The trees in this area are tall and thin, indicating we've gone further north than I would care to be at this time of year (warm? Yes. Dangerous? Very.), but even though we're attached at the hip to a glowing danger magnet, only a few bloodthirsty woods beasts have thrown themselves at us, and they were promptly swatted down like a fly by our new companion, who glows like a fire even in the dead of night.

I am relieved beyond belief she is on our side.

When the woods clear, we find ourselves standing in a small, almost closed off stretch of land, the buildings clustered about themselves like a group of young rodents huddled together for warmth in their den. The trees on all sides seem to grow as we enter the town, as if trapping us within, and an unseasonably chill wind rips through my fur. The lightless, uninhabited buildings are equally overwhelming in height, although a few have been burned down.

I follow Illuet and Altair into the innards of the city and feel a jolt up my leg. I look down to see a flower laying in the grass, its petals spread out like limbs. As I draw my paw away, I notice that the center is bulbous, unlike any flower I've ever seen, and the petals curl to offer the spherical bounty to me. I look back to my companions and find the little white flowers are everywhere, many of which are growing through walls or in houses. Unease stirs in me, bitter beneath my tongue, and I lower my tail and keep walking.

"I thought there was a town here." Illuet whispers. "The last map I looked at had this as a small town, reasonably friendly, far away from bandit populations... I figured it would be amicable enough that we'd be welcome, but obscure enough that we'd be safe."

"Neither of us blame you. Maps are fickle, especially with a landscape that changes as fast as ours." Altair says.

Snidely, I add, "Technically, empty is safe. You know, empty, ominous, probably covered in some dark magicks that will get all of us killed... but on the bright side, no Sentients."

Illuet's face falls. "Good to know you're a safety expert. Weren't you in Weltva?"

"You knew?" I ask, embarrassed.

She scoffs. "Please, everyone in the town knew. You had their stench on you, Weltva is just south..."

"And they let us in? How in Verhamera's name is that town not ravaged and burned to the ground?" I ask beneath my breath.

"It very well could have been by now." she says, her voice an octave lower. "Let's go find somewhere to stay the night." She stalks through the town, navigating round the charred corpses of homes and the empty, pillaged sheds with the doors thrown off, towards the center of town. The flowers pick up in number around us, standing bolt upright, and the bulbous seeds contained within enhance in size. The petals are shoved aside by the bulging centers, the stalks firmer, and we find ourselves stepping around each of them. Though I've seen no bones in this town, save for the rare glint of white in the overturned earth, the flowers have the same coloration... and cause a similar sense of unease.

Altair is still wincing with every step. I press into him, shouldering one of the falling bags, and he exhales heavily. "We could be asleep at the Homestead right now," he says. "You promised Aunna Engreaves--"

"I didn't promise her anything," I say. When he shoots me a seething glare, I add, "Didn't break a single rule. I just needed to leave."

"You're impossible," Altair says, unable to even manage the grimmest of teasing smiles. He hits one of the flowers and falls over, legs spread out and thrashing, his stub of an antler facing upwards and his eyes wild. I see something bright and dangerous reflected in his eyes, and as I turn, I see a candlelight approaching in the dusk.

"Stay back," Illuet and I say in near unison.

Illuet's light overtakes him long before he comes close enough for his candle to reveal his face. Our visitor is grim in the face, his jaw long and jowls sagging, and his fur is white in patches, not from age but something far more disquieting. This meshes with flashes of singed fur to create a salt-and-pepper look. He is plain... shockingly so. The 'candle' is a single flame, holding in the air, and in a hoarse voice, the Canira whispers, "'Ave you come to finish the job?"

Illuet shakes her head. "N-no... what happened here?"

"Beasts 'f the north, baring rainbow flames. 'ere are so many who will seize on anyone they find unprotected, these days... small towns are breeding grounds for bones." he says, "You running away from somethin'?"

"A lot of somethings," I say. "No one's on us right now, though, so we're uh... not a threat. We just need somewhere to sleep." That was unbelievably poor. I wince.

Slowly, the Canira's head inclines, showing off the little ginger fur untouched by his dual afflictions. He turns and padss further into the deepest parts of the town. I cast Altair a glance and he, upon pulling himself up, follows. Illuet and I trail on either side of him, at last reaching a low-lying edifice as the center of town, a sprawling house with only the smallest upper floor. The light that seeps through is dull, dying out on the next row of homes, but as we step in the boards are respectable wood and the rooms well-furnished, much like Garrand's. Many burned or ruined things are clustered in the corners, disrupting the regular symmetry of the interior decor, but the kitchen is near untouched. Rows of meat hang from the ceiling, alongside various roasts and a massive spice rack. The Canira is cooking in the center, spitting out embers to light a pyre over which a cauldron of steaming liquid sits.

