I must have fallen asleep at some point, lulled by the rock of the carriage, because the next thing I know there is soft light creeping through the window. It holds the faintest touch of warmth, enough to brush over my skin, but thankfully it does not awaken my flame.

Feeling for the window, I shift myself upright, eyes gradually teased open by the light. My fingertips press against the glass, yet it does not feel properly smooth. For a moment, confusion strikes through me, until my eyes open further and I make out the dark shape of the glove resting against the window. It is all I need to remember.

Sitting fully upright, I glance over at the seat opposite. The face I find there startles me.

Instead of Finlay, an unfamiliar man sits in the far corner, his legs stretched out over the seat. His helmet rests beside him, allowing the light to catch his pale blonde hair, but otherwise he is in full armour. With his right hand, he tosses a dagger into the air. The hilt spins all the way round before landing perfectly in his grip again.

His gaze snaps to me, dagger twisting in my direction. I flinch. He is certainly not as friendly as Finlay.

The narrowed nature of his eyes evokes the image of a predator on the prowl. It doesn't help that he remains silent. He examines me wordlessly, as if sizing me up, the dagger still clutched in his hand. Even as he spins it in the air again, he doesn't look away.

A shiver runs up my spine. I debate saying something, perhaps asking where Finlay has gone, but any words have been impaled by the sharpened point of his dagger. Instead, I tear my own gaze away, staring out of the window. If I try hard enough, I can forget he is watching me.

Outside, the sun is just peeking above the horizon, the sky smudged with orange. The spindly shapes of trees are shadowed by the light behind. They are still reasonably sparse, but more frequent than they were last night. Their branches have been picked bare so that their silhouettes appear like fragments of bone stitched together. It must be winter, or at least the beginnings of it.

We are moving slowly, the trees edging across my view. The question of how close we are to our destination rises to my throat, but I swallow it, the new soldier's gaze stabbing into the back of my head.

I give my head a shake, refocusing on the land. A smile plays over my lips. I am witnessing my first ever sunrise.

It soon transforms into a frown. Winter is supposed to be the season of cold. So why did it feel so hot yesterday? That searing heat hardly matched her descriptions of winter, and it does not fit with the scene before me either. This barren land is one paled by frost. The rays may be bright, but they are weak.

My hands itch beneath my gloves as I glance down at them. If the sun is weak, then I'm not sure what that makes me. I can only hope its warmth changes by day, and that its searing effect will be over now.

All of a sudden, the carriage lurches forwards, forcing me to grab for the edge of my seat to prevent me sliding off it. The trees still, and the movement beneath my feet ceases. It seems at least one of my questions is answered, if this stop means we have arrived.

Pulling away from the window, I glance tentatively over at the soldier. He has swung his legs out in front of him, his helmet equipped and dagger hooked into a belt at his waist. Much to my relief, his gaze is turned from me as he peers towards the carriage side opposite the window. I notice for the first time a faint rectangular outline traced across the smooth blue-tinged surface.

A few seconds pass in which I silently will him to tell me what is happening -- annoyingly with no result -- before light splits the line into a crack and a door opens outwards. The man outside is there for barely a second before he vanishes towards the front of the carriage, but I catch a glimpse of his cyan uniform.

Without looking at me, the soldier springs from his seat, ducking as he hops through the doorway and out of the carriage. I rise, then hesitate, glancing over at the place where Finlay sat. His blue feather lies there, its hue only a touch brighter than the fabric of the seat. Why would he leave it behind? He seemed keen to keep it close to him, and from the way he tried to hide it from me, it must be something important.

A harsh tap draws my head up. The blonde soldier meets my eyes, the hilt of his dagger resting against the side of the doorway. Its point glistens in the increased daylight. Hurriedly, I reach for the feather, carefully sliding its delicate stem inside my glove, before heading after him.

He leaps backwards as I linger at the doorway. There are a few other carriages visible at this side, all lit with a greyish dullness the sun hasn't yet chased away, with soldiers clambering out of each. It can't be warm. It certainly doesn't feel stifling in this carriage. Stepping out shouldn't be a problem.

