When his eyes dragged open, he became conscious of overpowering noise, like one from a quarrel. The ground felt uncomfortable under him, and he subsequently realized that it was because he had been asleep in water.

His throat burned as did his wrists.

After a few thorough blinks, he became aware of two things; the first was that he was surrounded by the supposed noisemakers – a large number of them. The second was that he was bound by ugly ropes. One was in a tight loop around his neck, thus bringing about a lingering irritation. The other shackled his hands. Examining himself, he noticed his wet clothes that were also covered in brown dirt. A mudpuddle was right under him, soaking into his trousers. His face felt just as wet and he wondered if he had been roused back to consciousness with water. The back of his head ached, and as a result of the blinding daylight, made it difficult to focus on everything at once.

Instead, he chose to concentrate on the conversation even though it was mainly consistent of defiant shouts.

"Murderer!"

"Pillager!"

"Kill him!"

"Chop his bloody head off!"

"That thing is evil. He deserves to rot in a dungeon."

Voices – both male and female – belted accusations and harsh insults from all corners, filling his head with a kind of pain that was different from the bugging headache. He felt crestfallen for he understood very well why he was being punished. He understood that as much as there were people who would be willing to forgive his past mistakes, there were those who wanted him eliminated. He believed he had just bumped into the latter yet again.

It was not his first time being mistaken for evil.

In fact, it had become a recurring scenario, except that he had no idea when or where the reoccurrence would take place. More often than not, people who had suffered during The Great Unrest still assumed that he hosted Oculmus – the Elemental godhead of Chaos, although in a different context because they seemed to think he alone had tortured them. None believed he had just been playing the part of an unwilling host and victim, and after a while, trying to explain proved fruitless.

Yet, in spite of their obvious anger, he sorely wished to make amends.

Whether or not evil was executed by his own will, people had been hurt; lives were lost, homes were destroyed and families separated because of him. Though there was no possible way to rectify such things, he yearned to compensate some other way.

But from what he could see, permission to speak was an impossibility.

His eyes stayed on the angry crowd as they brandished shovels, pitchforks, axes, and firebrands whilst being held back by a trail of men.

His attention was soon taken to a woman in the corner, squeezing her way to the front. Her black hair dangled around her like a shield and the frown she sported was frightening. It was Deira, but she looked nothing like the unconscious woman he saw atop a bed the night before.

"Let him go! He's done nothing wrong, you bloody blockhead bastard!" She boldly shoved at a man dressed in pieces of armor.

"He's a killer!" He shouted.

"He saved my life, you idiot!" Deira shouted back. For someone who just put to birth, she appeared stronger than she looked. "You're not even from here. He's living in our village therefore under our laws and our protection, and we say, let him go!"

Again, she pushed. And the man attempted to hit her, but was restrained by Graybeard, who intervened just in time.

"Stop! You don't want blood on your hands this morning, my lad." He cautioned, grappling with the fellow. "She's just had a baby. She's fragile."

"I'll show you fragile." Deira picked up a shovel and whacked the soldier right in the face, then dropped the tool and began to march forward.

Judson's spirits instantly soared at the sight of her. At least someone was on his side. But before she could cross halfway into the circle of torture he was in, Graybeard had caught up and grabbed her.

"Let me go, Ramelth." She screamed, wriggling with vigor.

"Best keep your nose out of this, Deiraa dear." He warned.

Then, the crowd began to push forward, overwhelming their restrainers. Shouts grew louder and protests came tenser than before. More people advocated for beheading.

"You're going to let them hurt him." She was on the brink of tears. "You're a coward!"

"They're right." Graybeard stated, staring straight at Judson. "We don't know who he is."

Reluctantly, Deira followed Graybeard back, until they were swallowed up in the crowd.

Weakness crept into Judson's bones as he watched them leave. He felt forsaken, but chose not to dwell on it. His manhandlers, it would seem, were not locals of Drumwind. How they managed to trace him down to the inn just like that was baffling. He did suspect that word had traveled to the neighboring village and that had been a possible lead. Why he was not taken to a King or a Lord for proper judgement instead beat his imagination.

