contact an unaffiliated Alderkin…” Mher leaves the thought unfinished, lacking confidence.

“Misthyr already knows we’re here. I doubt if you ask for a plant that could make it any worse.”

“If Wallard considers me communicating as ‘disobedient’ they might destroy my source sachet,” Mher says.

Foxyn’s irritation abates long enough to see conflict in Mher’s face. He swallows any comment he might make about weighing a sachet against a life. “So what are we supposed to do then?” Foxyn asks defeated.

“Go to Inveilin.” Ashford had appeared spaced out for the conversation, but steps in with sudden clarity. “Wallard might have the resources needed. If not, they might be collecting them by happenstance.” Ashford sits up and ties up his hair. “Wallard’s probably slipping into Inveilin undercover and buying out supplies to use for resources.”

“Why not just steal them during the attack?”

“They risk damaging the goods. Coins would be easier to recover or demand payment back later.”

Mher opens their mouth to say something, but changes their mind instead looking to Foxyn to ask, “How many days until we reach Inveilin?”

“...Assuming we’re able to travel straight there without hindrance, nine days,” Foxyn answers.

When Mher doesn’t comment, Emmett asks them, “Is that too late?”

“No, but…” Mher has a rough idea of the progression of the memory loss leading them to follow up with, “How long have you known Ashford?”

“Five years,” Foxyn answers with conviction.

“A little less than that,” Emmett says.

Mher looks at Ashford with unreadable black eyes. “He’ll probably forget about me and Seton in five days… and you and Emmett in eleven days,” they say to Foxyn.

Foxyn flinches with disbelief. “How… How does that make any sense? You’ve only known him for a week and a half!”

“It starts slow but when untreated rapidly worsens. Some elders suggest that in the same way that we only retain moments over the years, the parasite only needs to remove those memories. While recent events are clearer to recall…” Then Mher remembers, “There was another theory… Afflicted people wake up having lost more memories, but seem able to retain most things during the day… The longer they slept the more they seemed to lose… We could try minimizing the amount of sleep you get.”

Ashford gives a wry smile, “I think I can manage that.”

“Hmph,” Mher half laughs though their concern doesn’t abate.

Seton sneezes, and Ashford looks at him and says, “I told you ‘you’d catch a cold’.”

“Convenient you didn’t forget that, and it’s just a sneeze. I’m fine.” Seton looks at his hand for some reason.

“Everyone else was already wrapped up in their blankets, it's not like you would’ve been the odd one out.” Ashford’s intentions are to reassure the unit that his memories are intact, instead they’re grieved.

Mher scratches at their facial hair and wonders aloud, “Instead of leaving a blank space it combined the memories?” Ashford’s disconcerted by this discovery and smiles uncomfortably trying to mask it. “It might be better for you that way,” Mher tries to comfort.

With a muddy hope they continue their walk on the ridge. Near the top it has plateaued leaving a steep cliff on their eastside, and to their left peaks that rise and fall away with no consistency. A wind is ever present and the temperature continues to drop. They all bundle up and occasionally see flecks of snow or drips of rain. They take turns staying up with Ashford though he does eventually succumb to sleep, and when they wake him he’s forgotten more and the sleep deprivation impacts his mental health.

On the third day he’s nearly forgotten DeLuca and by the fourth he looks at Mher and Seton as strangers. On the fourth waking up next to two he doesn’t recognize , in an unfamiliar place, Ashford wanders, half a mind on finding DeLuca, Emmett, and Foxyn.

Ashford’s shocked yelp echoes off the mountain’s walls as he’s attacked by a flock of large bird creatures. The unit had already began to search and rush to his side when they hear his distress.

They rescue him and take some bird’s meat back to ‘camp’ where they’re forced to discuss Ashford’s circumstances and status as the unit’s leader.

With blissful ignorance Ashford states, “I’ve made choices while injured before.”

“Yeah, but this isn’t just an injury,” Foxyn says.

“The fog will clear up after a good rest,” Ashford says, tentatively touching the cut on his forehead.

“It’s not going to get better.” Foxyn’s heart drops a little further each time he’s forced to repeat those words to Ashford.

As Foxyn recounts to Ashford, Seton- not mincing words- says to Emmett and Mher, “He can’t in good conscience continue to lead. Either a second in command needs to be put in place or someone replaces him as leader.” 

Mher and Seton, as outsiders, look to Emmett. Caught off guard he says, “We originally picked him as an informal leader after our original one passed. We felt he did well in the role, so we elected him to serve permanently.” Hushed so Ashford and Foxyn can’t hear Emmett continues, “If not Ashford then I’d say DeLuca… he was always levelheaded.” Returning to regular volume, “I can’t lead, and if we’re not including you two that leaves Foxyn… would either of you-”

“I won’t lead,” Seton says matter-of-factly.

Emmett’s tired eye turns to Mher who makes eye contact with Foxyn. “I can guide, but I think decision making for the unit should be left up to Foxyn.”

This outcome is unexpected to Foxyn, feeling like the most childish and emotional one he almost protests. He reconsiders when he realizes Ashford and Emmett’s health impact their ability and Seton and Mher would operate in their own self-interest. “Alright… we’ll co-lead.”

“...What about DeLuca? Where is he?” A new found grief cuts through Emmett and Foxyn at Ashford’s words. Mher glances at Seton expecting his no nonsense delivery. Surprisingly, Seton refrains allowing for brief compassion.

Foxyn can’t formulate the words fixing Ashford with a look. Ashford’s voice wavers, “He’s not…” He blinks rapidly, unable to process the loss. “Foxyn. Where is he?”

Foxyn hoarsely says, “He’s gone.” Ashford’s disbelief quickly becomes teary and lips trembling. Foxyn’s eyes water as Ashford weeps; he brings Ashford into his arm and Ashford clutches him fiercely. Mher wipes their own eyes, the sounds and energies too much to bear.

Emmett grabs Mher’s arm and pulls them aside, so neither Foxyn or Ashford can hear, “When will he forget him?”

The pain in his face is evident. “How long has he known him?”

“A year?” Emmett answers without confidence.

“...Maybe four or five days?” Mher offers. Emmett grits his teeth and Mher can feel how unsteady he is through his shaking grip.

Mher and Seton decide to step away to allow the trio a moment of mourning. It allows Seton to ask, “How come you let Foxyn sleep and not Ashford?”

“The pollen and parasite operate differently. You can think of it like the difference between a cut and severed limb; you can sleep off a cuteven without bandaging it, but the same cannot be said for a lost limb,” Mher’s explanation is to the point and empty in tone.

“...If he recovers, will he remember these days of travel?” Seton looks closely at Mher’s face.

“...I believe so,” Mher answers crestfallen.

Seton contemplates not saying anything but some curiosity compels him to ask, “You wanted nothing to do with them when you met, but you seem attached.”

“Isn’t that natural? Travelling with someone till they’re no longer a stranger?” Mher says.

Seton looks over his shoulder at the trio. “I don’t know. They just seem “quaint” compared to my normal company.”

“I suppose they went from soldiers to companions for me, or maybe it’s my nature as a guide,” Mher murmurs.

Seton considers their words and his own nature.

When all are well enough to walk, they continue their silent journey, snow falling softly today. Foxyn and Mher are in the front; Mher quietly comments, “I think we should seek out a sedentary Alderkin for aid.”

Foxyn’s map provides no comfort, no easy route or shortcut. “We can’t do anything until we’re off this ridge regardless of whether we seek aid from Alderkin or Inveilin. We’ll just travel through the night.”