The soldier weaves his dagger between his fingers. Even in the dim light, his hair appears almost white now he stands under it. It is odd how he can look so much like the hunter and the wary prey at the same time, although I decide his expression tips him towards the former.

I take a breath and plant one foot on the ground, my new boot clunking as it comes into contact with the earth. My flame bursts up around my wrist, a skight sting accompanying it. It licks at the sun-touched air, as if stealing away warmth and forcing it beneath my skin.

Hidden from view, Finlay's feather tickles the back of my hand. Another breath, and the flame vanishes. Progress.

The other foot lands beside the first. I'm fully out in the sunlight, and while my fire is a little too warm for my liking, it is controllable.

A few more steps forward, and nothing changes. Relief relaxes the tightness in my chest. I'm not entirely cursed, not enough that I cannot experience the daylight.

I glance back at the soldier, half-hoping he shares the faint glee rising within me. Yet his eyes are unchanged, and his dagger still jabs in my direction. Definitely nothing like Finlay.

Desperate for somewhere else to look but at him, I turn, searching the area. Our carriage, I can now see, is made of wood, curved smoothly upwards. To the left of the door, the silver outline of a boat with huge black sails sits atop a swathe of aquamarine. Neyaibet's symbol, I remember -- their famous ship riding the crest of a wave. She described it well. It is a perfect show of prowess.

The cyan-clad man I saw before is by the side of two creatures some part of me identifies as horses. I'm sure she told me they pulled carriages. He runs a hand through the short brown fur on the closest horse's flank, reaching up to unclip them from their bonds. It shakes its head with a snort, fanning out the lighter tufted fur that runs down its neck.

Curious, I creep closer. The horse's dark eye seems to track my steps. It paws at the ground, rounded feet hitting loud enough to vibrate the earth. As I take another step, it suddenly rears up, a strange sound somewhere close to a laugh yet wrought with fear emerging from its snout.

Panic squirms in my chest. I hold up my hands, hoping to calm it, but that seems only to worsen things. Its movements are wild. It is a blessing that it is still bound to the carriage, or else I am sure it would have bolted.

The man previously dealing with their binds now hastens to the horse's head, patting at its neck and whispering softly. It stops rearing, but its feet still beat at the ground. I back away, aware of my flame's prick beneath my gloves. The layer of protection has some use after all.

Whipping around, he glares at me, yet I notice the tremble in his hand as it rests on the horse's side. "Stay away," he snaps.

I duck my head, forcing my hands to lower. "I only..." No, this is no time for excuses. "I'm sorry."

He attempts to meet my eyes, then quickly looks past me towards the soldier. "Camdyn, get him out of here."

Turning away from the horses, I catch Camdyn's nod. He still says nothing, which doesn't help the building tension. I clench my fist at my side. If only my flame didn't respond so furiously to this shame.

He jerks the point of his dagger to my left, then sets off, jamming it into his belt as he strides past another carriage identical to ours. As I follow, I cast a quick glance towards the sun, which has now almost cleared the horizon. I can still cope with its brightness, but any elation for that has gone. Simply being in the sun's presence shouldn't fool me into thinking I am at all like anyone else.

Stares seem to pierce me from all sides as we pass gathered groups of arriving soldiers. Some are sharpening swords or polishing breastplates, while others test the strings of bows, but all look up as I pass, as if my very footsteps create a rippling vibration of unease. By now, it shouldn't surprise me, but a knot still forms in my stomach.

Doing my best not to focus on them, I scan the rest of the fields. I count five carriages besides the one we arrived on, plus probably triple that number of horses. Beyond, the land dips in the distance, and I catch the faintest gleam of water. The River Oscei, perhaps? From what I've been told, that widens out into the Neyai Sea. If Neyaibet prefer boats to carriages, then it would make sense for us to board one and travel over water for the remainder of the journey.

