One week and a day.

That was how long it had been already; a continuous, frustrating transition from day to night with little to no progress at all. Pushing on in spite of setbacks was now a force of sheer will.

It had to be. Because Judson was nearly ready to give up.

His search almost regularly brought him to two things – a dead end and nowhere. Running into folk who had an idea who Waverly was, chiefly through rumor, was the only thing he could call a pleasure. They showed him hospitality for her sake; housed and fed him, and very often paid their respects to her in heartwarming ways. It soothed to see the impact even on the people she never met, but it was shocking how fast word spread.

On several occasions, he'd had to sit in small gatherings and listen to the endless stories told about her. More often than not, such stories were amusing; a few being over exaggerated, but also thrilling. He heard things he had never heard before – things she never told him and feats he never knew she was capable of. He guessed it was because of modesty that she failed to mention them, but suspected that she might have simply forgotten to.

To some, she was a glory seeker – an excessively talked up youngster, who wanted for people to welcome children of the gods. Others seemed to believe she was a bold fool and nothing but. However, a noble majority praised her diligence and bravery. Though he preferred to sit around those who thought positively of her, it was not unexpected that there were folk who despised and were jealous of her.

As he poked his fork into the cold salad before him, his gaze lifted to the group of men at the front table, engaged in interesting chatter over beers.

It was his fifth day at a tavern in the outskirts of Drumwind, an exhausted village located three hundred miles east of Lake Borough. Unfortunately, it was the same place Juneberry had dumped him a week prior.

"The age of glory is gone, Fountain." The oldest of them was saying. His head was greatly overcome by gray hair. "Back in the olden days, our ancestors had many things to write about; not the boring old routines of everyday men, but the legendary works of great, extraordinary men."

"Those who were born lucky or right into rulership, yes; of Kings and Queens, zealous patriots, and slaves who boldly bedded their masters wives." Fountain responded aloud.

An uproar of laughter rose from a quarter of the tavern.

"Say, I think we have nothing of the like nowadays." A different man claimed. Judson recognized him well enough because he frequented the tavern and often bothered any lady he saw sitting alone.

The waitress, Feola, chirped in from the bar, where she was wiping mugs with an old handkerchief. "I think we still do, Valos. Ask Umstead about his travels. He'll tell you a thing or two that might bedazzle your dull brain."

In unison, the men turned to look at Umstead, a brawny fellow with golden hair and the tiniest eyes, who was quietly sipping a pint of ale at the dark end of the tavern.

"Oh, blige! Did the stable boy knock his daughter up after all?" Fountain questioned.

Again, laughter rose.

"That'll be a more glorious tale than any I've ever heard." The chattiest of the group, a shepherd named Rutherford, cackled.

Judson knew him by name after he introduced himself on the first day of the former's arrival to the tavern. His elder brother, Hallworth, owned the establishment, and Rutherford habitually came to drink for free.

"You keep your mouth shut, Rue," Umstead began in a calm baritone that silenced half the entire room. "And maybe I'll let you make use of it for another beer or two."

"Oh, come now, Umstead." Fountain cajoled nicely, rising to his feet. "Good old Rue's just trying to get you talking. You've been sitting there curled up with your pint in your grasp ever since you came in. Come on, indulge us and tell us some stories about your trade. That should give Rue something to write about."

Rutherford rolled his eyes in obvious displeasure as his group snickered.

"My trade isn't any of your business." Umstead refused. From the distance, the only visible thing was his hair. The rest of him blended in with the darkness all around since his corner was untouched by the numerous candlelights.

"Well, then, indulge us for pretty Feola's sake, will you?" Valos implored.

When Umstead leaned all the way into his chair, he suddenly seemed to disappear. Then, furniture scraped against the ground, indicating that he had was standing up, and he emerged into the light. The size of him was four men put together, and as he walked toward the group, his tiny gaze raked past Judson for a split second, making the latter's heart quicken.

He plopped gently into a stool, yet still towered over every man seated at the same table. After a meaningful silence and a sip from his pint, he began to talk.

"Twas bout a year ago, something over a year even."

The group fell into hushed silence.

"I was with my band, and we sailed the treacherous waters of the Southeast. The war was raging and not many paid attention to livestock as they did treasure. So, we took what was for the taking and sold 'em to fend for our families. Then, the animals started to either hide or die, and there was nothing to trade anymore, so, we took up whatever wild thing we believed could fascinate the rich and make 'em empty their pockets. We scoured dangerous territories to capture whatever was dumb or desperate enough to prance away from safety. There were truckloads coming in every week. Those things seemed to never run out. More just kept coming."

