Mher weaves through the camp locating the commander through the ley line, not wasting anymore time. Seeing his face again in the ley line, disgust comes over Mher’s features, but they push it down having other priorities. They drop out of the ley line, knowing where they’re going, stomping over to the larger, well-built tent laying at the center of the makeshift hub. They brush the tarp aside and stride up to the commander, who’s already speaking to another leader.

The commander spares them a glance and scoffs, “We don’t need the whole unit reporting in, the leader will do. Rest of you set up your sleeping quarters.”

“The leader’s unable to do so,” Mher can’t contain their resentment.

“Oh?” The commander appears to take offense. “Then the stand-in leader can stay, which would be…?”

“Me. Our leader-” The commander laughs mockingly, and the other leader shies away. Speaking assertively, Mher repeats, “Our leader needs medicine for a memory parasite.”

The commander hardly listens, but his nose turns up in disgust at the mention of a parasite. “He doesn’t look sickly,” he says and stands up.

He’s easily taller than Emmett and has intimidating might, and approaches Ashford to inspect him. Mher instructs Ashford to turn his eyes up and points out the black veins. “He’s collectively lost about four and a half years of memories.”

“I don’t see anything.”

Something in Mher snaps at his flippant remark. “Are you blind?!”

He ignores them and jokes, “Maybe his eyes are irritated from lack of sleep. You should just take him to bed.”

“While we’re issuing complaints, I’ve been curious what the Wallard’s coin purse is like. Who should I direct those questions to?” Seton asks coyly.

“Only your captain’s privileged to that knowledge, so take up your annoyance with him,” the commander answers offhand and with disinterest.

“What about medical supplies?” Foxyn chimes in.

“Just ask around. I still don’t know why you’re bothering me with this. Unless you have word of enemy movement, get out,” he demands.

“What about the parasite?” Mher persists with flabbergasted insistence.

“Is it contagious?”

The words are uttered like a threat and a chill goes up Mher’s spine. The commander’s change in aura forces them to quickly answer, “No.”

“Then take your unit in search of medical supplies and get out already,” the commander says with a sinister grin. Mher storms out having to contend with a boiling rage and the chill left by the threat.

Foxyn catches up to them and in a low voice begins with, “If you’d said yes-”

“He’d have killed him.” Mher says with unwavering certainty.

“Might have killed all of us just to be sure,” Seton admits.

“But why kill him or any of us?” Foxyn questions.

“So it doesn’t spread,” Mher laments understanding the despicable logic but feeling manipulated.

“What were we really after in the commander’s quarters?” Seton interrogates.

Mher stops, a rare show of aggression in their clenched fists. “I thought they mitigated our source sachets' presence, but they’re not here. They’re probably with the other unit.”

“Is all your community here?” Emmett glances around.

“...Not all of them…” Mher says lifeless.

“Is the traitor here?” Seton inquires with a ‘smirk’.

Mher’s glistening eyes turn down with confused frustration and mutters, “No, maybe he has them.”

Losing interest quickly Seton says, “Well, while you sort that out, I’m going to bathe.”

“Of course you are. Good to know nothings changed for you,” Foxyn grumbles disappointed.

“It’s fine, go look for resources. I’ll find a good spot for us to set up,” Mher instructs crestfallen.

Foxyn sighs, “Alright,” and both he and Seton leave.

The surrounding areas are soaked with pain, so Mher simply observes the flora picking out a sturdy sapling. They have Ashford and Emmett set up tents while they weave a cord to wrap around the walnut tree’s trunk. Seeing that the two are doing alright they look for Alderkin to ask after the cure. Many are in mourning, struggling through loss, so Mher offers heartfelt condolences and gives them space. Others have burned through supplies and have little to offer and Mher doesn’t rob them of the rest. It begins to feel fruitless when a familiar voice calls their name.

“Mher, took you a while to get here.” Relief wriggles into their heart hearing their old mentor, a guide like them, alive and well.

“We encountered many setbacks,” Mher admits wearily. “I’m so happy to see you.”

Their energy’s low and their mentor wraps their arms around them, strong and stable. “I’m glad you’re okay too. And now that I have the chance to say it: what a bad time for you to come down from your mountain trail.” Mher laughs weakly, and their mentor notices they’re favoring their shoulder. “Did you get hurt?” they ask letting them go.

In a frail voice Mher whispers, “I got hit by an arrow.”

“Is that why you’re looking for medicine?”