As the group of barbarians discussed the preparations for a carriage, he worked the shackles around his wrists to come loose, but when he reached for the rest of the rope around his neck, a painful whip cracked against the skin on his hand and he withdrew with a sharp wince.

"Try that again, and I'll make sure it smarts worse next time." A gruffy voice spoke.

Turning about, he saw a short fellow, holding onto the whip in one hand and the end of his leash in the other. A Dwarf. The man reminded him of some friends he had made a few years back, but seemed nothing like them. He appeared brutish, and grim, and angry. His bloodshot eyes were unsettling and every part of his skin bore ugly scars.

"Throw him in fire!" Someone shouted from the crowd.

"Burn him!"

At that, a firebrand leaped over the heads of people in the front and landed smack dab in between Judson's legs, setting the hem of his trousers on fire. He quickly shuffled and buried the material in mud water, snuffing the flames out.

"The carriage is here." A man announced coolly, strutting forward with a gait that screamed importance.

"What do you intend to do with him?" Another asked, coming behind him. It was Hallworth.

The first man halted and looked Hallworth in the face. "Take him to my village and disgrace him before killing him. If you'd like to watch, I suggest you come along."

"He's done nothing wrong, Baldric." Hallworth purported in an imploring tone. "Just last night, he saved the—"

"Do you know how many lives he's taken, Hallworth?" Baldric's tone was acrid, his face drawn firm. "Women, and children, and simple men. He killed thousands; and not just in Strickland, but all over the West of it. He's the blood of populations on his hands, and you want me to show mercy because he was good to one? I might as well chop your head off after his for even thinking that, Hall."

Hallworth sighed, obviously in defeat. He turned to Judson, staring at him for a few moments. "Then at least take him to the Lord Lowe. His home is but a few leagues from the outskirts. Let the accused be given a fair trial."

"There is nothing fair about this, Hallworth." Baldric stressed and signalled to a man standing before the crowd. Following the latter's violent direction, the people parted in the middle.

As they did, Judson caught sight of an approaching carriage. He doubted he was going to be given a seat inside, and it made his heart drop into his stomach. All of a sudden, strength seemed to have abandoned him. He could not think of a way to save himself and dearly missed Qar for it. The Burrower would have, at least, thought of something no matter how unhelpful or silly.

The crowd converged again, blocking the carriage from sight, and no sooner had they done so than a shocking boom sounded, issuing panicked shouts from every side.

"What was that?" Baldric asked and darted toward the scene. As he approached, the people gave way, permitting sight of the carriage again.

The vehicle appeared to have fallen on its side from a sudden accident, its hovering wheel still spinning and oddly ablaze. Wisps of smoke curled out of the other wheel.

A man pried the smoking parts off and lifted them with an iron rod to inspect.

"It caught fire." He said.

The atmosphere had quietened enough to pick up on conversation even with the distance.

"How the hell did that even happen?" Baldric questioned, examining the wheel.

Faint sizzling distracted Judson to his own rope being burned. At first, it alarmed him, but then, he frowned in slow realization when the threads snapped, setting him free.

Without wasting a moment, he rose.

"He's getting away!"

The warning came late.

Judson exposed his wings, knocking back the Dwarf behind him, and shot into the clouds. When he came a safe distance away from the village, he touched down in a forest – the same one Juneberry had left him in – and shambled toward a tree.

Immediately he plopped down at its foot, someone emerged from the corner, quite startlingly, and knelt before him.

A girl.

She was unarmed and harmless from the looks of her. Without a word, she took up his injured hand and did something he thought strange yet fascinating. In the serene environment, several sun rays breeched through canopies of leaves and touched the ground, bathing the forest in enough daylight. But he sat in a canopy without any of such. Regardless of this, the stranger flexed a hand and the cluster of leaves high above gave way, projecting a ray of sunlight directly onto his injury. In an instant, the pain cooled and the redness vanished.

He examined his hand then looked up at the girl, who was strangely unwilling to speak either.

Again, she swayed her hand, but in a strange pattern, as if waving hello very slowly, and he became exposed to even more gleaming sunlight. It splayed across and washed over his face and the rest of him. Yet it felt nothing like heat and more like a touch – a mending touch that swept out whatever remnants of weakness was left in his bones.