The gray haired man squinted. "What things?"

Feola suddenly came up to stand next to Umstead, placing a hand on her hip. Beside him, she was only as tall as a teenager. "Rare creatures, you could say. Fascinating things they were. Umstead allowed me see one. A Rage, he called it."

"I think I might've heard of those." Valos added.

Around the table, the men appeared to have become engrossed in the tale even though Umstead was yet to arrive his point.

"Rages don't exist like chickens or birds, or even cows." Umstead said. "So if you saw one today and another tomorrow, you wouldn't know they were the same."

"Wow." Rutherford muttered audibly.

"Go on with your tale, Umstead, please." Fountain coaxed. He seemed to have an easy way with words.

With a grunt, Umstead continued. "Just one out of every package cost a fortune at the time. Lords and the greedy wives of 'em patronized us. Creatures on high demand didn't last a day. It was dangerous work, but by the time I knew it, I was rolling in gold."

"Say, that could probably be why his hair's the same." Feola joked and reached up on her tiptoes to ruffle the man's hair, but could only touch the back of it. Still, he offered her a smirk – one that instantly died off when he faced the table again.

"So, why did business go out?" Rutherford queried in his usual mock tone. "You used to be filthy rich. Now, you're more like beggarly graybeard over there."

The old man's growl was rebellious. Contrary to what Judson expected, Umstead's response was less aggressive.

"Secret chains of us were scattered across the realm, most of 'em just starting up, but thriving all the same. We hired loyal townsfolk, people who were willing to do the dirty work and keep shut about it. But, an unfortunate day came when one of our workers was compromised."

"Compromised how?" Rutherford asked.

"He's getting to it, Rue. Bloody shut up!" Fountain snapped, and it seemed to please Umstead.

"Our master was putting on a celebration for an uninterrupted, forty-day marketing streak. It was a marvelous gathering and buyers were bidding high for new deliveries. Then, there was a brawl right in the middle of the celebration. One of those evil things they call godly children interrupted the party, and you won't believe what she did."

"Tell us." The eager plea came from everywhere.

Umstead paused again, then leaned in and whispered. "Resurrected a dead boy right before my eyes."

Rutherford's head was the first and only one to swing back in uproarious laughter. For a while, the group watched him as he almost fell about, roaring and reddening by the second. When he finally came back to himself, he went quiet and stared into every face.

"You idiots actually believe him?"

"He's telling the truth!" Valos advocated.

Rue threw his hands up in exasperation. "You ever heard of someone bringing a dead person back to life just like that, Valos? You're even dumber than I thought."

Valos made to speak, then seemed to think the better of it and looked to Umstead. "Was it just like that?"

"Yes." Umstead shrugged.

"Listen, only sorcerers and great wizards can pull off feats like those." Rue buttressed. "Even then, they have to perform some crazy spell or incantation to do it. Was there any of the sort?"

Every eye looked to Umstead, who shrugged again. "None, but I tell you, she did. Simply took the dead lad up by the hand and pulled him to his feet. Odd that it was she who killed him in the first place."

Rue's chuckle began to simmer. "It just went from silly to ridiculous. What? You've had more than one pint then, Umstead, this is proof enough. It's a miracle you didn't stagger in between here and your table."

"This interruption was caused by a girl, you say, eh, Umstead?" Feola returned, her brows furrowing with interest as she dried both hands with a brown rag.

"Yes." He nodded. "A young lass, perhaps a decade younger than yourself from the looks of her."

"What was she like?" Graybeard asked, readjusting in his seat.

Umstead appeared to think deeply for a few moments. "Err, I never got a closer look, but she was elflike and strong enough to knock stocky men unconscious."

"Why? Was there any kind of feud between her and your associates?" Fountain frowned.

"None, we were told. She just happened to be passing by is all. Set a few creatures free before she left and challenged my master to his face too."

"Bet with your size you still couldn't do such a thing." Rutherford grinned to himself.

"If she was a god's child and caused a ruckus for no reason, I wouldn't be surprised then." A stranger contributed, rising from his table nearest the door to join the group. "That's all they know how to do – glorify themselves by any means possible. But your friend could be right about the lassie he saw because it seems I've encountered this person myself."

