“You cursed me.”

Ashford’s eyes are round at Seton’s congested accusation and he says, guiltily, “I did?”

“You told me I’d catch a cold,” Seton says, adding a lightly playful tone to his words.

“That’s mean of me,” Ashford pouts, knowing it’s possible that Seton’s messing with him, but that he wouldn’t be able to remember in self defense either.

“Nah, you were being caring,” Seton says casually.

“Well, I guess it’s alright then,” Ashford says, not particularly bothered, taking in his surroundings.

It has been two days since they left Alden’s home, travelling east and leaving the snow in the mountains. A muddy slush sucks at their boots and the sun shines through thin cloud coverage.

They stop more often for Ashford, Seton, and Emmett leaving Mher a little free time to do some rituals returning with pendants for each member at different times.

With Seton’s they say, “There’s peppermint, inhaling it will help clear your sinuses.”

For Ashford, “This should allow you some clarity.”

“Resilience and discernment,” for Emmett and Foxyn respectively.

Foxyn looks at the tiger’s eye with a quirked eyebrow and not so subtly looks at Emmett. When they have a moment to themselves- the others not paying them any attention- Foxyn says to Emmett, “I feel like you should have the tiger’s eye. Kind of insulting to give it to me.”

Emmett, generally worn out, smiles and says, “What am I supposed to do? Shove it in the socket?”

“There’s not really much of a socket,” Foxyn mutters.

“Strap it on like an eyepatch then?” Emmett counters.

Foxyn stifles a burst of laughter. “I don’t know. It just seems like them giving this to me is saying ‘you’re eyesight’s not a fraction of mine’. I’m an archer and cartographer; I have excellent eyesight,” he boasts.

“So I should replace my eye with a tiger’s eye?”

“Two eyes are better than one…”

“Then by that same logic: three eyes are better than two.”

Foxyn purses his lips, stumped.

“So… are you trying to ask about my eye?”

Foxyn wears a complicated expression, “...No, I just figured you’d rather be teased than pitied.”

Emmett’s embarrassed by the onslaught of memories of snapping at pitying statements, knowing that it comes from a place of concern. “Then we’ll trade.”

“Are you sure?” Foxyn holds out his pendant.

“This way we’ll both have positive energies.”

With the pendants tucked away into their jackets, they return to a relaxed, aimless conversation.

Roaming east, the earth flattens and plains stretch out with short trees like an unorganized orchard. They eat the nuts and fruits as they go and stop early that night. Ashford still retains recipes he was brought up on and with a newfound wealth of local resources he’s able to make a well rounded dinner.

Nourished and at ease Ashford decides to broach the subject, “Why did you enlist?” He smiles at Emmett, who’s self-conscious being singled out and simultaneously sorrowful at the absence in Ashford’s memory. Mher and Seton- vultures, both of them- stared directly with hungry curiosity.

His sight goes to the horizon, evening stars blinking far off, and decides to make a small tale of it. “I come from a ‘poor’ community. Our main source of income is in the sales of our mine’s minerals. My pa, older brother, and I all work in the mines. My little brother is literate and works to sell the minerals we excavate; he’s studying too, when he can.” Emmett swallows, gaze drawn down, glossing over, “Ma passed a while ago now,” and transitions to, “My older and younger brother really excell in their jobs.” Five years. It’d been so long, he thinks remorsefully. “They were better suited to stay, I was better suited to go when enlistment came around.”

“And the money’s sent back home?” Seton inquires.

“Yeah; I’m making more money here than there,” Emmett says.

“Do you get messages from them?” Seton’s tone is suspiciously critical; it’s off putting.

“...No. They know I’m illiterate... and paper’s a bit limited and expensive where I’m from,” Emmett says.

“If you haven’t heard from them then how do you know they've got the money?” The lack of malice makes the statement more cutting.

Emmett’s fists twitch then ball up, shaking. “Why would they lie?” Emmett’s words are guttural through a tight slit of clenched teeth. “Wouldn’t someone have heard?”

“Your community as a whole isn’t well off. I’d think the majority can’t write, nor have the time to track down the army demanding funds. Or…” Seton’s lost in analysis for a brief moment, “Maybe all they need to say to them- since they can’t hear back from their illiterate soldiers- is that the soldiers sent have already passed. They pay up for a short period, and slowly whittle down the money sent… Maybe they interfere with mail if any can write.” Seton begins musing, “If they’re siphoning off the money-”

“Shut up.” Emmett’s voice is rough. “I don’t want to hear your conspiracy. It doesn’t make sense for the army to lie.”