Then, she revealed her other arm, which had been resting behind her back, and presented him with a flask.

"Fresh water." She spoke at last. "From a spring."

He accepted and drank to his fill then returned the flask and rose to his feet, unsure of what to make of the kind stranger. Because all she did was stare, he felt no need to say a thing and turned to leave.

"Won't you thank me?"

He halted, shutting his eyes for a brief second out of sheer embarrassment, and turned. "My apologies. Thank you."

"That's one." She tucked the flask into a pouch strapped to her skirt. "You owe me three."

He frowned, but obliged nonetheless. "Thank you, and thank you again."

She beamed sweetly. "You're welcome."

He nodded and made to leave once more.

"I have breakfast." She offered, halting him a second time. He wheeled gently and saw that she was pointing far behind. "You could use a meal, and it's alright, you don't have to thank me for this one at all."

For a moment, Judson was confused on what to do, but before he could decide, she hopped forward, took his hand and began to yank playfully as if they were long time friends.

"Come on, it's not far off. This way."

Rather very obediently, he followed.

Breakfast turned out to be fulfilling. There were oats and fresh bread, cheese and milk, strawberries and cream, and other forms of dairy goodness. The stranger – Ayariel as she introduced – had a nice, homey tent pitched underneath an oak tree. It did not look like much on the outside, but the inside felt incredibly the same as a full house. Whilst he ate, she busied with arranging a table on the other end, and he felt thankful that she was not looking at him.

However, she soon lost interest in what she was doing and came to sit beside his knee. Her face was one he thought he never came across before. She was pretty, like a well-groomed princess, and he almost guessed she was part Gypsie because of her clothes and the multicolored band that held up hair - lush brown curls boldly straying across her temples and neckline.

For a second, he wondered what the texture was like.

"You're yet to tell me your name." She began.

He swallowed. "Judson. My name is Judson."

Her head tilted to the side. She had a way of looking at things that made him think she could see through them. "Hmm."

A streak of sunlight was all that demarcated them and when she leaned forward into it, he could have sworn her eyes changed color for a fleeting second. When she shifted backwards, they were brown again.

"I hope you don't mind those Stricklanders." She went on. "They're troublemakers and bullies, really. Not very friendly at all."

He nodded once.

She gave a thoughtful smile. "You don't talk much, do you?"

A single head shake.

"Hmm, well, I'm very talkative." She admitted with a little pout. Her lips were stained with a smooth brown substance that he thought could be chocolate. "I'm sorry."

His eyebrows went up. "What for?"

She seemed fully at ease. "All forms of future talkativeness. I'm sure at some point you'll get irritated with my ramblings. People think I'm parrotlike, and it annoys them that I talk so much, and very often I have to apologize or shut my mouth to appease them, but I really can't change how I am, and I have to apologize for being this way."

"You have no need to apologize to me." He said quietly.

She beamed again and watched him for a number of minutes. "Do you want to know something?"

He looked at her.

"You're very handsome."

It was unexpectedly expected. He had heard the same compliment several times before and even practiced the art of refusing to acknowledge how it made him feel sheepish, but now, he suddenly felt as if he had been thrown off balance.

With care, he set the empty bowl down. "I can barely help it."

She fell into a fit of light, contagious giggles that coaxed a smile out of him as well. Her gaze suddenly shifted to his wings, and he recoiled at the thought of the one possible question he suspected she was going to ask.

"Is it true then?" She piped in a mutter, locking her fingers across her kneecap. "You revived a dying woman."

He blinked in surprise yet felt satisfied that things had taken a turn he was more comfortable with. "I grew flowers. Nothing special."

She gave a half laugh, staring intently at his face. "You shouldn't inferiorize your talents like that. No one else there could've done what you did. I'd have really liked to see them try. So, of course, it's special."

He felt speechless and opted to nod in agreement. When he rose, she did likewise.

"Thank you for the breakfast."

She scoffed. "I told you you didn't have to thank me for it."

"And for saving my life." He added, certain about his earlier suspicions. "I know now that it was you back in the village."

