Armand turned in his bed. His eyes felt like someone had placed springs in the corner of them, and try as he might he couldn't get them to close. He let out a grumble of indignation and rolled over onto his other side. Someone might as well have placed rocks under his mattress. He sighed loudly and sat up again.

Try as he might he couldn't wash the look Griffon had given him earlier out of his mind. His eyebrows were drawn in hard lines and he'd darted his eyes around as if trying to avoid the fact that Armand existed. It was the same look he'd gotten the time he'd accidentally set fire to their tent when he was seven and tried to cook breakfast himself. It was the same look he'd gotten when he'd kicked Rannok in the ribs and the same look he'd gotten each and every time he did something he wasn't supposed to. He knew well enough to sneak out and go for a walk before Griffon could ask too many questions.

He looked over at his brother's bedroll. The covers were strewn about and the pad underneath them was crumpled. Neither one of them was scheduled tonight, so where was he? Armand shook his head a few times before he struggled out of the thick layer of blankets and onto his feet. He grabbed a cloak from the pile at the foot of his bed and threw it on. 

The air felt electric on his skin as he shut the tent flap behind him. The evening sun had tinged everything butter yellow with smearings of red. The flaps of the tents around him fluttered in the breeze. Everything was a soothing sort of quiet. By now, everyone would either be asleep, out for the evening, or on duty. If he thought he could get away with it, he'd sneak off, too. But this was different. Armand couldn't remember ever being in this much trouble.

He walked around behind his tent and took a seat on the ground. He looked between the few remaining rows of tents and out into the emptiness. The sand still shimmered on the horizon as it cooled in the evening air. If only the same could be said for his brother's mood. Griffon was a sandstorm, and not much he did would make it stop. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

When he opened them again a tall, angry-looking figure walked towards him. The shadow of Griffon's wings caught in the light of a few remaining lanterns. Armand froze in place while simultaneously trying to shrink further into the ground. He hugged the cloak tighter around himself and pulled it up over his head. Maybe he'd be able to disappear long enough for Griffon to not see him.

When he glanced up, Griffon stared back down at him, arms folded. His icy eyes bore into Armand's forehead even when he didn't look. The silence nearly suffocated him. Armand turned to pick at a patch of ground next to him. 

"We need to talk about the stuff you stole."

Armand didn't answer. Instead he drew circles in the dirt with his finger, as if by doing this, he could eventually dig a hole that would be big enough to escape through. He drew his arms around his knees as blood rushed through his ears.

"I'm serious, Armand."

"I didn't steal anything," Armand responded, and the tips of his ears got hot. Like Griffon would buy that. It was worth a try.

"Do you have any idea how much trouble you're in?"

Armand looked up and met Griffon's eyes. He narrowed his own and his entire face got hot, but not with embarrassment. This was just like all the other times. Armand, do this, don't do that, we'll talk about this later. He wanted to scream. 

"No, I had absolutely no idea I was in trouble. I'm sure that's why you're standing over me like I'm seven and yelling at me for something I didn't do."

"Aegan wants to throw you out of the caravan. You're making it really hard to convince him not to do that," Griffon said as he let out a long sigh and eased himself down onto the ground beside Armand. His wings readjusted themselves automatically on his back. Armand had a terrible, fleeting desire to rip them off. An uncomfortable chill blew between them and Armand rubbed his arms a little to get rid of the feeling.

"I'd get a job or something. I could be a hired sword. Why do you care? All I do is cause trouble, right?" As he said the words he had to swallow down a lump of doubt that rose up in his throat and made him wish he could snatch them back again. 

"How would you feed yourself?" Griffon responded, as if mirroring his own thoughts. "Where would you sleep at night, Armand? You're about to get yourself in a lot more trouble than some silly fight with Aegan. And over what? Some girl? Maybe if you acted a little more responsible Aegan would--"

"I told you, I didn't steal anything," Armand snapped.

Griffon's eyes went dark and his neck started to turn pink. His jaw clenched and Armand flinched and leaned away a little bit.

"I don't want you hanging around that girl anymore. Do you understand? You'll stay in the guard tent unless you're on duty and you won't wander off."

"This is not over a girl!" Armand shouted, pounding the ground with his fist. He stood up and wheeled to face his brother. "You don't get it, do you? How do you think I feel? 'Guard the livestock, Armand. Do one more dumb thing so we can keep you busy. You can't go on scouting missions, because you'd get in the fucking way. And now what? You're gonna ban me from one more thing? You know what? Fuck you. I'll just leave and you won't have to worry about it anymore."

Griffon bolted to his feet and glowered down at Armand. His right hand flexed, then released. His neck went from red, to scarlet, and finally to deep purple as the color crept up into his face like the evaporation of a wick before an explosion. Armand took a step back and stifled the urge to shield his face.