"You have?" Umstead asked in surprise.

"Indeed." The stranger nodded. His appearance was unkempt and his clothes badly worn, making him look like a sick traveler. Hallworth had an inn right on the opposite side of the tavern, and Judson thought the stranger rather was there.

"What was your business?"

"I was a Hoarder myself."

Umstead perked and extended a hand. "Tis a pleasure, brother. What chain?"

The stranger accepted the handshake. "Lower town in the Northwest of Ozean. My name is Chegwidden. You may call me Cheg."

"Umstead I am."

"So, you both did the same job. . . from different parts of the world?" Fountain inquired,  pointing his index at the pair.

Chegwidden gave a nod.

"What's your story, sinew?" Rutherford teased with a suppressed laughter. "You came face to face with a god?"

"Nothing of the sort." Chegwidden's smile surfaced in a taut way that proved he was not particularly attracted to Rue's manners. "I was a deliverer, like master Umstead here. The girl he speaks of – I've made some queries about her. Rumors say she was a well-bred warrior the Elves kept hidden for years; a weapon which they meant to use against any adversary."

"It would be unsurprising then." Graybeard offered. "Elves always were a greatly skilled race born and bred for battle."

"But the lass was no Elf."

At that, the group straightened.

"She was a Human." The stranger's voice lowered. "I've seen her with my own eyes. Encountered her. Young and full of pompous pride like the rest of them, but strong, like a grown bull. She snuck into one of our delivery carts and sprang up on us without warning. No one stood a chance. By the time we came to, our animals were gone and so was the cart."

"You encountered her before I." Umstead noted.

Feola came back with a tray full of beers, passed them around and lingered to hear the tale.

"What was done about this lass?" Rue asked. "I refuse to believe she was allowed to go free."

"She couldn't be found." Cheg said after a long swig. "Disappeared into thin air afterwards. We got to questioning the middleman whose cart was usurped. She told us that the girl had brought her no harm. Only blessed her with a god's protection. We didn't believe it. Some of my fellows got angry and tried to manhandle her, but it was impossible. They couldn't seem to reach her at all."

"Incredible!" Graybeard gasped.

"I tell you, fellas," Chegwidden lowered his voice by a degree again. "She's still out there, and there's a secret bounty on her head. I aim to claim it. I aim to find her."

Without even realizing it, Judson scoffed and mumbled, "Good luck trying."

Given how quiet the tavern had slowly become, both Chegwidden and Valos overheard and turned.

"Did the boy just. . . say something?" Valos asked, his tone heavy with uncertainty.

Chegwidden pushed back his stool, but did not get up. "Aye, I believe he did. Say, fella, you seem to have a good idea what I was talking about, don't you?"

Deep within, Judson scolded himself for thinking aloud, but a desperate part of him had pushed the words out. Any lead, to him, was worth it. He chose to believe that Chegwidden could have a clue on where to start his own greed-driven search, and he was willing to tail.

"Not really." He muttered, watching Chegwidden as the latter sat himself on the opposite stool.

"Fancy that!" Chegwidden laughed. "A Shade! I thought you bunch were sworn to righteousness and don't do taverns."

"I came to have dinner." He revealed and truly, his lodge was at the inn just across the tavern. He threw a glance at the group over Chegwidden's shoulder and saw that they had all fallen into a different conversation.

"So tell me," The man grinned slyly. "What do you know about the girl?"

"Nothing." Judson shrugged. "I only heard rumors, like everyone else. I don't—"

"Byrlady!" Umstead exclaimed out of the blue.

Judson looked up and realized with a bit of shock that he was being pointed at.

"I seen that boy before!" He went on, marching forward in slow, great strides. "He was one of 'em packages. . ." He squinted first then his eyes widened. "You were what she was after."

"What are you talking about, Umstead?" Feola asked, leaning sideways to peer at Judson from the bar.

"He was there. I saw him being brought in: was a great bounty on his head from the West, and that money was going to settle a great number of us."

Chegwidden gradually rose. "You're saying that he was one of our intended deliveries?"

"Look at him." Umstead prompted. His tiny eyes had become so wide that the brown in them shone. But greed was more prominent than the color. "I swear it was he, much smaller then, but I never forget a face. Although, I think he used to have one wing darker than the other, but I tell you, he's the one."