She seemed to blush a little. "You're welcome, Judson. May I call you Jud?"

His eye twitched, and for a second, he struggled. "Judson would be fine."

She nodded. Then he sauntered out of the tent, but she hurriedly followed.

"Wait!" Her scurrying was loud because of the underbrush. "Where are you going?"

He strolled at a slow pace, his mind not quite personally made up concerning the answer to the question. "Looking for someone."

"Who?"

"Not sure I know yet."

"Huhn? How can you look for someone when you don't know them?"

"I am afraid I cannot answer that."

"Why do you have to find this person?" At that point, she caught up to him and gently grabbed his forearm.

He veered to face her. "Because only he can point me, hopefully, in the right direction of another thing I am in search of."

She grimaced. "That's a bit confusing. Well, let me come with you."

He was taken aback. "No, no please, I cannot allow you."

"Why not? I can handle it. You're obviously a wanderer. You left Drumwind without any belongings, and that means you don't have any sort of responsibilities or a home to return to. See, I'm quite the same."

"You have a tent." He pointed to the black structure in the distance that had almost disappeared from sight.

"It's portable, but the point is, I'm not particularly grounded myself. I can tell you've been on the road a while, as have I."

"Why have you?

She fiddled with her skirt. "Well, I ran away from home."

He lifted a prodding brow. "How long ago?

"A year already. I wanted to do something different – see the world, but my parents didn't want to let me, so I ran away. And besides, I often landed into trouble with the locals and it made them very unhappy. I left so they could be happy. I'm sure they will be without me."

"And how have you been since?"

The question seemed to soften her and it showed despite the surprise on her face. "No one's ever. . . asked me that before."

He smiled nicely. "Will you tell me then?"

"Yes. It's been very difficult and lonely, and tiring. Not sure how long you've been doing it for, but I can bet you've more experience with it than I do and you understand what it's really like. People like me and you, we're not entirely accepted anywhere."

His eyebrows arched in mild confusion. "What do you mean?"

Then, she laughed. "Oh, come on, you know what I mean. Godly abominations and all." Her countenance suddenly seemed to brighten. "I assume you've heard of my mother."

Without giving full attention to it, she held a coved hand over the beam of sunshine in front of her and the yellow light transformed into a rainbow cone. She twirled it to rotate like a spear a few times before it disappeared with a flash and everything returned to the way it was before.

"Leila!" They said in unison.

Ayariel's grin grew wider. "So you have heard of her."

He nodded in confirmation, impressed by her gifts. "Indeed I have."

"Who's your parent?"

The question irked him in a different way than it usually did – in the sense that he felt more void of emotions than angry. There definitely was nothing to a simple name.

"Juniper."

Ayariel covered her mouth with both hands. Again, colors flashed in her widening eyes, in the form of a palette, and he saw it clear as fresh water.

She let her hands drop. "I can't believe it!"

"I know," He said dryly. "Me either."

"You really must be elated. . ." She noticed the grim expression on his face and her smile all but dropped. "Or not."

For a while, they stood there in silence, until she spoke up again.

"Juniper hasn't been seen in a century." Her face contorted with pity. "You haven't seen her, have you?"

With a mild sigh, he turned and began to trod through the underbrush, somewhat expecting Ayariel to follow or try to stop him, but she remained put til he was lost from sight.

While on his way, he pored over the unlucky encounter in Drumwind, questioning himself over and over on what the outcome would have been had Ayariel not saved him. He pondered why he felt powerless and – dare he admit it – as if he were still under Oculmus's control. With the godhead, he had no power to act upon his feelings; in times of fear, he could not run neither could he show mercy despite the aching cry in his heart to do so. He had felt suppressed. Immobilized. Weak. As he often did when the godhead was trapped inside him. For the longest time, he tried to battle the feeling through frequent acts of goodness, but there was a part of him that criticized his motives every time. A part that reminded him that no matter what he did, he would never be accepted, only always seen as misfortune and ill luck. His kind was forever cursed to suffer such labelling and discrimination.

And that was one reason he admired Waverly so much.

