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The campfire had long since burned down to embers, leaving Reyson sitting up alone in the turquoise glow of the night. They had made camp for the evening beside a pool of quiet water, cradled in a bowl of sharp shale from which trees grew at chaotic angles. Black roots curled around the rocks like talons, dark and sharp, in search of soft soil to sink their fingertips into. Some even twisted together, twinning trees into two halves of a whole. Sonak had remarked that this place was known as Iko's Pool, and that it meant they would reach the main gates of Hashodi before day's end tomorrow.

A log popped from amidst the ashes, momentarily distracting Reyson's attention. Realizing that he'd been sitting in the same position for nearly an hour, Reyson took the excuse to stand and stretch. His shoulder throbbed in protest, drawing a wince as he readjusted the arm in its sling. Lhara had done a good job putting the dislocated joint back in place, but Reyson wasn't as young as he once was, and it would take some time for the ligaments to heal. He smiled sardonically down at the sword hanging from his left hip. With his right arm out of commission for the foreseeable future, the blade would probably be of more use on Yidu's hip...or even Jath's.

A sharp tch tch came from a branch overhead; the sound of little claws digging into old bark. Pursing his lips, Reyson spotted one of The Night Forest's resident squirrels peering down at him with too-large black eyes.

"Do me a favour and find something else to stare at."

Far from being deterred, the squirrel seemed quite content to remain where it was, the silhouette of its tail twitching in the phosphorescent light. Reyson debated stooping down to find a pebble, but the potential for jostling his shoulder again outweighed any satisfaction that target practice might bring.

"Fine. See if I care then."

A light sigh and a rustle from the lumpy sleeping roll that was Konnah forced Reyson to limit any further commentary on the squirrel's presence to annoyed glares. Their northerner guides were, as a family, exceptionally light sleepers. Lhara on the other hand was all but drooling on the collar of her cloak. Leave it to one of the mountainfolk to be right at home in just about any wilderness.

With another hour on watch until it was Turak's turn, Reyson returned to his seat on a half-rotted log at the edge of the campsite. With all seemingly quiet – not even a ripple interrupted the black, mirrorlike face of Iko's Pool – the call of his sketchbook and charcoals was simply too strong to resist. Sketching on the midnight watch came with the added benefit of no glib commentary from a certain pale-faced Vaelonese nobleman.

The sketchbook fell open to the half-finished portrait of Ebn, just barely workable in the dim glow of the trees. Reyson could practically hear the voice of his mother, surfacing from the long-discarded depths of memory, chiding him not to ruin his eyes by drawing without proper light. Accuracy wasn't the point of this particularly portrait though. Rather, Reyson's gaze barely focused on the page as he let his well-practiced hands do their work, driven by the emotions in his heart rather than the images in his mind.

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"You must have been born at sea."

The statement - so full of certainty despite Ebn knowing essentially nothing about his past - caught Reyson off guard. Feet balanced like tightrope walkers on nothing but rigging, arms full of sail, leaning against the topgallant yard hundreds of feet above The StormRider's deck, most people would have written off a sudden feeling of vertigo as a product of circumstance. For Reyson, however, the odd clenching in his gut had less to do with heights and more to do with the intense curiosity with which the FirstMate was studying him.

"No. Why?"

Far from being offput by Reyson's characteristically brusque response, Ebn just shrugged and smiled.

"You don't have to be born on a ship to belong at sea. I've met a lot of sailors over the years, but not everyone seems to belong out here the way you do."

Such open praise wasn't something Reyson was accustomed to. Even back in his days as a Hollistor of Blue Stone, the people around him had been far more likely to scold and berate, rather than praise, for all the ways in which he most decidedly did not belong. Unsure how to respond, Reyson ground his teeth and went back to tying sails. Unfortunately, the Undorian sun hadn't had quite enough time yet to tan him to the point of hiding his blush. He hoped Ebn wouldn't notice how flustered his presence was making him. He also wished he had had the foresight to take out his earring before boarding a ship full of southern sailors. Why he had let Izzy Ven talk him into getting the damn thing in the first place all those years ago-

"Been a while since you've had interest, hmm?"