Camdyn doesn't lead me in the direction of the river, however. He strides towards the furthest carriage. It is already detached from its horses, which now lie in the grass beside it. I quickly halt, afraid to come too close, letting him approach alone.

Two soldiers sit leaning against the side of the carriage. With a jolt, I recognise them both, and am glad I held back.

Stabbing her sword hard into the dirt, Edita rises, a glint in her eye. "Cam. Finally."

"You shouldn't do that," Tyler says, glancing briefly up from the arrow he is examining. He waves vaguely at her sword sticking upright from where she placed it. "It'll dull the blade."

She rolls her eyes. The heel of her boot kicks his shin as she steps forward. The absence of her helmet reveals dark hair the colour of tree bark, tied up with a piece of white fabric. It sweeps over her shoulder blades as her head snaps to look at me, the action so forceful I'm surprised she doesn't injure her neck.

"You're still alive," she observes.

Maybe it is just the heat getting to me, but her tone is somewhat amusing. I shrug. "That is an unfortunate consequence of my existence."

She sticks her middle finger up at me -- a rather puzzling gesture, but I'm not exactly in a place to ask -- and turns to Camdyn. "Let's move. Quickly, before I murder him in front of everyone."

It's difficult to tell how serious she is. Finlay did make reference to Harlow killing him, but he called that an expression. Perhaps people in Neyaibet enjoy joking about killing one another.

With a nod, Camdyn spins on his heels, still twirling his dagger. I notice its handle almost matches his hair: a slightly brighter shade that isn't quite white. While Tyler rises slowly, attention still on his arrow, Edita wrenches her sword from the ground and slides it heavily into its place at her side, but her hand doesn't leave the hilt. Her gaze locks on me.

"Follow us," she commands. Her eyes are fierce.

I swallow. Maybe she wasn't joking. "But shouldn't I--"

"Follow us," she repeats, harsher. "Or I will gladly put this sword through your chest."

There is no room for humour among the growls of her tone. I nod, pushing aside any hope of finding Finlay or Harlow, or anyone I remotely trust not to spontaneously decide to kill me.

Tyler slings his bow over his shoulder. There is already a sack of arrows at his back, the one he was holding returned to that collection. He gives me an unreadable glance before starting out away from the carriages, onto the empty plains, Edita at his side. Camdyn lingers, flicking the point of his dagger forwards.

With a hurried surveyance of the carriage, searching in vain for Finlay among the soldiers, I follow after Edita and Tyler, keeping as much distance as I dare. Even without looking back, I sense Camdyn prowling behind me. Flames prickle at the back of my neck.

Harlow's voice comes to me, ringing like the toll of a bell. I wouldn't use the term 'freedom' so loosely. I see now what he meant. I might be out in the open air, without a physical cell to cage me, but still I have no choice on where I go. The soldiers that enclose me may as well be bars -- except if I try to break these, they will fight back.

I shake my head, feeling for the feather beneath my glove. It is foolish to think that way. I am lucky to be free, and besides, I shouldn't give up on them so easily. They have every right to hate me after what happened to Oswin, but that doesn't mean I can't change their minds. Or at least make some semblance of light conversation.

Glancing back, I realise Camdyn is closer than I thought, and increase my pace while I grasp for words. "So," I try, searching the back of Edita's head, "where are we going?"

Neither of them turn. "We're taking you somewhere safe," Tyler says smoothly.

"Ah." I press my fingertips together, the rough inside edge of my glove digging into my skin. "Is that Neyaibet?" Although we aren't heading towards the river. All that lies ahead of us is a cluster of trees and a lot of empty plains.

The only response I get is Camdyn's snicker from behind. Perhaps not the right question.

I look up at the sky, brighter now than it was before, an icy blue streaked with greying clouds. "Is this... nice weather?"

Finally, Edita shoots a glance over her shoulder. "Did I say you could talk?"

"Just trying to..." I flinch at the sharpness of her glare. "No. Sorry." So much for conversation.