Singlehandedly, she had reworked how children of the gods were seen. Of course she faced adversaries and naysayers in the process, but the goal had been achieved anyway. There used to be a time when Zanaans were hated to the point of harassment. Now, they could at least walk free as every other person. In addition, Waverly's achievements had placed them in a positive spotlight though it was sad to see that many still bore deep hatred toward them. Their ability to thrive where mere men failed was the real reason they were despised.

He wondered if a time would come when the world learned to accept them wholeheartedly. There, his thoughts veered to Ayariel.

Had her parents accepted her wholeheartedly?

She seemed like the kind of person who had lived well, carrying herself with an immunity of a sense that he dubbed interesting, as if she were insusceptible to any kind of harm. He could vouch that the most dangerous thing she had encountered was a poisonous snake. The thought made him chuckle to himself. If only she knew the true dangers of what she was and the affair she had gotten involved with following her decision to leave home, she would have stayed back with her parents.

The pathless forest was a tad difficult to navigate with just logic or simple guesswork, but he was being led by something more intuitive. He took a turn, where the trees were thinner and the grasses a lighter green. There, the canopy above was scanty, allowing for much sunlight. He spotted a young doe, prancing about at the edge of a tapering stone wall that had obviously stood there for ages. Given its age, it was almost buried in verdure, but one side of its face remained visible. Initially, all Judson could see when he looked at the plain rock was plain rock, but he blinked again and frowned in surprise at the pair of swinging legs that had suddenly appeared there, bumping on repeat against the rock face.

He lifted his eyes and saw Ayariel seated at the top, a well packed luggage humped against her back and a half eaten apple in her hand.

"How did you get—" He started.

"I climbed." She replied amidst chewing and pointed to the corner. "Over there. The steps are broken, but I jumped over them. I think I scraped my ankle too."

In a ridiculous fashion, she tilted a leg to peer at the injury.

He shook his head, mildly humoured.

"No, no, I mean, that is wonderful, but. . ." Very briefly, he looked behind then at her, wondering if, sometime when lost in his thoughts, she had traipsed past him. "When did you get here?"

"Oh," She laughed. "I used a shortcut. Yeah, I've been in these parts for a month now."

He felt a little skeptical, but shelved the doubt and nodded. "So, why have you decided to leave?"

With an exasperated eye roll, she tossed the finished apple away and threw her legs over to the surface in a most ladylike manner before pushing herself to stand.

"I'm coming with you." She announced, clapping the sand off her hands and turned to descend the rock.

Judson's brain went berserk with confusion. He could not see her at all as she made her descent and fought to come up with a reason to dissuade her before she could climb to the bottom. But she was out before he could say snap, hopping joyously toward him in spite of the weight on her back.

"You can not come with me." He stressed. "I have already told you."

She shrugged matter-of-factly. "Well, I wasn't asking your permission to. Besides, you're not so very attentive. But I am. You need that."

He frowned. "What?"

She let out an audible sigh that masked a growing smirk. "I went back to the village."

He was not sure why the simple statement made him panic slightly, but he dared not to show it. "Why?"

"To retrieve this."

She held out a limp thing, and Judson's heart dropped right into his stomach at the sight of the blue wristband. He gazed down at his wrist, unable to decipher just how it had slipped right off without his knowledge. The thought of actually losing it and then leaving without even realizing that he had almost drove him bonkers. Guilt trapped all the air in his chest and made it impossible for him to speak for an unusual length of time. He could only stare, subconsciously holding onto his wrist.

"Well," Ayariel said, closely watching his reaction. "Don't you want it back?"

Slowly, he collected the band and fisted it. After a count of four, he swallowed and spoke. "Thank you."

Her understanding eyes proved she had deduced that the band held a strong sway over him, though she said nothing about that.

"See, you need my help." She argued, returning to the previous subject.

"Just this one time." He muttered, wondering how she could have even noticed the wristband on his wrist amidst the scuffle back in the village.

"Are you always so stubborn?"

His head jerked back defiantly. "I am not."

"Hard to believe." She tsked. "You can't even accept the truth. You are stubborn. I can sense it."

"Please, go back to your tent." He pleaded, gesturing behind.