That brought Reyson's head snapping back up around so fast, he nearly wobbled against the yard. Ebn's laugh was as warm and reassuring as sunshine.

"I thought so," said the FirstMate with a toothy grin. "Although why, I can't figure...you're more than alright when it comes to your looks." Again, Ebn laughed as Reyson swayed there, gaping. "Your flirting could use a little work though."

"I...Who says I'm flirting!?"

"I do. Or at least...I hope you are?"

Reyson cocked his head and bit his lip in a way which he had not done since he was a much younger man. Balanced amongst the sails like an albatross, Ebn simply stayed and allowed himself to be studied. There was fire in both the sun upon his dark head and the depths of his waiting eyes, and it made Reyson feel warm all over. He took a chance and took the plunge.

"You'd be right, Ebn."

If anyone saw the kiss the two of them exchanged atop the topgallant, no one made any mention of it. Perhaps no one saw at all, since Reyson lost his grip on the sails, allowing the white canvas to escape and flutter in the wind around them like wings.

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"You always were a daydreamer."

There was only ever one person who had always been able to make something so benign sound like an insult. The charcoal slipped in Reyson's grip, leaving a streak of black across the top of the page. He reached for his sword on instinct, immediately provoking a flash of pain from his injured shoulder. Cradling his arm, eyes wider than bucklers, Reyson backed away from the misty silhouette standing behind the fallen log where he had been sitting.

"Father," he croaked in disbelief.

The specter of Lord Arion Hollistor peered imperiously down his translucent nose at Reyson, exactly the same way he had always done in life. Disapproval was almost visible in the air around him, like a grey miasma.

"Your mother and I gave you every freedom in the world, and yet it still wasn't enough. Look at you now; a homeless, nameless sellsword." Lord Hollistor's ghostly eyes flickered toward the sketchbook where it lay open on the ground, and his mouth curled even tighter with disdain. "And still mooning after the latest penniless deckhand I see."

"You...how...you're dead!"

"Yes, obviously. And you may as well be too, for all that your life has amounted to, Reyson. If you had gone through with any of the betrothals your mother and I arranged for you, you might have had something to be proud of today. A home, a family, heirs. Did we not say you could even continue to carry on with your...liaisons, so long as you were discreet about it?"

Reyson continued to back away, shaking his head desperately. "No! You're dead! I stayed in Blue Stone only long enough to make sure you were in the ground once and for all! This isn't real!"

"There you go, all dramatics again, as always. I am here to warn you, to tell you that there is still time for-"

"YOU ARE DEAD! For once in your life, leave me be!!"

The rising volume of Reyson's panic had gradually been pulling Konnah and the others back toward wakefulness. His final shout brought everyone tumbling out of their sleeping rolls, scrambling for any weapons within close reach. Turak leapt to his feet, his hunting bow already taut with an arrow on the string. They all stood blinking in the gloom, casting about in confusion between Reyson where he stood, shoulders heaving, and the stillness of the forest.

"What happened? Something is wrong?" asked Sonak, hand closed tightly around the hilt of his knife despite the even measure of his voice.

"Yas Reyson, what's going on?" Yidu chimed in, rubbing at her eyes with the heel of her hand. "Something about someone being dead?"

Reyson pointed a shaking finger toward the shadows. In the time it took to raise him arm though, the specter of Arion Hollistor was already gone.

"He...he was...he was there, just now! Standing right there, after he's been dead for nearly fifteen years!"

"Who was standing there, Reyson!? I don't see anyone." Lhara wiped the lenses of her eye-glasses clean before putting them on again to study the softly glowing trees.

"...My father."

