Staller sat on a flat stone that stuck out over the little cavern, there wasn't much space inside the cave that lay level with the half open mouth. The inside followed with the small cliff side of a hill and at the belly just past the steep hall of sharp columns lay their fire, grass and stick beds, and plenty of drying out fish caught the other week just a walk away from the cliff. The fish were hardly much of a meal, their scales were covered in so much chemicals and odd bits of even odder trash that they could only be torn off by scrapping them against the trees. Sometimes when being cut they had to be cut open outside so to dump what trash was left inside their stomachs. Then they're baked over the fire till the meat is fine black char else the two of them would be sick for weeks. Too dangerous of a risk when on the run, this was their fourth hideout on the snowy fields of dying forest. At this point he felt like being turned in might be a better fate, he wouldn't have to eat burnt skeletons of critters anymore, not that Dray's cooking would've ever been different in the first place. The man couldn't boil water right without having the beds go into flames. Staller couldn't cook either, not with a broken left arm, he was too clumsy with his right he once knocked himself out with a wooden spoon and he didn't even start the fire yet. He chuckled to himself weakly, he remembered the day well, Dray was scared to death that he killed himself with a spoon! His own first mate, best cannon shot of Sal Breach, dead on a cave floor on the run in a strange alien planet by his own soup spoon.

He shook his head and went back to looking at the forest, watching as the cloudy skies were thin enough to show the purple and pink lines running along a goldening half of a sun that ever so slowly slipped past the unseeable horizon. For once the clouds looked to be a milky white but when the sun will disappear from them they will return to their dark grey foggy shadows of their once former selves. But for now he will enjoy the last of the day, it was the only break he had from the hardening days, a break that showed him of the world he imagined this place to be; beautiful clouds of fluffy cotton, crystal blue oceans so clear you could see the fish look back at you, snow so crisp and white it stuck to you like sand at a beach, trees of a strange colors, white with splotches of black and moss with leaves so fine they were like colored silks, animals so fair their coaks shined in the sun and scales glistened in the moonlight. This was no land he hoped to see. Snow covered everything, from his shoulders to the rocks and boulders hidden deep beneath his feet along with the grass, he had broken his own leg in half running through these rocky lands, now he must wear two makeshift braces of wood and grass spun into thick rope, hardened sap keeping everything all together delicately. The fallen and falling snow was grey and black, clumping into balls of soot, it seemed to forever stain his gloveless hands and bare neck, he didn't dare touch his face until he could wash his hands of new soot but he still holds doubts that it has worked in any way. It was simply too hard to wash it all away with just boiled water, even for Dray who was equally covered. But Dray didn't care, he never cared for his hygiene but he was usually very clean. In times of survival or sailing aboard the Twin Seas he wouldn't care to shower, it was his only usable supply of water and he couldn't waste it.

He remembered the day he met Dray for the first time. He was just a little boy from the big bustling city, having known no world beyond a market maze of stalls and a wave of crowd, always flowing, always turbulent, always loud and crashing into his peaceful neighborhood that he was the only child of. All he had as playmates were his friends in school and his older brothers and sisters who weren't kids anymore. Not even the twins which were just a few years older acted out on their old childish nature, like it had just vanished from their shared brains the moment they had past their 15th birthday. Like they just showed their backs to their old childish ways and stepped right into adulthood. He had no one most days, no one in a wild garden of rose bushes, purple bushes, magled trees that were once too young to be played on by twelve very rough kids but they played anyway. He often hid in the tall blue grass and looked down at the soft dirt, ripping some grass to make a clear patch and bundling them all together to create a brush. Tying them all together with more grass he would then draw, draw whatever he could, whatever he imagined; knights bowing to a princess, ballerinas dancing in the theater he had just went to the other day, his father grabbing his belt buckle as he watched the twins pull themselves out of their current fight. He'd draw until the street lighter came to light the street lamp wicks aflame or his eldest brother, Elic, came home for a visit. He was also too old to play but he was a great listener to Staller's stories and a great actor to his imaginary games, though he couldn't run he could sure wave a stick around as fast as a sword. As a child he couldn't understand when or why it all went down but he now understood. Julka had thought Elic to be teaching little Staller too much about fantasy and not enough about the real world. His own father banned his first son from ever playing with him again to strengthen his grasp on his studies and 'real world skills.' They still played in secret just once or twice a month instead of every week to keep Julka's suspicions low. Elic was his only escape from his parents, he was the only sibling who had left to the outside world, the rest were just waiting for Staller to be old enough to escape with them.