"I can't." She shrugged. "It's in my baggage now."

"It all fit inside there?" He was perplexed by the possibility because though it looked large, the baggage was not near large enough to contain such a tent. It was a habit of his now to measure width by his wings, and the tent had been spacious enough for him to turn a full circle without knocking a thing down. That alone proved it was an unnaturally wide tent. Also, she had other belongings.

"Is it a Grogana?"

Confusion and humor clashed on her face. "A what?"

He made to explain then realized that she probably would not understand. "Perhaps not."

"Where are we off to now?" She questioned in a casual tone, turning in readiness to continue walking.

"There is no we, Ayariel." He declared. "Go back."

Her face gradually fell with graver sadness than he expected and she lowered her eyes. "You don't want me to come along?"

He felt his insides tying themselves into knots by the heap. Refusal was beginning to seem a difficult task. "Only because it might be too dangerous."

"I don't mind that. I saved your life back there, didn't I? I'm really much braver than I look."

Her brown eyes were imploring. She took a step forward, and he realized with a start that she was wearing a dress and not a skirt as he first assumed. The dress was a dark shade of green with purple dots. He could have bet his own head it was all dyed maroon before. He frowned at nothing in particular.

Everything about her confused him in. . . confusing ways.

"I will let you come along on one condition." He expressed firmly.

"Name it."

His tone eased. "I have a friend. We used to journey together, but he was delayed someplace because of an important matter which he will return from someday soon. When he does, he will resume being my company and then, you must resign. Agreed?"

She gave a rebellious pout, teetering sideways. The mannerism gave her an adorable, childish appearance and almost softened him into rethinking.

"Agreed?" He stressed, ignoring her trickish charm.

She stomped a foot and huffed. "Oh, alright. Agreed."

He held out a hand, which she shook rather shyly, turning pink in the face.

"Now, will you tell me who you're looking for?"

He sighed, reminding himself that as his new company, he would have to divulge pieces of information to her. "I was told his name is Gzrel. The Grump."

She scoffed a short laugh and hefted her baggage. "Who lets people call them a grump?!"

"He does, I presume."

Together, they started down the grass.

"Do you have any idea where to begin in your search?"

He shook his head. "No, I do not."

"That's a bit ridiculous, but I understand. You're letting determination lead. It's very brave. Well, here's where I think would be a good start."

"Where?"

"Professions."

He paused briefly. "Excuse me?"

She looked straight into his eyes. "Start with professions. If you're looking for someone whom nobody knows, ask someone who knows everybody – people with professions; the kind that travel – the high seas, high road, highways. That kind of stuff. They see things, they hear things, and they know things. If you can find one of them, they'll point you in the right direction."

"That is, without a doubt, a brilliant idea."

"Why, thank you!" She smiled and nudged him gently.

"Do you know a particular person I could go to for queries?"

"Well," She seemed to think for a second. "I know an Alchemist. Yndry Pondelf. His village is Orhaven – two miles from here on foot. He's not very friendly, but for a good pay he'll answer all our questions."

Judson halted, squinting into the distance.

Ayariel seemed to decipher the problem with almost no effort. "You don't have money, do you?"

He nervously touched the back of his neck. "Not really, but. . . . I could find some before we get there."

She chuckled. "What? You're going to get a job?"

"I was thinking maybe not. I have a bigger job at hand already."

"While I help you out with that," She said. "You could find yourself a side job. Yndry is very sour, and I'm certain you're very desperate."

"That I am." He chuckled.

She threw him a look and smiled without reason.

For a while, they walked in silence, with Judson maintaining a few good feet between himself and Ayariel. She had a tendency to nudge him out of the blue and smile in ways that unsettled him, mostly because he had a good haunch of the reason behind it. She stared too. A lot. Like a lost doe. Once, whilst they crossed the ruins of a bridge, she lost her footing, but he caught her by the hand just in time. Afterwards, she refused to let go. He had had to trick her out of it.

Holding hands, to him, was a sacred act. A sign of bonding.