"Leave the kid alone, will you, Umstead?" The old man chided. "He's just trying to eat."

"Why don't you try to eat when you have eighty four thousand gold coins waiting for you?!"

At once, the tavern was submerged in sudden silence. Heads began to turn one after another.

"What did you say, Umstead?" Valos asked.

"That's what the boy is worth." Chegwidden clarified. "I remember him now. He was tagged a special delivery."

A few tables scraped against the ground when several men rose from around them.
Unease gripped Judson as they rallied behind Umstead, sporting shades of blank expressions that translated to many things at once. He could not bring himself to feel afraid, but did feel anxious about the many pairs of eyes fixated on him. He remained put, unsure of what to say and do, until Graybeard stood.

"Now, now, fellas, let's not get excited! The kid's just trying to get a meal. It'd be stupid to cut him off of it just because of a few coins promised for his head."

"A few coins?" Rutherford turned, scowling. "Did you hear nothing? That money could send you into retirement, you old weasel!"

"Yet you have no idea if the bounty's still relevant." Graybeard countered then turned to Umstead. "How long's it been since?"

With a little fidget, Umstead stuttered a response. "Uh, twas uh. . . maybe, err, been. . . I don't know, tis. . . Twas a long time."

Graybeard sighed. "You really think whoever wanted him then still wants him now? He's of no use if he can walk freely. Trust me, if the kid was wanted, someone would've delivered long before he arrived here. Let him be, alright? Don't be foolish!"

Just then, the doors flung inward and a man stepped in. "Evening, boys!"

"H-Hey, ya pipsqueak!" Rutherford greeted with cheer, abandoning the squad to approach the new face. When both men hugged themselves, it looked as if it were a collision of reflections because the second male was Hallworth, Rutherford's near twin elder brother.

The enthusiastic mass of customers dispersed to their previous positions with mumbles and deflated sighs, possibly disappointed over the bounty being null. The village was on the brink of collapse, and Judson could not help but understand their frustration. Nonetheless, he was grateful for Graybeard's well timed intervention. The old man had saved him a night of unnecessary scuffle with strangers.

Breathing in relief, he pushed his bowl of salad back since his appetite had jumped out the open window behind him. His attention trailed to Hallworth, who strolled over to Feola – his daughter – to kiss her on the cheek, showering her with praises over her efforts to keep the tavern running in his absence.

"Could take the business off your hands in a snap if you're not careful since customers seem to like her best." Valos commented, eyebrows wiggling at Feola.

He was instantly smacked upside the head with a mug, courtesy of Fountain.

"You keep forgetting you're too ugly to contend for anything at all, speak more of Feola's precious attention." He rebuked, chuckling. "Besides, she's going to be engaged to Graybeard's boy, Phillip, soon. Isn't that right, old man?"

Graybeard shook his head and smiled. "Feola's a darling and no debate, but I think she's got eyes for someone that's not Philip." He threw a hinting grimace at Hallworth.

"What?" Hallworth exclaimed, picking up on Graybeard's signal. He crossed over to his daughter and snuggled a bulky arm around her neck. "Who's the bastard?"

She laughed. "Bet grandfather asked mother the same question when you were mentioned to him."

At that, Rutherford burst into cackles, repeatedly hitting an open hand against the table. Valos and Fountain joined in.

"See how proud your uncle is of you!" Hallworth said dryly, scowling at Rutherford. "Funny, he was the original bastard."

Feola's eyes widened, highlighting her beautiful face. She gasped and looked at her uncle. "You liked my mother first?"

Rue seemed to blush a little. "To be fair, she liked me, but Hall came in and distracted her. As usual. He's always been a thief, you know; taking things that belong to other people."

Strangely, Umstead chuckled at that.

"But I have to admit, they were meant for each other, and I knew it, which was why I set them up on their second date."

"Second?" Feola frowned, staring curiously up at him.

"The first didn't happen. They both stood each other up."

"What a wonderful turn of events that must've been!" Valos snickered.

Feola's eyes jumped from her father to uncle, awaiting an answer from either one. "Why?"

Her father gave a response.

"Was his fault." Hallworth accused, pointing at his younger brother. "But that's not something to discuss this evening." He kissed the top of Feola's head. "Your mother's asking for you at the inn. Go right now!"

"No, stay, sweetheart!" Valos cried. "You're making my evening more delightful than these sour brats."