The wind kicked and bit at his face, snow falling off dead branches of trees scraped his eyes as he watched the few birds of this world fly away from their deathbeds. A strand of smoke slipped between the trees' fingers headed straight in an angled line. Something wasn't right, could they have already found them this quickly? No, there would be more than just one torch, more flames in a dangerously dry forest of the dying. A scout? His fears gripped at his ribs, wishing to be free of their rotten cage as they whispered sweet worries to his mind. His heart pounded but warmed his limbs, stirred his muscles to move. It was the last he could remember before his mind began to haze and browns and freezing ice of the coming storm was all he could see in the coming darkness of twilight.

Shadow couldn't see beyond the flame of his torch, the falling snow was starting to melt on top of the dimming flame. He rubbed his torn tank top against himself, shifting the freezing blood to keep from killing his skin and his limbs moving. He had to walk on, he had to.

A man dressed in a shredded, black caped coat stood in front of him, his grey pants hugged him and hugged to the freezing dirt and blood caking them. His black ripped up vest was buttoned up to its long V neck collar, some decorative belts on it were slashed by some sort of weapon from a fight, revealing a white shirt soaked in his own black blood. His black gloves and used to be shiny, long boots have a dark flower designed plates, strapped to the boots by belts already attached to both. As Shadow looked up he saw that half his face was covered by a mask that tucked itself under his frilled white shirt to hide the end of it. His highwayman hat's wings made a single point at the front, spreading out towards the back and fanning vertically out. The edges of the wings look like the wind was chewing on them. The man's raven hair was long, down to his shoulders, and messy. But anyone's hair would be if they were forced to survive in this horrid land. Shadow shakily stood up, but the man still towered over him, casting his shadow over him. He gulped as he slowly moved his hand to the back of his waist, searching hard for his hidden blade. The man cocked his head to the side very slowly, his cold black eyes stared emptily through his puny body. He put his hand on his hip. Moving his cape out of the way he shows Shadow a long, metal hilted, oversized, jagged toothed, butcher's blade. Thick fabric wrapped the blade to the hilt, staying in the more duller groves between the teeth in order to keep the blade from snapping off the hilt. Although the metal vine decorated hilt was more than strong enough to not only support the blade but with a strong flick of the wrist, the blade can be pushed away from the hilt and be used as a long range weapon. Shadow's body shook even more while he dropped his hand back to his side. He couldn't do anything but stare at the man, just silently beg for mercy. He was too weak to run, although his blood froze over his wound, he lost too much already and the cold seeping through the frostbitten bullet hole was taking away all of his energy. By the second it was getting harder and harder for him to even stand. His knees buckled under him soon, he could feel it but he couldn't do anything about it. He couldn't even hope to do something about it. The man dropped his hand down before moving it to his other arm and gripping it tightly, a loud crack echoed dully in the falling grey snow. Shadow never even realised that he was badly wounded too. Not only was his left arm broken but his leg was too. He felt like throwing up as he looked at his leg, the bone snapped from his inner side, clearly a blunt blow when he was running or keeping his legs from his body to balance. The broken bone caused the skin to bend out in a ragged curve while it followed the fracture. He didn't even have his foot touching the ground as he kept his weight off it. He snapped his fingers to regain Shadow's attention as he spoke, his voice oddly sounding close to his but older and way more gruffer, "Hey, my eyes are up here kid. Don't be worryin' about my leg, you got a hole in your side."

Shadow blinked quickly, cocking his head. This man cared for him? They don't even know each other, why should he be worried about the bullet hole in his hip when he has two wounds himself?

"Hey kid, hello? Are you alright? Can you get up or has the snow froze you over?"

He blinked again, even more confused. Did his knees buckle already? He's on the ground? He didn't feel the snow, or the ground. He couldn't feel anything. He slowly saw out of his hazed vision to only see the grey clouded sky as black, smog covered snowflakes fell down, it all felt so quick and silent... yet so slow and murderous as the fakes fell in his face and even burned his eyes and throat.