“No, Ashford has- The unit I’m with took care of me and the leader has a memory parasite and I…”

Mher wilts feeling hopeless. “I doubt anyone could spare what you need, but…” Their mentor wracks their brain and supplies, “There’s a hostel set up past the, Vwarum Range by the east coast.”

“...It’s not like they can desert…”

“Maybe your unit will pass near there; it’s not too far after all.” Always the optimist. They pull out a pouch- every inch embroidered- and produce a four-leaf clover for Mher. “Maybe you’ll get lucky.”

“Thanks,” they say, accepting it and placing it in their faux sachet. They part with the intent of speaking later. Returning to the sapling, Seton is combing through his wet hair, the other three absent.

“Foxyn took Ashford and Emmett to clean off their wounds,” Seton explains, seeming more relaxed. “Would you be able to sense your source sachet through the ley line?”

“...If they muffled it, it’d be difficult, but if they haven’t, for whatever reason, I could find it.”

“Might as well since you’ve got the freetime.”

They sit next to Seton and slip into the ley line. They drift for a while before Seton taps their shoulder. Ashford, Emmett, and Foxyn have returned; Emmett is already lying down for a nap and Ashford’s gaze wanders.

“Did the Alderkin have anything?” Foxyn asks.

“No, sorry… There’s a hostel, but it’s not like we can desert.” Mher feels weary and out of options.

“We got some fresh bandages, I can replace yours.”

“It’s alright. Not like I’m going to be doing anything that strenuous for a few days,” Mher says.

The unit sit at their tent sleeping or restless. Anxiety and exhaustion informing most of their interactions. In the evening the troops are supplied a soup and jerky, Ashford, Emmett, and Foxyn assimilate easily back into the lifestyle while Mher is put off by it. Seton catches sight of another mercenary and they make jabs at each other. That night it’s somewhat cramped in the tent, but the real issue is the nocturnal drunks that meander and grumble around, disturbing everything along their path. Their senses are sensitive and alert for attacks, waking them for each incident.

Midday next day an officer approaches, “You're an archer, correct?”

“Yes,” Foxyn answers.

“You’ll be joining the archery unit; gather up your things and head over to the commander’s tent.” They leave making a mark on a list.

Foxyn turns to Ashford, “I’ll try to come by in the morning.”

“Okay,” Ashford says, a little clueless but smiling.

He packs up his gear reluctantly and heads off to see the commander. The tent is crammed full of archers, some forced to peek through the flaps to receive their orders. “Your unit will be spread out in a semicircle formation covering the northern hemisphere of the valley. Your first several volleys will be to incite a fire in the fields to block their escape and force them to our main force in the south. At each end of the semicircle will be half of the remaining units.” The commander goes on with details, but Foxyn feels uneasy at the idea of starting a fire that large. It will damage visibility and breathing for both sides, potentially ruining the archer’s advantage of distance. Some part of this plan doesn’t sit right in Foxyn’s gut.

He spends the night with the archery unit and slips away to greet Ashford in the morning before returning. That night, their last before battle, Foxyn manages to make it back to his unit for one last talk.

“Did you find your sachet?” Foxyn asks.

“No, but I couldn’t find the traitor either. I did find two separate groups that each have about a third of the sachets,” Mher glumly answers.

“Could you show me where on a map?” Foxyn asks.

“Yeah,” Mher answers, not sure how much it could help.

“The bulk of the mercenary unit are with the southern group, so I can’t even question my captain,” Seton says bitterly. “This feels like a disaster.”

Foxyn had relayed what he knew and wholeheartedly agrees, “Yeah, the only brightside is that fleeing should be easy with a forest like this.”

Seton, watching Mher point out the locations and Foxyn speculates, asks with finger extended, “What’s this?”

“An abandoned settlement formerly an inn,” Foxyn says.

“Did you check there?” Seton asks Mher.

Mher’s eyes glow- the lights passing over the lens rapidly- and they squint. “It’s just out of reach.”

“Convenient,” Seton comments and Mher nods in agreement.

Ashford had been quiet so Emmett gently asks, “You okay?”

“It’s just… I’ve never been in a real fight before.”

Emmett’s momentarily tripped up, but recovers with, “Don’t worry. We’ll keep you safe.”

“Thanks,” Ashford says, pricked with an uneasy smile.

Mher pulls out their faux sachet and takes the clover from it and puts it in Ashford’s pendant. “You’re going to be okay.”