Tight silence quickly falls over us. They keep a brisk pace; I have to strain my legs to maintain a reasonable distance from Camdyn. I'm certainly not used to walking long distances, and the persistent sunlight isn't much help.

A glance backwards confirms just how far we've already travelled. The carriages are barely visible against the pale sky. I can't even distinguish which I arrived on, or the shapes of the soldiers and their horses.

No-one is following us. I doubt they noticed, since we left while most soldiers were still busy getting organised. Just where are we going?

Finlay's feather brushes against my skin as I move my hand, playing with the cuff of my glove. If only he was here. He is the only soldier I might stand a chance at extracting answers from.

When I look ahead again, peering around Tyler, I notice the trees are much closer than before. Dark boughs leave wide shadows as they stretch towards us. When we reach them, I find they provide welcome shelter from the sun, and I release a sigh of contentment as the shade falls over me. It quickly turns into one of annoyance as my flame decides it wants to taste the chill as well, climbing free from the cuffs of my gloves.

Edita's head twitches sideways, watching the fire from the corner of her eye until I force it to recede. Her tightening grip around her sword hilt turns her knuckles white.

Once under the cover of the trees, we finally start to slow, much to the relief of my aching thighs. Beside a particularly thick trunk, with bark gnarled as if several dying branches have been twisted in some orderless tangle, Edita and Tyler halt in sync. I stumble to a stop, turning nervously to check Camdyn isn't still advancing. He folds his arms as he leans against a skinnier tree, dagger held loose in his hand.

Looking down, I run my finger across the seam of my glove, tracing the edge of my hand. I want to ask why they brought me here, why the others didn't follow, even still where Finlay went, but every question dies in my throat. Most of my focus is drilled into keeping my flame hidden.

A sharp twang draws my head up. Tyler, pulling at the string of his bow off to my left. He avoids my searching gaze, though he shoots a pointed glance in Edita's direction. She is examining me with barely disguised malice.

The silence seems to thicken the air, swallowing the rustle of the leaves above. Longing to break it, I scrape up the courage to speak. "Where are we?"

Tyler shrugs, running his fingers down the length of his bowstring. "Just some patch of nameless woodland. Not important."

A twisted smile touches Edita's lips. "Nameless and unimportant. The two do often go hand in hand."

I flinch at the barb in her words. The slight at me is hard to miss.

As I clench my fist, the feather brushes my knuckles. "I... I do have a name," I protest weakly. Noli. I strengthen my tone. "It's Nathaniel."

"Ah, well. Doesn't that make everything so much better?"

I hardly catch Edita's advance, but I certainly hear the slice of her sword clearing its sheath. It glimmers in patches of silver and grey in the shifting shadows of the trees. 

Its point is brightest of all, and clearly jabbed at me.

───── ⋆⋅♛⋅⋆ ─────

Fun fact: Unlike my writing previous, I've ended up writing a fair bit of AToD in the late evening, not long before I sleep. It was during one of my night writing sessions that I introduced Camdyn, who at that point did not have a name. This meant my tired braincell was given the task of naming, and so his original name was Crispín, a name autocorrect provided me with whilst trying to type 'crispy'. Thankfully, once I was more awake I changed it -- first to Wystan, then Camdyn because it fit better -- but yes. Cam started off as Crispy Dude in my mind and it will take a little while for him to shake that off.

Accidental naming has occurred once before, when I named to-be Tyler as Theodore, the name of a friend's character (*coughs and looks at Ace_Guard*). He stayed that way until I went to publish Chapter 3 and realised he was still Theo. I should really stop writing at night--

Anyway, the chapter! Edita and Tyler are back, along with a third friend. I must admit, I am enjoying the dynamics of their little friendship group. Too bad we didn't get to see the complete foursome :/

It's probably not that great to be seeing them again, though. They really don't like our boy. Where has Finlay got to? We need him back, if only to deliver his precious feather. Whatever that is for. That guy be a mystery--

See you all in the next chapter! You'll all love it, I'm sure :D

- Pup