A sharp intake of breath from Jath interrupted whatever question Konnah had been opening her mouth to ask.

"You mean to say...Reyson, you saw a ghost? The form and face of someone who cannot possibly still be alive in this world anymore?"

Slowly, reluctant to have the group asking after his personal history more than was strictly need-to-know, Reyson nodded. To his surprise, Jath's expression actually turned understanding (and a touch sympathetic, which under different circumstances might have annoyed Reyson).

"I see them too. The same as Vinie BlackPearl used to claim, do you recall?"

That got Sonak and his children's attention. Sonak frowned urgently at Jath. "You say you see the spirits of the dead? You and the southern general both, and now Reyson as well? How?"

Jath looked uncomfortable, prompting Lhara to shift her weight toward him. She too was obviously curious, the previous alarm of Reyson's shout fading in the wake of this apparent connection. If Reyson was being entirely honest - if he weren't so perturbed by hearing his father's scorn firsthand for the first time in over a decade - he too would want answers. He wanted answers anyways, he decided, and joined in pressing Jath to elaborate.

"What is this, then? Some manner of magic? Is it The Night Forest that's bringing on these cursed visions?"

"No! At least, I don't believe so." Jath held out his hands helplessly. "Vinie has never been to The Night Forest, and yet she sees spirits too, remember? And I was seeing them well before we ever came here."

"Well, I never saw one before tonight," Reyson ground out. "And I'll thank them never to show their faces in this world again. What's dead ought to stay that way."

"What's dead...dead, but still seen..."

Konnah was murmuring to herself, holding one of the bells in her braid to her chin as she puzzled. Suddenly her brow unfurled, and she rounded on Jath.

"You, you have been close to death? On the threshold of dying, but without actually crossing over?"

Taken aback at first, comprehension began to dawn in Jath's colourless eyes. "I have...twice, actually. Once at Trosk, and another time before that. I started catching glimpses, hearing whispers, while recovering from the first incident."

"And your general, Vinie BlackPearl, she has also touched death and survived?" Konnah pressed.

"It was twelve or so years ago," said Reyson. "I didn't meet her until some time afterward, but the story is that she was very nearly executed along with her first husband and his family. By the time we were introduced, she was already having her so-called visions."

Turak turned an uncomfortably direct stare on Reyson. "And now you, swordsman, have taken what should have been a fatal fall in the mountains, and lived to tell the tale."

"So..." Yidu stood glancing back and forth between Reyson, Jath, and Konnah. "Anyone who has a brush with death, but doesn't die...they can see the spirits of the dead from then on?"

"But why!?" demanded Reyson. "I've never heard of anything like this before, why all of the sudden now? And if living through yesterday means I'm going to be haunted by my father from now on, I think I'd rather the bloody giant had just kept its hands to itself!"

"You and your father really didn't get on, did you?" asked Yidu.

Jath raised an eyebrow at him. "Would you prefer having died, and having gone to join your father permanently wherever he is now?"

Reyson hadn't considered that as the alternative.

"No," he answered empathically.

"Are there other people like this in the north?" Lhara asked Sonak. "People who can see the spirits of the dead?"

"There is only one, that I know of. Most people in the north live together within the safety of the cities, with little opportunity for near-death experiences. Within Hashodi, most everyone accepts the All-Seer's abilities as being simply part of her nature."

"The All-Seer?" Reyson, Jath, Yidu, and Lhara all asked aloud nearly at once.

Sonak abruptly turned mysterious, waving aside their questions. "It is not my place to say. If your mission is a success, and you are able to gain an audience with Lord Vállin, you may come to know more about the All-Seer as well. I have already revealed too much in telling you that she also sees spirits. Now, I think we can say with some certainty that there is no danger here. Turak, take over the watch from Reyson, so he might at least try to get some rest before tomorrow. It will, after all, be a very important day as far as your quest is concerned. Tomorrow we arrive before the main gates of Hashodi."