Feola came up to him and placed both hands atop her waist. "I'll stay if you tell my mother I ignored her because of you."

Valos recoiled at once and turned to face his table, drawing short laughs from around him.

"Essa would cook you up and serve to your own household, Valos." Rutherford warned while Feola ambled to the door.

As she made a grab for the knob, she turned, and her eyes met Judson's.

"Good evening." She greeted nicely.

He gave a reluctant, but friendly nod and she beamed once before bounding outside.

"The inn's about to close in six minutes, Graybeard," Hall announced, gesturing to the door. "Shouldn't you go on ahead say goodnight to Deira?"

Graybeard rose with a grunt. "That I should."

"What's Deira doing at the inn?" Rue questioned no one in particular.

"Labor kicked in this morning, and Essa prophesied she'd be having the baby tonight."

"Leo not back yet?" Valos asked as graybeard reached the door.

"If he was, I wouldn't be checking up on his wife now, would I?" He belted a laugh. "'Night, rascals."

"Don't fall asleep on the wayside, old man." Rue cautioned.

"I can hold my beer better than all you sucklings."

Just like Feola, Graybeard directed a little smile at Judson, but did not speak and strode into the night. Feeling the need to retire as well after Hallworth's caution about closing hours, he rose, and his wings nearly uprooted the entire open window. Instantaneous discomfort followed from the overwhelming stares he got and made goosebumps cover his arms and back.

"By thunder!" Someone exclaimed.

"Careful!" Another muttered.

Fountain gulped down the last of his beer and chuckled. "Quite the extremities on you, kid. It's no wonder you'd cost so much. Off on your way again?"

"Actually, he's at the inn." Valos provided, eyeing Judson, who carefully walked toward the exit amidst piercing stares.

"Strange fella." Fountain mumbled.

Outside, a crushing quiet was more dominant over the night sky. The distant cry of a baby was the only sound Judson heard as he stood in the middle of the street with its broken cobblestones and mudpuddles. There was a chilliness in the air that warned of impending rain, and he was thankful because some nights had been unbearably hot, leading him to lose sleep.

He crossed the old threshold with care to prevent bonking into anything. The place felt hushed, and the soft thudding of running feet echoed across worn-out rugs, but there was no runner in sight.

Down the hallway, he began to pick up on soft speech, and the smell of balm streamed into his nose, halting him.

Just then, a woman in blue scurried out of a room and another towed her. As the door shut behind them, puffs of steam briefly wafted into the hall, bringing with it a staggering aroma.

"Her blood pressure is high." The first woman said in a worried tone.

"We're out of hibiscus." The second woman, a much younger female, revealed, chewing anxiously on her fingernails.

The first woman stopped abruptly and turned, her face ashen. "What about lemon balm? She's got a cold too."

"None, Lauren."

Lauren's face grew a shade whiter. "Did you check for any lavenders, stinging nettle, chamomile?"

The girl nodded. "I've asked Yauch, but his garden only has little sprouts. Nothing good enough. Dehaney harvested a week ago. All sold now. The weather's been too terrible to plant."

Lauren grabbed at her hair in worry and turned, simultaneously noticing Judson. "Excuse me? This is no place for a man." She advanced, flicking both hands. "Shoo, shoo!"

"I can help." The words were out before he could think about them, but neither women paid attention to him.

As they faced each other in continued conversation, a different woman – one just as young as the girl with Lauren – bolted out of the same room. She ran to clutch Lauren's arm and steadied her breathing before she spoke.

Though she was calm, her eyes were wide.

"She's not breathing."

Lauren gave a small wheezing cry and darted back toward the room, followed by the aforementioned. The other girl, who was already on the brink of tears, darted past Judson.

He reached out. "Wait, I can. . ."

But she was down the second hallway, calling out for Yauch. He stood there, unsure of whether to mind his business and return to his room or help the distressed women. He had already put two and two together – a woman, Deira, Graybeard's daughter-in-law, had delivered her child, but was in a condition that was making everyone panic. Given how familiar he was with the properties and use of healing herbs, it was a trifle deducing what kinds the nurses were in need of.

From being lost in his thoughts, he nearly jumped when two more women bolted past him in succession, the first one knocking against his side as she did. Their breaths came in heavy pants – evidence of fright. He watched them disperse in two opposite directions before turning to the hall again. Something prodded him to proceed and see things for himself.

