Despite the lack of light Silvera’s small campsite seemed to reach every nook and cranny reaching up to the endless expanse of foliage leaning forwards from the weight of the Ironthorn trees. Swift didn’t know much about his father’s Trait or the fire hazards that came with it but the sheer amount he could see just from its strange glow. It was fascinating and slightly unnerving.

“How? It’s…it’s not active long enough for a Traited to go through let alone two and…”

The burning sensation in his throat from the dumpling still lingered painfully. His voice was marred by the souring envy of someone like Silvera having the favour of the Trollians long enough to enter their sacred realm. Yet he couldn't even touch it. The gruesome threat of her attempts to crush his Steam Trollian friend's head would not leave his mind, the jealousy that despite his aching Trill it at least gave him a connection to his Agar no one else ever had. Or so he assumed.

“Had some experience with that lately, Swifty?”

"Of course not."

Swift avoided the question by taking a few nibbles of his own meal. He hated how good it was. He hated how hungry he was. He hated how she seemed to know everything. He hated how he seemed to know nothing. When he first came across the strange translucent portals he was so stunned he rolled over his ankle and couldn’t practise for weeks, it was only a few days after his accident and his Trill had been unbearable. He had begged for some solace, even resorting to having Whisper sleep nearer his head in an attempt to muffle the sound with her fluffy, steam condensed body. But through everything the Nook Knolls had only ever opened when his Agar had been with them.

Look. I don’t question things like that when it comes to the ways of the Trollians. It was big enough for both of us. That's that."

Silvera couldn’t even look him in the eyes, her accent taking on a quality similar to the Havalog traders Strongbow had associated with during the off season. When he was little Swift had dared to take a peek while hiding in the main Limelight’s tent, the large intimidating presence of the tusked beast scaring him into his mother’s arms.

When the Flickerwick family had arrived they had been far more prim and polite as if performing a polished act for the surrounding members, his father remaining away from the scene so Nyxia could handle the politics side of things and meet her new protege. The stark difference between Silvera’s introduction and her hunting in the wilderness along with the bustling circus folk was leagues apart as if she had been returned back to where she belonged.

"Probably it’s because you were with me, Swifty.” Silvera added, unceremoniously tipped a half cut vegetable dumpling into her mouth, ignoring the sweet juices running down her chin.

Swift tried to concentrate on filling his stomach, knowing full well the seemingly hostile Fire Traited was trying to help him feel better but his imagination wandered to how she could’ve used the Nook Knolls so easily. Perhaps he had blackmailed Flicka into activating it himself or even sharing the hidden secret of the Trollians but the likelihood of him warming up to her in such a short time period was unrealistic.

“Heck of a storm though.” She added, keeping her hands busy with cooking what little ingredients she had left.

Even though it seemed that the Flickerwick heir had outgrown her upbringing her knife work was as fluid as ever, quickly making her way through multiple tasks all at once without breaking stride. She turned towards her makeshift camp, a large foldable canvas tied to multiple strong Ironwood saplings bendable enough to provide cover while protecting a variety of woven, wooden, weaveable and handmade objects to root around for some wood to keep the fire going.

“A storm?” Swift said, failing to hide the worry in his voice, the reminder of what happened the last time his Trait reacted on its own.

The brand of her partially concealed Flickwick’s tattoo coiled menacingly close to the campfire, the small flame on the sigils candle extending into a strangling rope before Silvera flexed her arm to flick her knife up into her other hand and the sole black ink of her other arm became a comfort to her. It was only a fraction of an expression but that tightened focus flashed a look of anger that softened the moment she saw the Spiritwalker kitsune curled up around the backdrop of a familiar tree. The very trees he now surrounded himself with.

Tossing some foraged branches into the fire, her rolled up sleeves were shoved back up to her elbow as it slipped down, inky marks of the tattoo burning and flaring alongside a much more unfamiliar sigil attempting to be seen despite the angry red ink of her noble house. Swift remembered it well enough. It had been on her luggage when she arrived, her knives she threw into every practice dummy so they knew their attacker. Every item of hers she had brought to the Silver Strings campsite had been marked with that sigil. Except the items she now used to cook.

“Aye. Yeah, I mean not as strong as yours, Swiftling but it was ruddy, well close and…I don’t wanna experience that any time soon. Not after…”

Silvera focused on speed cutting her vegetables and flash fired them into the pot before lifting a large amount of what looked like soup into a different pot, concealed and branded with the very same kitsune on her arm. Unsurprised by the iron cast pots she kept hidden away in her new living area, all Swift could do to quiet his mind was watch and eat.