"No way. I've never seen this kind of wealth just... lying around. Who would ravage a village and leave things like this?" I whisper into Altair's left ear. He nods, dumbstruck, but I can see the unease in his eyes.

"What's mine is yours," calls the Canira, and it takes me to second to process this is merely a greeting. "I'll 'ave dinner ready in a few shakes of a tail."

I lick my chops, and Illuet pulls me aside with a thwack of her tail. I follow her into the corner while Altair steps forwards to speak with the ginger Canira, who is raspily humming while he works. When we're out of earshot, Illuet asks, "What are you doing?"

"Standing. In the kitchen. What are you doing, Illuet?" I respond primly.

"You and Altair were--look. I'm not travelling with thieves. Steal anything and I leave you."

"The best company really is no company, huh? We're as kind as you meet on the road these days." I grin. All the towns are mobs. All the travellers will feast on your gold and entrails if they can get to them. "At least we aren't killing anyone."

"That doesn't mean you can take valuables out from under anyone. It's- it's like stealing bones."

My face falls, and I feel my teeth grit. "Nothing about this is like stealing bones. Are you seriously preaching to me after telling us to ditch my brother? Furthermore, I don't do 'scams' or 'stealing'. I do fair, mutually agreed upon trades, and if you want to preach you can turn back to Heaven's Jaw. I'm sure they'd appreciate having you back on board."

Her eyes widen. "You son of a--"

Altair's voice heightens, "--aaand could we not talk about Heaven's Jaw right now? Or its members?"

Forget the stew, I'm boiling on all sides here. I yell, "So, how about some soup?"

The Canira grabs the bowl by the handle and raises it effortlessly, the steaming liquid angrily sloshing about inside. "After you," Altair says, allowing Illuet into the dining hall, and she gives him a curt nod and a slight smile before settling in at the lush cushions.

As we file in, the Canira says proudly, "This 'ere's the hearth of th' town."

The room smells like fabric, which makes sense given that it's practically covered wall to wall in an excess of the stuff. Dust hangs heavy on every surface, but the threads are so vibrant that even beneath this crummy layer of sediment they are radiant and awe-inspiringly beautiful. Mythological scenes play out on every spare inch of room, depicting haloed Canis dashing across picturesque forests or a faceless goddess with three pairs of horns instead of the usual two spread out in an arc around her. They are so long that the tapestries imply that they extend off into space, unending. Around Verhamera's paws cluster all the many varieties of Canira and an ensemble of Canis picked from different worlds, where they grew many years before a bright light returned them to their first home. At the center of her heart is a small rendition of Aislyn, first Auspicia. Other tapestries show Aislyn in more detail, anywhere from two to six wings extended on her back, and her quests across Dreamland in order to save the world from the threat of the sinister Obsidians, a race with no free will or light within them.

Altair is surveying different stories. The sparing of the first Fauna. Of course his eyes are drawn to it. Look how the swollen-legged bastard of the earth, abomination of the system lays low, peering upwards at the benevolent Canis. Look at all the fear in his face, and see how the artist has positioned him so he looks directly into Aislyn's mouth. It would be easy to say he was afraid of her, but a single thread sharpening the gaze implies he is looking at the easiest bones to steal in order to enhance his visions of the future.

They couldn't even depict a kindness without being cruel.

The walls move on to other Auspicias, all of them new incarnations of the first, and I scale their less strenuous ventures with a critical eye. "These are a lot of tapestries." I breathe, and Illuet shoots me a dirty look. Even Altair is shaking his head... like we need tapestries in our inventory. The first piece of art we allow into our practical, generally military stock, heralds the day we truly become merchants. Still, I must admit I have a healthy respect for the arts, and it's not as if I feel compelled to steal everything I touch.

The Canira stalks around the table, offering up ladles of hot stew and pouring them into our bowls. I can see the aging meat chunks in each, bobbing up and down in the broth, and Altair flinches.

"Are you feelin' well?" asks the Canira, dipping his head to Altair as he places the ladle back in.

"Merely a little tired, and, err... I don't eat meat." His stomach mumbles unthankfully. "Could I g-graze outside?"