It was something he observed and shared with just Waverly. Her alone. It was quite obvious that his new company had taken a strong liking to him. It explained her willingness to tag along without an idea what was ahead.
However, he was in no mood nor state of mind to welcome new friendships. It might be as a result of being a loner for half his life, or for knowing just one person for another half of it. Either way, he was much too accustomed with his solo routine to embrace a new intake. It would mess with the balance of things.

Nonetheless, he appreciated the company.

She did most of the talking, and he, the nodding, but it was nice to hear something other than silence for once.

Contrary to his suspicions of her being a Gypsie, she revealed that she was a native of Bremeton, from a village called Hillbay in the central region of Oldland – the former capital of Bremeton – where the Household of Monarchs was once located in the olden days.

"After the Great War of Realms came to an end, the seat of authority moved from Central Bremeton to the East because memory was too powerful there." Ayariel explained, casually peeling leaves off its stem. "The natives wanted to move on from their past."

Night was slowly falling, but she seemed to be oblivious of the growing dark. He watched her, wondering whether or not to reveal the next moment that he would like to rest awhile.

"There was a disagreement over the change, of course," She went on, appearing anything but tired. The baggage seemed to be of no bother at all too. "But the ruling majority won the vote, and a new palace was raised in the East. I've seen it, you know."

"The new palace?" He asked. The road was quiet with fireflies dotting the path as well as the high bushes on either sides of them.

"Yes, and the old one too." She replied. Every so often, she would stop in order for him to catch up because she walked two steps faster than he did. "Oldland is full of ruins. You should see it, if you like that sort of thing. I could take you there."

He side glanced at her. She was smiling again.

"Maybe after we're done with Yndry and we find the Grumpy man." She added.

"I fear I have even more to do after that." He revealed and heaved a sigh.

Then, she seemed to notice his exhaustion. "I think we should rest for the night."

"In the middle of the road?" He asked, lifting an eyebrow.

She laughed shortly then quietened. "Goodness, no. Perhaps, a little further and we might find a clearing somewh—"

"There is a clearing." He cut in and pointed over her shoulder. "That way."

She veered to look behind. "How do you know that?"

"I can see it." He revealed blatantly and strode into the bushes.

She followed with audible grunts as they slapped through the blades of glass, until they emerged into a different road. It appeared unused and closed off, much wider than the one they just left and overrun with low grasses, but clear enough to pitch a tent.

"Wow." She muttered. "How did. . . Did you sense it?"

He gave a nod. "I did.

She walked forward and set her baggage down at the foot of a tree, then began to unpack.

When she spoke this time, she seemed out of breath.

"You can share my tent, you know. I have two coverlets, and two pillows, and a spare blanket, and. . ." She held out her flask. "I filled it up again."

He received the flask, observing her. In the dark, it was hard to tell, but she appeared a bit paler than before.

"Are you alright?" He asked, slowly lowering to inspect her face.

She jerked at the sudden proximity, smiled and gave a reassuring nod. "I am. I just didn't realize I was so tired already. Although, I do feel lightheaded, but I'm fine."

He moved a hand to touch her forehead and her smile could have easily rivaled honey syrup. She giggled.

"You are burning up!" He exclaimed in alarm, hoping that she would realize the extremeness of her situation and quit smiling.

"I know." She admitted, yet her smile did not falter. "I've fallen sick on and off all week. It's just the weather."

"Here," He pointed at a spot where she could sit and helped set her down. "I will put up the tent myself."

Her smile was grateful, but she did not speak anymore. She leaned all the way into the tree behind and shut her eyes, inhaling and exhaling raggedly. All of a sudden, she looked limp as a wet rag.

In panic, he rushed forward and grabbed her before she could hit the ground.

"I'm alright." She whispered in a weak whisper.

He was not so certain. Her eyes opened by a tad, changed color and lolled back into her head.

"What can I do for you?" He asked in haste.

When she gave no answer, he lowered her with care and set out to making a quick fire. Thankfully, the surrounding was rich with herbage. The next minute, he had cooked up a healing mixture and was draining it down her throat.

Bit by bit, color returned to her face. He breathed in utmost relief and gently laid her next to the fire.

Returning to pitch the tent, he kept a watchful eye on her, praying that whatever the problem was, his little remedy would go a long way to fight against it.