Going closer, he overheard rapid talking and someone attempting to wake another.

"She's starting to grow cold." A shaky voice muttered.

Eventually, he came up to the doorway.

The room was in a topsy-turvy state; strewn with rags, blankets, and bowls filled with boiling water. Inside a crooked cradle nearest a bowl of burning incense, a swaddled newborn slept quietly. Opposite that were three women cramped in a small bed, the one in the middle appearing more static. Deira, he knew she was. Dark hair concealed almost all of her face, which had slumped to sink into her shoulder. On either sides of her were two ladies, one just as elderly as Lauren. The younger was in tears, crumpling Deira's hand repeatedly.

He stepped in and they both turned to him.

"Where is Yauch?" The elderly woman asked, rising. She looked like a mature version of Feola and seemed to have been crying too. "We have little time before she goes."

Without a second thought, he lowered and touched the ground, thankful that it did not have a rug nor carpet. At once, the bare earth collapsed into itself, grumbling and belching soil and stones, then rapid growths began to spring forth. The sound of scrambles came from behind, introducing more people, who were obviously returning to the room. Judson looked behind at their stunned faces, feeling oddly drained.

"Quick, take them." He ordered.

It took a few moments, but the spell of shock soon broke and everyone began to hurry, plucking off the herbs and filling bowls with them. While they worked to revive Deira, he sealed up the earth then noticed he was being watched by one of the young ladies.

"How can you do that?" She gasped, eyes plastered to the closing soil as she drew nearer to him.

"Special talent." He shrugged, unsure of why he felt exhausted from doing something so effortless.

"Mabel!" Lauren snapped.

The girl started in surprise and headed off to assist.

Meanwhile, Judson furtively retreated and walked back to his lodge, wriggling the numbness out of his fingers on the way. His wrist had begun to ache as well, and it hurt to touch anything at all. For a long time, he sat put on the bed, examining his hurting hand. He could barely massage it because the pain was intense. He tried nonetheless.

"Ow!" He exclaimed, cradling the hand in his left.

Then, a knock sounded on his door.

The room was not particularly comfortable neither was it big on space, but it was warm and void of rats. He kicked down from the bed, forgetting for a split second that his hand hurt and used it to support himself up. Pain came sharp and caused him to wince.

When he turned the knob, he found Fountain and Graybeard standing there, the former appearing more confused.

"I couldn't believe it." Graybeard expressed, his face contorting with joyous sorrow. He pulled Judson out of the threshold and engulfed him in a fatherly hug. "Thank you, my boy!"

The very next moment, Judson found that he was being led by hand back to Deira's room. She had been moved into a different one with a bigger bed and her newborn was in her arms. She wore a smile on her face and by her side were Hallworth and all of the midwives that had attended to her – both young and old.

At the sight of him, Mabel pointed with vigorous excitement. "There he is!"

Judson mildly stiffened when all eyes pinned on him. Hallworth strode forward first with his brows furrowed in wonder and gratitude smeared across his features.

"What you've done," He began, placing a heavy hand atop Judson's shoulder. "Is beyond honorable, young friend."

"I suspected there was something off about how quiet he was." Rutherford piped from behind, stepping forward. The look on his face matched that of his brother's and made it impossible to differentiate between them. "What are you?"

"To think, Umstead was going to ship him off for a few gold coins." Fountain disclosed.

"A few, eh?" Graybeard chuckled. He took up Judson's hand. "They said you opened up the ground without digging." Old and dull brown eyes filled with awe peered into Judson's gray ones. "How did you do it?"

"It was right there." Mabel recalled, going to point at the spot in the opposite room. Its door was left ajar. "The next thing there was nettle and chamomile. . . all growing in the same spot. It was lovely!!"

"Hard to believe really, but Essa says she saw you do it as did Lauren, and Yauch, and Maisie here." Hallworth said, staring from Judson's head to his foot. "Care to show us again?"

The claustrophobic feeling that had clumped around his throat at first began to make even his clothes feel too tight. Judson lowered his gaze and presented his aching hand, but fell short of how to describe what was happening to it and why he wanted to refuse.

"Come on," Rue encouraged, slapping his back in a brotherly fashion. "Don't be shy. Deira wants to see how you saved her life, isn't that right, darling?"