“You’re not a part of the army? Why’re you here?”

Seton shews on Ashford’s question before admitting, “My mercenary group was hired, but I feel like we’re getting scammed.”

“Oh…” Feeling awkward, Ashford turns to Mher, “What about you?”

“I’m getting blackmailed,” Mher gives him a wry smile and Ashford looks more at a loss than ever. They’d been curious, but thought it better to not ask until now, “Why did you enlist?”

Ashford starts, “In my town, each household had to send at least one person. My grandparents and little sister were out of the question leaving me and my parents. And I…” Ashford has a far off sad look. “My sister is still young and I wanted her to grow up with both of our parents around.” His fingers lace though his hair, a semblance of who he normally is peeking through.

While a peaceful expression passes over Ashford, Foxyn raises an eyebrow at Mher, “You always say ‘community’, but do you have siblings… or parents?”

Mher shrugs; “Maybe. I’ve only met my mom twice.”

“What about your dad?” Mher shrugs again and Foxyn sympathizes, “Yeah, me neither.”

“...Dead or?” Ashford asks worriedly.

“Well he could be, but no I don’t know who he’d be. Mom sold her body,” Foxyn says nonchalantly.

“Why are you all being so open?” Seton questions.

“Reaching Inveilin tomorrow, who knows what can happen? We could be in battle by tomorrow evening,” Foxyn says.

“I thought you said your family were pirates?” Mher says.

“Thought you said you didn’t have family,” Seton’s words are more critical.

Foxyn grins sheepishly, “Guess I should explain from the beginning. Haha.” His laugh stilted. “I remember living in a single room with my mom and older brother. My brother would take me into town when my mom had ‘friends’ over- figured out who they were later. One time we were in town and one of her ‘friends’ led me away from my brother and… kidnapped me.” Foxyn subconsciously raised his thumb up to bite it, but quickly switched to scratch his neck instead. He feels hot and awkward, embarrassed for some reason. “Then I was… bought by pirates cause the co-captain pitied me, and begged the captain to take me with.”

All four are mortified; Emmett’s the first to speak, “Why’ve you never told us that?”

“I dunno. It was a long time ago… SometimesI think it didn’t really happen, but the co-captain still has the bill of sale. Haha.” Ashford hugs him, eyes welled up with tears, and without words. Foxyn freezes with a strange smile, and like the days before, moves in ways to comfort Ashford’s tears, detached from his words.

“Do you remember what she looks like?” Seton’s question is voiced in an uncharacteristic voice, almost somber.

“Not really,” Foxyn says, gaze tilting up.

“You remember yours?” Seton asks Mher.

Mher shakes their head, unbothered, but notices a blip in Seton’s usually tame energy. “Do you remember yours?”

“...She had long black hair.”

The night lies somewhere between oddly comforting and lonesome. The fire dies and the stars stretch out above. Their journey draws closer to its end.

It’s a quiet morning, a solemn acceptance of where they’ll end their day, north of Inveilin. The muck had dried in the cold air making the march tolerable. Knowing that they’d be approaching a city they keep their talking limited and hushed. Foxyn has them enter a forest and when they reach the tree line on the other side, in the distance sits a walled off city. The forest is up on a hill and a shallow valley with a flat stretch of plains surrounds Inveilin. A smattering of light grey clouds release a light drizzle. To Mher it feels as though the land weeps at their arrival, and a knot forms in their gut.

Foxyn drops to the ground and stares at the city. “Sorry. I just feel so exhausted.”

Ashford sits at the base of the tree next to him murmuring, “It’s not what I was imagining.”

The rain doesn’t last long, they’re sheltered from most of it, and the air tastes cleaner. Mher can feel the ley lines nearby, connecting to the city. They’re tempted to try going and connecting one, to see if they can search the city for supplies. It doesn’t seem worth the risk to get closer when they’re not far from their destination, so they don’t even mention it.

They travel north through the woods; as it begins to wrap around to the east they break off leaving the city behind and trusting Foxyn’s directions.

“They should be deeper within, so locals don’t stumble on them accidentally. There’s a small river and pond that I think they’d stay by,” Foxyn explains.

It’s about two hours further north when they begin hearing signs of life. Hidden in the brush, a series of tents- most low to the ground- house soldiers in the same jackets. The majority rest and mill about, disinterest plagues them. No joy to have finally arrived, a resignation that this is just another single step down the proverbial road.