"Kid! Hey buddy, don't close your eyes! Come on, ya ain't gonna die yet! Keep wake, kid! Dammit, Dray-!"

The man's voice seemed to only ring like a bee's buzz in Shadow's ears. He couldn't focus anymore, he had lost too much energy. He could finally feel the cold stab its teeth into his body right through his thin clothes. He felt so scared, who would want to die here? Here in this frozen outskirts of a large wasted land? He needs to see his mother again, needs to see his brother and sister. He can't die yet, he hasn't even turned 18. He hasn't got to live how he wanted to, only by how others wanted him to. Warmth soon cast over him but it wasn't as welcoming as it felt. He heard Maye talk about how very unlucky sailors feel after they fall into the freezing seas, this clearly wasn't much different. It hurts, hurts so much but he has to fight. But how much could he? He barely has anything left in him, he wasted most of it on running. What was he supposed to fight anyway? The coldth was gone but how would he fight to feel that again, why would he fight to feel that again? Maybe this warmth wasn't what the sailors felt, that would be too good to be true... He's dying, there was no way he could get around it this time, he has to accept it or just die without any last goodbyes or words. But even that felt like too much, felt so wrong to be saying at this time, at this age.

"Are you sure he's gonna wake? He looks dead to me."

"Quit saying that! Look he's still breathing! Has the salt from that damned sea ruined your eyesight?"

"Hey! You better watch that tongue! You're only alive because of me, Stickbug!"

"I could say the same to you too, Fire Hazard, how many times have I broken something in my damn body just to save you?! More times than I should've apparently! Now quit thinkin' the worst and help for once!"

"Alright, alright! Wait, look. The boy's wincing. Dammit, I hate it when you're right, especially since you're too dumb to even sound smart..."

"I told you! Wait... What?! DRAY!"

Thick and deep laughter felt like it was going to burst Shadow's eardrums. His mind spun so much he couldn't tell much difference between who was talking. He could hear the deep and oddly smooth voice of who must've been a sailor once, and the voice of, clearly the man he met before. But where they were around him was hard to tell. Hot water dripped onto his head before the steaming cloth, the drops were coming from, rested on his head. The warmth still didn't feel soothing but it was better than before. Shadow groaned in a weak voice, opening one of his eyes he looked up at the black blur of a figure towering over his body. The man slowly moved the cloth across his face and down to his chest before pulling it back to soak it in water again, "Finally up kid? You were out for a long while, Hothead's annoying yapping almost made me think you actually were dead."

Shadow opened his other eye before the cloth was placed on his eyes making him flinch, "...I thought I was..." he spoke in a weak, unused voice.

He heard a heavy set of footsteps walking towards him. A cold and very calloused palm covered his entire forehead, he shivered in fear as he heard the deep voice of the sailor, "Aye I bet ya did, lad. I've been here long enough to hav' gone through the freezing death many a times. You're lucky Staller caught me before I left him for our camp. "

"Hey! If it isn't for me you would die here."

"You know where the camp is, I wasn't leaving you to die, idiot."

Staller mumbled to himself in a childish tone. Shadow almost snickered as he hear a loud smack and the sailors hand quickly leaving his eyes, giving him just enough time to get a glimpse at Staller getting smacked across the face. "I heard that, you man child."

Staller rubs his cheek and side of his head, wincing, "Geez... You trying to break my jaw again, hothead? As if I didn't have enough broken bones already."

"Bones that won't heal if you keep using them! You're already useless and brought back a more useless child instead of meat or fruits like I trusted you to! Not only that but you broke your casts once again because you ran out to him!" Dray rubbed his forehead as he growled in annoyance, his upper lip twitched, flashing his fangs that held fresh, red blood from some sort of kill. Shadow sat up slowly only for him to shove him back down quickly, "No, stay down. You've los' too much blood. You need to heal, just relax."

He nodded and glanced at Staller who seemed to scoff as he looked out the entrance of some sort of cave they were in, "Calling him useless yet you're caring for him? And you call me weak yet you're weaker."

"When it comes to kids? You know we both are pretty weak when it comes to them, we are both fathers too."

"Not anymore..." Staller's voice grew flat, cold, "Your daughter died, didn't she? How old was she?"

Dray looks at the small, makeshift fire that was beside Shadow's feet to keep him warm while he was passed out, "She was just five..."