Judson's eyes flicked to the lady on the bed. She was surprisingly younger than he expected – he guessed a little past twenty – and appeared much brighter in the face region. She beamed at him, gently rocking her baby, anticipation written all over her.

Seeing her expression made him feel obligated and he nodded, but made one last attempt to wriggle his hand only for green sparks to fly off the tip of his fingers, startling Hallworth and Graybeard both of whom stood in front of him.

"Whoa!" Rutherford exclaimed, backing up. "Is that some kind of. . . spell thing?"

A little wringe and Judson felt the numbness lessen. There was ease in his wrist.

"Was that what he. . .?" Hallworth trailed off, his jaw dropping at the sight of a bed of dandelions  sprouting at his feet where a spark had fallen onto.

"Crud!" Rutherford knelt, admiring the bulbs of bright pink tulips before him.

"This is. . . unrealistic!" The second elderly woman, Essa, Hallworth's wife, breathed in awe, plucking off a blossoming sweet pea that she brought to Deira. "Peas do not even grow in these parts."

Everybody took to admiring the plants and whispering amongst themselves.

"Tell me boy," Graybeard began, lifting his eyes from the dandelions. "How can I ever repay you?"

By daybreak, the usual quietness of the inn fell away and was replaced by loud chattering. Judson despised the noise, but could do nothing about it. Villagers streamed in and out not only to congratulate Deira, but also hear the gripping tale around her delivery. Because he had pleaded with Graybeard beforehand that he wished to be left alone, those who asked to see the wondrous Shade were dissuaded from doing so.

"He's something of a high priest." Fountain continually told them in a comical yet mysterious tone. "These are the sacred days. He must not be disturbed, no."

Oftentimes, Judson caught himself smiling at Fountain's choice of telltale pattern. The man was playful to a fault, and, in Rue's very own words "unable to properly woo a lady into marriage without her thinking he was joking". He was rugged in appearance yet softer at heart. When Umstead had asked to visit Judson later at dawn, he fooled the big man into the belief that he himself had sold the Shade for an incredible sum.

"You did what?" Umstead had almost screamed, issuing a fit of laughter out of Fountain.

Inside his bedroom, Judson monitored his hand, pondering over on why it felt better only after he used his powers. The more he thought about it, the more it seemed likely. The pain had felt the same as a rust in iron that followed from either lack of use or overuse. The confusing thing was that he could not tell which was his case.

Were his powers overused or underused?

He could not testify to underuse because many a-times he would habitually sprout a shrub or two for the fun of it, heal a dying plant, or restore a barren wood. The thought of feeling rusty from a likelihood of excessive use made him feel queasy, as though he was an equipment – a simple tool. Involuntarily, his thoughts wandered to Waverly. If only she were present, they would have dug into the root of his problems, or she would have related to how he felt which would, in turn, make him feel better.

Before he could stop it, his mind clouded with thoughts of her and he toyed with Calaire as he did, allowing himself be fully submerged in memory. He held on tight to every single one because they kept him going. Although he was not as sure as the first time that he would find her again, he took solace in the idea that there was a solution somewhere.

Revvi had confirmed it.

All he needed to do was find a grump to lead him to where death awaited.

It was not something he was scared of – death, because too often he had felt close to it. If anything, it was peaceful retirment. If, in order to succeed, he needed to subject to its calming grasp then he swore to do it without hesitation.

As long as it brings her back. He thought.

Heavy pounding tore his attention to the door. The structure was awfully weak and so, it took no effort from whomever was hitting against it to force it open.

Whether it was because he found no interest in indulgence or an unavoidable weakness that came from having eaten nothing since day broke, he sat put as two strangers barged in, armed. He glanced up at them, wondering if they had come because of the news of Deira's delivery, but their expressions were of anything but fascination.

"This him?" The first stranger asked, nudging his brethren.

The second observed Judson with haste. "I can swear it is."

"Good!" The other nodded. "Grab him and let's go."

Then, Judson rose. "Is there something I can do for you?"

"Lost your ego, eh, your most delectable Lord of Evil?" The second teased in anger. He made a grabbing motion, but Judson's right wing swatted his hand away before it could make contact.

His heart pounded inside his chest, and in spite of the growing riot in his head, he tried to remain outwardly calm. "I have no idea who you are and what you want. You are invading my privacy."

"We'll give you a good description of who we are soon enough." The first man growled and swung the bottom of a metal axe in Judson's face, sending him into abrupt unconsciousness.