"No," snaps the Canira, a sudden spark of energy in his face. As quickly as it came, it retreats, and both of them settle back into their seats. Altair keeps a con's calm, but his eyes twitch. He looks down at the stew, nostrils flared, and lets it cool, moving his head back so that the steam stays far from his face.

Slurping my own meal, I look up with my jaw dripping to ask, "So you're..."

"Cinnabar." says the Canira, lapping up soup from his own bowl. "You left your family, eh?"

"Left them? They're perfectly safe." I respond, coolly. I blow over the broth, watching a meat chunk roll over in the yellow, oily liquid.

Cinnabar narrows his eyes. "I wouldn' count on that."

"They're safer without me than they'd ever be with me," I say, a rising growl in my voice. I search his face for the warning snarl or twitch that might initiate a brawl. I'd be dead in seconds in a proper fight for dominance, which are generally uncommon, but I am challenging him in his own home. Altair is shaking his head slowly, eyes wide, and Illuet has her tongue in the soup, staring at me like I've begun foaming at the mouth.

"An' you say this because..." cinnabar's head raises, revealing a confused but intrigued expression slowly creasing along his dark features.

"Trouble follows Altair and I--" I begin, but the words are hollow in my throat.

"This is a poor thing to discuss in front our host," Altair suggests.

"I'm listenin'," Cinnabar mutters. "Keep going."

"Hawk. You're free to stick your own hindleg up in your mouth at any time now." Illuet warns.

"Rule twenty. Bite your tongue, spare your tail." agrees Altair.

Finally, I slam my paws on the table, and soup clatters everywhere. The broth licks the lip of the cauldron before settling, but several of the bowls have spilled. My own is dripping down my chest, and furiously, shaking from hot liquid and the indignity of the situation, I ask, "Are you all going to guilt trip me all night?"

Altair rises. "Are you going to apologize? Otherwise, I might not."

"I'm sorry, I didn't want this to happen, and you should have stayed at home. It is safe, they would have taken care of you, and they do need you more than they need me now."

"Oh, for Verhamera's sake, just admit you want to be on the road, Hawk! No one's going to be offended. You have no pride to spare. Just say it already."

"I do, but I want to be with you too... I want the best for you, and things are bad right now, and I thought--maybe that's not me. Maybe whatever's in my head is dangerous and it'll keep getting worse and-- yes. I want to be on the road. I want it more than anything." I admit, finally. I lower my head. "Thank you for your hospitality. We'll be out of your fur in the morning, and I'm sorry you've been swindled into helping us."

Cinnabar nods. I pad out of the room, still casting a look over my shoulder, and Altair moves to follow and falls again. Whatever willpower was holding up his leg has given at last, and with a soft moan of pain he settles back onto his shaking leg, tucking tail.

"I'll 'elp you up best I can..." Cinnabar says.

"Me too." Illuet says. "I'm rusty, but I practiced a little healing in the past."

"No need. We have plenty of medicinal herbs in the bag," Altair says. "Now that we're safe and situated, I can..." I'm almost out of earshot, but my pawstep is slowing. I find myself drifting off towards the side, closer to the window so that I can look out at the ominous fields of white flowers. They wave to me, in a manner that could either be a cheerful, colloquial wag or a summons. "May I ask what's so dangerous about grazing? Not to trespass, but... I am starving."

"I can't have you eating them. I don't know how far their souls extend." says Cinnabar.

"Them?" White flowers. White bone. Fields of clover like endless shaggy pelts, so close together that they become indivisible.

"My family. My friends. All the other inhabitants of this village were wiped out by a band of bandits." Cinnabar growls. "Reckon those seeds contain power unlike nothing the world's ever known. 'ey are the grief of lives cut short in their prime, of a body ransacked. The very earth reachin' up to fill in the 'oles left by that taken from the bone... I've been calling 'em Sorrows, but it doesn' matter much what I call 'em. Bandits'll be back to finish the job. Anyday now."

"We can protect you," Illuet offers.

"You can come with us." Altair adds. "We'll pack what we can and get on the road."

"No need," Cinnabar says. "No need."

I squint at the plants. Altair enters the room, supported by Cinnabar and Illuet, both of whom are watching me watch the ruined city. I turn from the window, ears flattened, and manage, "Sorry."

"You didn' kill anyone yet. No reason t' be sorry." Cinnabar says, but I can hear the touch of disdain in his voice. He jerks his head towards the steps and leads us up to the attic, lit only by the embers hanging around him in the gloom and Illuet's insistent glow. He gestures to a few spare blankets, poor in condition from wear. "Sleep. It'll clear your 'eads."