Griffon pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. He took a deep breath out. "I have put a lot on the line for you, Armand. Do you think it was fun having to take care of a two year old at thirteen?" he said quietly. "If you want more responsibility, how about you stop acting like a child? You can't go on scouting missions because people get killed on scouting missions. Older guardsmen. Good ones, with wings. Ones that are better swordsmen than you. I will not let you die because you feel left out."

Armand far would have preferred yelling. He scuffed the dirt with his sandal and shoved his hands in his pocket. His face flushed and he turned away from Griffon.

I just--" Armand responded. "Maybe you shouldn't treat me like I'm still a kid. I'm not, Griffon. I can make my own decisions."

Griffon sighed and shook his head. "Just go," he said.

Armand didn't need to be told twice. He turned on his heel and started walking toward the marketplace. Nothing would be open, except places selling liquor he'd been forbidden from drinking and parties he was forbidden to go to, but at least Griffon wouldn't be there. The wind howled around him and he pulled the hood of his camelskin cloak over his head to block the noise. 

This hour belonged to partygoers, drunks, and criminals. The dim light of evening festivities oozed out the crevices of peoples' tents and through the doors of stopped wagons. The noise drew him forward like a delicious smell. He turned and quickened his pace toward them.

The noise of laughter and chiming music reached his ears before the sight of the marketplace did. Griffon couldn't ban him from everything. Even if he did, what was he going to do? Chase him out? He snorted and kept walking. He doubted at this point Aegan had really made the call as far as scouting missions went. Griffon really was a terrible liar.

The sweet chords of a lute reached his ears and Armand looked around for its source. The music came from a huge and open tent. An orange light made it seem alive from within, as if someone had set it alight, then breathed life into it. An old man popped out from the flap and took a deep breath of sharp, cold air. He turned his attention toward Armand and tilted his head to call him over.

"Something got you down, kid?" the man asked.

"Just trying to clear my head," Armand said. The man smelled like tobacco and something sweet that Armand didn't recognize. He looked at least twice Aegan's age and when he talked, you could see gaps where he'd lost teeth. His hair had gone patchy until it was little more than peach fuzz in some spots and bare in others. Across his shoulders he wore a guard-issue cloak. There were patches sewn into it from a long life of service. There were no wings on his back, and Armand couldn't help but wonder if he'd stolen it.

The man rummaged around in the folds of the cloak until he produced a metal flask. He uncapped it and held it out. Armand took a whiff and a pungent but not altogether unpleasant odor filled his nostrils.

"Take a sip," the man said. "I've learned that everything seems less important come morning."

Armand thought about the expression on Griffon's face only for a moment before he tipped the flask up and took a large drag. An unholy burn bloomed in his nostrils and spread into his lungs as he swallowed. He coughed and wiped his lips on his sleeve, then took another few sips until before he knew it half the flask was empty. He handed the flask back to the man, who chuckled.

"Come inside, stay awhile. You'll feel better."

"I shouldn't. I'll--"

"Oh, stop it. You're young. What could possibly be so important that you can't live for a night? A little bit of fun never hurt anyone." The man smirked and turned to enter the tent. Armand noticed he swayed back and forth a bit when he walked. Against his better judgment, Armand followed him into the tent.

Music bounced off the walls and into Armand's ears and before he knew it someone had shoved a skin of something equally pungent-smelling into his hands. He took a drag and coughed a few more times, then handed it back to the first hand that would take it.

A woman dressed in not much more than her evening cloak tugged him into a circle of people dancing. He could see the sweat glistening on her shoulders as she linked her arm in his. Yet another person handed him a wooden cup of something that tasted like it had gone off. He made a face and drained the cup anyway.

Armand's head began to feel warm and light and fuzzy. He tried to walk across the circle to where a different woman waited with outstretched hands to take his, but he fell instead. A man wearing a gold necklace intertwined his arm with his and yanked him to his feet. Armand leaned on him, tilted his head back, and started laughing. The man made a face and let go and Armand stumbled forward and caught himself on a bench. The woman from before steadied him and helped him to sit down. Armand thought for a second about leaving, but he could scarcely feel his legs, let alone come up with the motivation to actually use them. 

Someone started singing a song. Armand sang along with everyone else in the tent, oblivious to the words but only caring about how funny his own voice sounded when he sang them. Soon thereafter he lost the ability to comprehend anything but the noise and the sound of his own voice.

At some point, hours later, he must have stumbled out of the tent and back toward the guard area. One of the men who had been at the party followed him. They laughed loudly at one another's jokes, though Armand could scarcely understand what the man said through his slurred speech.

He woke up the next morning with a vicious headache and little recollection of the previous night's encounters. But Griffon was nowhere to be found, and that was good enough for him. He groaned. If Griffon found him, he'd be in for another talk about...responsibility, or something vague like that, he was sure of it. Maybe if he avoided the caravan for the rest of the day he could avoid the conversation.

    ---

What do you think of Armand's reaction to being in trouble with his brother? Do you think the party was the right thing to do? Put your opinion in the comments!