He had seen her use her throwing knives every day since she met him, the familiar red and gold handled knives almost as signature as her Flickerwick name. But the obsidian bladed knives she now used to calmly butcher an already pre skinned animal was as unfamiliar to him as the Spiritwalker kitsune tattoo on her shoulder. Compared to her usual knives there was a care and consideration to her knife skills that he had ever seen before, bearing that same mark despite all of the items surrounding her.

“After you threatened to murder my Agar?” Swift interrupted, his chest swelled with sudden anger at the reminder of how she had threatened Whisper.

His fury was soured with the reminder of Stealth’s unconscious body being the cause of the last windstorm he had unknowingly conjured even as the cold winds whipped through the clearing. Silvera winced at the harsh air, covering the pot with a lid just as she added the last of the meat and Nocturian herbs and spices to the stew she had started making.

The heat of her Fire Trait wafted over the camp as it clashed with his own Trait but somehow Silvera remained calm, cooking despite his accusations and continued to keep an eye on her flickering campfire. She shuffled a little back from heat and pulled her own sleeping bag closer from the sudden cold and brought out a half carved block of wood and kept whittling away at it while everything was brought to a boil.

“After you almost killed me with your Trait?”

The Spiritwalker tattoo on her arm seemed to glare at him ominously for his earlier comment, the red inked in eye being the only bit of colour in the black lined tattoo. Taken aback, Swift couldn’t help but stare nervously at the black and white kitsune with the reminder of why certain clans no longer used black ink anymore. He clenched his eyes shut, trying not to think of the necromancy involved in both his life and his alleged kidnapper.

Neither gave any reaction to each other’s accusations, either too tired or quietly seething while doing something practical as Silvera took out some wooden bowls and checked on her dwindling water supply even as the stew began to over boil. Immediately, the Fire Traited tempered the heat with her Trait and took out a collection of utensils before spooning out the piping hot meal for them both.

“After you stole my violin?” Swift said, faltering to take the bowl, far weaker than he expected, a little too warm despite the petering rain reaching the strange, gloomy clearing.

Silvera noted it straightaway, ignoring the comment in favour of gently coaxing it into his hands while resting it supportingly against the sleeping bag she too had given him. Another untrusting gift. The sour taste of her starter made her kindness feel detached from how she had the chance to show this side of her sooner. She didn’t have to hurt Whisper. But she did. She didn’t have to ridicule him. But she did.

His Trill burned as hot as the stew he struggled to spoon it into his mouth with the stifling heat and the colliding cold surrounding him in a chilling wind tunnel of tumultuous emotions just as hot and cold as he felt. Silvera tucked into her own meal, the campfire flicking loomingly around her as she pulled her own fur lined sleeping bag closer to her to block the squall.

The warm feeling in his stomach made him shiver, the queasy hot and cold feeling washing over him dizzyingly even with the light rain and waterproof sleeping bag. He put it down to the difference in food from not having eaten in days even with the small parcels of food she had tried to coax him into eating.

“I didn’t steal it.” Silvera snapped, shivering despite the campfire flaring alongside her anger.

Swift didn’t have to look very far to see that she too had a temperature sensitivity, it was common for Fire Traited and with his father’s complicated relationship with his own fire on cold nights but it could also be a damaging stereotype. While it used to be a common theory that it was a signal for young Traited to gravitate toward the flame, Swift knew from the horror stories Nyxia had told him that the misconception had hurt so many of her family members from such a simple assumption.

Flickerwick’s own history was full of forcing their Traited children to gravitate towards the flame through torturous methods and the amount of horror stories Strongbow had told his mother under hushed whispers at night. When their descendants dared to try to choose outside that expectation they were sent to the main noble house Chimera to be anything but Fire Traited. Whether they liked it or not.

“Oh, really? So I’m supposed to believe Stealth turned against me of his own accord?”

His voice was far harsher than he expected, the cold grating against his throat while he hunkered down with his soup bowl and tried to keep a lot of the cold out. Not all Fire Traited enjoy heat just as not every Air Traited dealt with the cold well but in some way or another they all dealt with being susceptible. Pulling up the pale furred hood to block the wind and rain, Silvera continued to fiddle with her tools to stop herself from getting too overheated.

"If you knew the same things I did about your twin you wouldn't be saying that. Stealth made his choice. I didn't say anything to him but I doubt you'd believe me anyways."

Swift’s Trait howled for his childhood now broken by all the revelations of necromancy and his twin before being thrown aside without answers, compassion or understanding. But he was only a kid. Sometimes his Air Trait knew what he didn’t. He wished it was the same for his Trill.