Armand walked off from the medic tent, still clutching the cloth to his eye. After twenty minutes, he'd left the dwelling tents behind and reached an endless wall of carts stacked with boxes and bags that would be hitched up and ready to go when they next made time for moving. Even further than that there were camels. Blessedly, though, he saw barely any people. Which was good, because he needed to make good time as far away as he could before Griffon noticed he was missing and tried to haul him back.

He'd forgotten, momentarily, how hot the sun could be this time of day, and as he walked he pulled his hood up over his head to keep the sun off. He squinted his eyes. Up ahead there wasn't much, just a few pens of camels and goats stored away from the marketplace, where they smelled less and took up less space. He turned and started walking parallel to them. It wouldn't do any good to wander off into the desert.

The mounds of dried dirt and cactus slowly came alive again as he traveled. After an hour or so the goat pens disappeared, only this time they were replaced with storage tents barely covering bits of harness that didn't really look adequate for pulling a cart. A little bit later some tents appeared, but there didn't appear to be anyone keeping watch over them.

After a while, Armand's stomach began to growl. Skipping breakfast after skipping dinner hadn't been a good idea, especially since he carried nothing but his sword and the clothes on his back, and he didn't plan on trading either. Eventually the patchwork tents started to cluster together until, seemingly without warning, an entire patchwork city had appeared. 

A child dressed in rags ran up to Armand and clutched his arms around Armand's leg. Armand grabbed his arm and went to pull him away. The boy stared up at him with large brown eyes and let out a keening whine. There were huge red blisters all over his face.

Armand sighed and shook his head.

"I don't have anything," he said. He remembered when he was little and Griffon used to sneak him bits of spun sugar off the carts in the marketplace. Thinking about it now made his chest squeeze uncomfortably. The child let go and took off back toward whatever part of the tent city it came from.

Armand looked around for any sign of sellswords. For the next hundred yards or so all he could see was families and children who all made him feel nervous that he was dressed in a nice cloak and carrying a finely made weapon. He trudged onward until he came across a group of four men gathered around a table. They all clutched cards in their hand and stared at them intently.

Armand coughed and one of the men peered with his black eyes over his cards in Armand's direction. He wore a leather chestpiece that looked like it barely tied around him, and much of the string that tied it together had rotted to sinew. Still his glare nearly incinerated Armand as he looked him up and down.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"I uh..." Armand sputtered as he took a step backwards. "Are you guys sellswords?" He would have slapped himself in the face had he not already looked so stupid. The large man put his cards down and glanced at his three accomplices, two of whom looked as rough. The third appeared to be about fifteen.

"Yeah, what of it? We're not doing work for some caravan rat. Go bother someone else, kid."

Heat bloomed across Armand's face and he fiddled with the sheath of his sword. The man turned back to his cards and Armand turned to walk away, but stopped in his tracks and turned back.

"Wait."

The man sighed and threw his cards down on the table again. "I told you, I don't--"

"--I'm in the guard!" Armand interrupted. He felt so dizzy he thought he might faint. The man stared at him for a second, a perplexed look on his face, before he and the older two of his cohorts burst into laughter.

 "Yeah, right," the man said. "And I'm from the southern plains. That was a good one." The man turned back to his cards nearly instantaneously and seemed to have forgotten Armand completely.

"I'm serious!" Armand countered in desperation. He could physically feel the lack of wings on his back, so powerful he winced. He glanced between them. The man stared at him for second and whispered something to one of his companions, who nodded.

"Well, you're not the first kid to run away from home and come here. We'll feed you for now but if you're not any good with that sword you'll need to get lost by morning." He folded up the cards and collected those of the other sellswords, then tucked them neatly into his pouch, then stuck out his hand. "Jonah," he said.

Jonah's hand nearly crushed Armand's as he shook it and stood up to his full height. He towered above Armand and made the other guardsmen look tiny by comparison. Armand stifled the urge to take a step away from him. Jonah clapped him on the back so hard Armand almost fell over and opened the flap to their tent.

"Come in," he said. Armand followed him inside to find a large cauldron of stew cooking over a fire. He'd been so distracted by the walk he hadn't noticed it was starting to get cold out. He shrugged his cloak tighter around his shoulder and took a grateful seat around the fire, which enveloped him with warmth. Jonah shoved a bowl of stew into his hands. It had no spoon, but smelled more divine than anything Armand had ever eaten. The others tipped theirs back into their mouths and Armand followed suit. The warm liquid flowed down his throat and suddenly he felt much better. 

When Armand was done he wiped his mouth on his sleeve and looked up to see one of the other sellswords staring at him with quizzical blue eyes. This one had no armor and scruffy, blonde hair with a beard that was a few shades lighter.

"Take you a while to get over here?" he asked.

Armand shrugged. "A while." 

Jonah let out a soft chuckle and refilled Armand's bowl. He drank down half of it in solid gulps, then stopped, uncapped his waterskin, and took a long drag. Soon his stomach was full and his eyelids were heavy.

"Alright, now that we've fed you, we have to see whether you can hold your own weight," Jonah said as he heaved Armand to his feet. Armand followed him outside the tent. It was nearly dark and Armand's stomach fell into his feet a little. He'd never fought in the dark before. Even with the many fires crackling nearby and the light of the full moon above, he completely missed it when Jonah took a swing at his head with the sword. 

Armand twisted out of the way and parried the blow with one of his own. His heart started to race. No one fought with live steel in the caravan, not unless there was an actual threat. His breath heaved in and out of his mouth as he fought desperately to keep Jonah's blade from slicing off anything important. 

Armand thrust his sword forward and it banged against Jonah's with a clash. He pulled it away again and turned, arms loaded like springs, to aim it at his adversary's head. Jonah caught the blade and flicked it easily out of Armand's hands.

Armand's heart dropped all the way into his sandals. He covered his head with his arms and took a step back. He remembered all those early morning training sessions with Griffon. Every wrong foot got matched with a gentle correction, every mistimed strike with a parry that drove him in the right direction. All the times he'd fought and hit and won, and never had he felt so inadequate.

Jonah laughed and sheathed his sword. He grabbed Armand's blade and handed it back to him by the hilt. Armand took it and shoved it halfheartedly into its sheath, then turned to walk. Couldn't fly, couldn't be in the guard, and now couldn't even fight with a sword. 

"Wait, where you heading off to? That was okay," Jonah said. 

Armand stopped in his tracks and turned around. Jonah beamed at him with a smile that melted all the intimidation that radiated off him when he'd sat at the card table and stared Armand down. A wide grin split across Armand's face.

"Really?" he said.

Jonah nodded and jerked his head at the tent. "We've got an extra sleeping roll. You can follow us out at the next city," he said. "Glad to have you, kid."

Armand's steps floated as he walked back to the tent. For the first time in his life he didn't feel like he was just sticking around for the hell of it, or getting in the way. Maybe this was actually what happiness felt like. Happiness so strong he didn't notice the figure watching him from the shadow of the tent.  

----

The sellswords seem to have taken instantly to Armand. Do you think that's a good thing? Should he stay, or go home?