Altair lays down, sliding off the herb bag and beginning to bandage his upper leg. Illuet scoots into a corner, wrapping herself in the blankets. She is bright even from within her swaddling, and she pokes her nose out. "Sorry. I know I'm a bit of a pain to sleep with."

I blink, keeping my snide tongue to myself. Sentiment stirs my stomach more than the rich food. The road is pitiless, but I'm beginning to think I need that. I slump further against the ground, imagining myself as another blanket on the ground, motionless and lifeless, worn through. Deeper within myself, my mind busies itself with puns to use on our next heist. My brain begs for action.

"Where to, then?" Altair asks.

"I don't know. I want to do something," I say. "We don't have the seeker on us anymore, so I haven't the slightest clue how I'm getting home."

"That... was a terrible move for a con." Altair sighs. "Losing your edge?"

"You wish," I say, cuffing his ear with my paw. His bounces, and he gives me a sad smile.

"I didn't want to guilt trip you." He lowers his head onto my back.

"You have big eyes. They always look sad." I open my maw and let out a large yawn. I follow this with a stretch, forcing his head off of my back, and I realize with a jolt how sore I am from a day's worth of running and close calls. "Hey. Where to next? Are we really heading home?"

"Illuet could portal us off in the area. Then she'd be free of us too."

The room brightens as Illuet bursts from her blankets. "Illuet would like to be in this conversation, too, given that Illuet is right here. Firstly, you can't exactly... portal anywhere too specific during the Dog Days. I barely managed to portal to the woods south of here, because it's in the middle of nowhere, but trying to bend space where there's a plethora of other magical beings, especially space-bending ones, is going to be a catastrophe. I've never been to your home--"

"--and it's specifically hidden by Defender-level protocol," adds Altair. "If we described an area to you, could you take us there?"

"Can you put a needle through fabric you can't see and have never touched before in your life?" she asks. "Look. I do want-- I want to help." She says this like it's some kind of revelation.

"We appreciate the altruism." I say, dully.

"I shouldn't be helping." she adds.

"Burning things?" I say.

"Eh?"

"Earlier. You mentioned that things that get too close to you burn... something like that." I trail off, holding every detail on my tongue.

"Stars," Illuet says. "I am a complete scatterbrain. It was a terrible thing to tell strangers, too. Who leads with that?"

"It's alright. Hawk is pretentious too. Ever wonder why we're a mere party of two?"

"Pretentious?" she says, offended. "I'm..." Snatching another glance at me, she admits, "fairly pretentious, apparently. I meant I shouldn't be helping con artists."

"Did con artists kill your parents?" I ask.

She tilts her head, the ghost of momentary shock bright in her eyes. "What is your sense of humor, exactly?"
"Poor," I respond. "I guess we're trekking south on paw, then. If we get to another safe city, we can send help here, feel good about ourselves, and move on." With a backwards glance over my shoulder, towards the window, I add, "I can't stay here. It's depressing and the valuables are going to make me cry."

"I don't think I could be here for long either, but I don't feel good about leaving Cinnabar here unattended," Illuet says.

Altair nods, but he's looking at his legs. I see his mouth open and place my paw on his hoof, flashing him a dire look. Rule three. If he were to stay... I suppose I'd stay too, but the idea is making me nauseous.

Altair speaks anyways. "You were fine leaving behind Okari."

Phew.

"Okari's not going to die, and we were." Illuet says. She looks at us both and tenses up her muzzle like she's just consumed a lemon raw. "Fine. Let's just establish, right now, that I don't get to take the moral high ground now or ever again. I've lost that liberty a long time ago."

"Why?" I ask. Frightful curiosity running through me, I venture, "Did you kill someone?"

"No," she says, and I want to fully invest in her honesty, but she hesitates. "I went on the road."

"What's so bad about being on the road?" Altair asks.

She stares at us again, eyes full of light, curiosity, confusion, and perhaps a touch of fear. Finally, she tightens the ribbons about her ears, and her light flickers and fades to a duller glow that is finally tempered out by her blankets. I pull my own blanket up around Altair and I, covering his leg, and fashion the others into a kind of nest. The smell makes my heart flutter in the way the Homestead furniture does. These are well-loved places, and naturally that makes things even worse.

The night is long, and I can see the reflection of two moons on the black roofs, their white sheen glimmering like teeth. Above is a maze of stars, glistening with contempt. They know what awaits me in my dreams, at the end of the road, everything. They know I could drink soup for years and still go to sleep starving.