OoOoO

Despite Sonak's words, Reyson was not the only one who found it difficult to fall asleep again. Lhara lay awake, tossing and turning, for what felt like hours. The Night Forest was still dark and silent – save for the distant voices of owls and the chittering of nocturnal creatures – with no signs yet of dawn beyond the pines. Rolling over for the thousandth time, Lhara met Jath's gaze, watching her from across the cooling campfire.

"Do you ever wish you couldn't see them?" she whispered. "The spirits? I know Reyson was upset by it, but sometimes I wish I could see them again, hear them, or even just know that they're close."

Jath sighed softly, his breath stirring the ash at the edge of the firepit. "Sometimes I am of a like mind with Reyson, but for the most part, it brings me comfort. I do not know if she does it intentionally or no, but Awenis only appears to me very rarely, and so I treasure each moment when she is close. Vinie once warned me that dwelling too much on the dead can make it difficult to live fully in the present, but if I'm being honest, until I met you, there wasn't much to make the present very worthy by comparison."

"Vinie was probably right," Lhara admitted. "But still, I just wish I could see my parents one more time...and Marden and Yelaina. I never told any of them truly just how much I loved them."

"You were little more than a child when your mother and father died, Lhara. Your brother and your friend died suddenly, without warning. They all knew how you felt about them, I am sure of it." Apprehensive tightened Jath's face, bringing small worry-lines into his brow and cheeks. "Considering that it apparently takes a brush with death to bring on such visions, I selfishly hope that you never see the spirits of the dead. Forgive me, but seeing you hanging over the cliffs yesterday...and being helpless to do anything..." Jath's voice suddenly quavered, and he trailed off.

Turak was seated on a boulder at the edge of Iko's Pool, evidently feigning unawareness of anything other than the surrounding forest and the reflections on the water's surface. Everyone else lay still and silent in their sleeping rolls, either asleep or pretending to be. It was as close to privacy as they were likely to get for the foreseeable future. Lhara made an impulsive decision, and rose to her feet.

"Lhara?"

Clutching her cloak tight around her against the chill of night, Lhara scooted around the campfire to kneel beside Jath in his bedroll.

"May I?" she asked; a clear request for entry.

If their conversation aboard The StormRider had been anything to go by, merely spending time alone together was considered fairly intimate by the standards of Vaelonese culture. To share a blanket and a bedroll...well, Lhara could venture a guess as to just how many boundaries that would be crossing. She likely wasn't far off; even in the bluish glow of the moss, a touch of pink coloured Jath's cheeks. By Jath's measure, he may as well have flushed tomato-red. Lhara could feel similar heat burning in her own face, but she remained crouched where she was, waiting.

Slowly, tentatively, Jath lifted his blanket and shifted aside to make room.

Some might have thought, to look at Jath, that he would be as cool to the touch as the snow or porcelain which he resembled. To Lhara's surprise and delight, Jath positively radiated heat. Throwing self-doubt to the wind, she snuggled in tight against his chest, wrapping her arms around his waist and laying her head in the hollow of his throat. Jath momentarily stiffened, his breath hitching audibly. Lhara was just beginning to wonder if she'd gone too far, and was beginning to loosen her hold, when Jath cautiously reciprocated. His hands slid around to clasp in the small of her back, and after some awkward shuffling (and a few giggles) they managed to find a position in which to arrange their jumbled legs and knees together without making things too intense.

"Jath?"

"Mmhmm?"

"You're the adventure I always wanted."

Jath's hands tightened against her back. With her ear laid against Jath's exposed collarbone, Lhara could hear every beat which his heart skipped.

"And you're the home I always needed."

The two of them laid there like that until the sun rose, entwined like the roots of two yearning trees grown together. They even managed to sleep a little, and Lhara's dreams were filled with the laughter of friends and family, together in a place where everyone knew they were loved without ever needing to hear it said.

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