"You're not dead, then."

Swift’s brain latched onto the words one at a time. Someone was talking to him. Synapses clicked together even as his eyes opened like the curtains on a circus tent. His breath hitched, the thoughts tumbling and falling like acrobats while colour and shapes flashed before his eyes. He panicked. Silvera. The voice was hers. She was here.

The red haze of fire blurred his vision, the sharp smile paired with her deadly knives sent his fear spiking, praying that his locked legs were due to anxiety rather than any ropes tied around his legs and arms. Silvera brandished a long, metal rod pointing it towards the flames as if searing the weapon with heat like preparing to mark a slave. Preparing to torture him.

"What are you, what…"

His Trill slammed into him like a dragon tearing voraciously through the Limelight tent, his eyes squinting like the end of the first act as the stage turned to black. He looked up. Pod-like structures hanging against the treetops bobbed about in the distance like endless stars despite blocking out the vast sky, surrounded by trees that didn’t have a point and vines that latched on at impossible angles. He had never seen anything like it. It was blissfully calm even as his head swam with fear.

"Relax. Eat."

He looked at her. There was no blunt tools, no vials of acid, no torture chamber. There was a campfire. And a girl handing him something. The vine noose that had caught around his legs was nowhere in sight, instead he was cocooned by a fur lined sleeping bag that was far too well made to be anything he owned. The unfamiliar campsite was tinged in an amber glow of familiar firelight but the contraption surrounding it was far beyond his family's capabilities. At least he wasn’t being tortured.

A strange, slightly domed, partially open, wooden box with small holes that had incredibly thin sticks intertwined within it seemed to capture the flame inside it and transformed it from an amber ball of light to a smoky, see-through gas. With a speed Swift didn’t know someone could possess, Silvera tossed a large clump of leaves onto the box and turned a few of the wooden sticks which turned the heat evenly until the smoke evaporated. Something clicked together in a moment of jubilation. Silvera Flickerwick, the heir to one of the most prestigious Nocturian families, was camping in the middle of nowhere and cooking of her own free will.

"See? Safe. Unless you don't want my special steam leaf dumplings?"

Before Swift’s stomach could even growl, the warmly dressed Fire Traited handed him a skewer of what looked like a small parcel wrapped around a stick. It was wrapped securely with what looked like some kind of strange pale, discoloured vegetables but it looked really tasty with what looked like oozing cheese. But all Swift could think about was how Silvera had treated his Agar, the thought of Whisper’s incorporeal form being disintegrated by a callous teenager. 

He flinched, drawing his hand back warily even as she grabbed her own skewer full of delicious, hot juices and took a bite of the strange wrapped food. His stomach growled loudly as he watched her eat, his bladder protesting in response to not having relieved himself since the morning and the thought of food was consumed by fear. He pulled the sleeping bag up towards him to distract himself as the cold night air made him shiver, jealous of Silvera’s large coat lined in the same fur.

"Why are you helping me?"

Silvera didn’t respond, letting the question hang in the air like her cold, wisps of breath as she finished off her meal. Licking at the last bit of steamed vegetable dumpling on the cleanly whittled skewer, Silvera took out a small, clay pot of unfamiliar liquid and dipped the stick in it before securing it tight with a wax lid. Swift barely caught the sight of an unfamiliar sigil branded within the clay but it was pocketed before he could get a clear look at it. 

"Look, I've just been exiled from my home, my family, my Agar is gone and my head is about to split open from the sheer noise you're making from everything. So either tell me what you want or get it over with." Swift demanded, the evening sky dimming as if to prove his point further.

The wild winds from the north whipped up enough of a squall to send embers of flame sputtering out onto the damp patches of grass but still Silvera busied herself with menial tasks. Stretching, she continued to turn the box in the same way even as she removed her coat and gloves before leaning back behind her and tossing something in his direction. He shrank away from it, leaving the sack at his feet like an unwanted animal in his sleeping bag.

"About time you grew a spine, Swiftling."

Her smile kept its edge as she threw off the false nice act like a bad headache, keeping her knives close to her but for some reason kept some of them in its leather sheaths. They had the same sigil the pot had, no longer the flashy gold tipped one’s but plain and carved with what looks like obsidian. She bobbed her head towards the sack she had thrown towards him but he still didn’t pick it up, fearful even as she rolled her eyes and paid him no mind. 

Swift continued to watch her precariously, folding her coat and stowing it away in her makeshift lean to set up in the gnarled boughs of a few old trees. He couldn’t help admit that Silvera seemed to know what she was doing, the inside of the tree being hollow enough to keep her things safe and dry while acting as a strong enough foundation for her canvas lined with a slick, waterproof oil and tightly woven leaves.

"What do you want, Silvera?" He repeated, gingerly picking at the skewer despite Silvera snacking on a second.

Narrowing her eyes at his attempts to nitpick her food, she shook her head, smiling a little and began to prepare some more ingredients instead. Swift couldn’t help but note how calm she was, her content expression startling him even as she used her knives to help in something so simple as peeling and chopping something to eat.

His hunger finally outlasted his stubbornness as he tucked into something edible for the first time in what felt like days. It was gone in seconds, the gooey cheese acting as a rich filling surrounding the slightly soggy vegetables. Had he eaten it when Silvera had given it to him perhaps it would have been a lot more crunchy but the half cooled dumpling thing was admittedly delicious but slightly cold. He could eat ten of those easily.

"As I said, when you were busy running like a dumbass. I don't want anything."

Silvera’s Fire Trait singed the wrapping on the dumplings she was working on, the rain petering it out before it could spread but she was clearly annoyed, tossing more strange plants onto her steam box and refocused her attention to what she was making. Licking her fingers covered in cheese, she took out the same small, engraved pot and opened the lid which let off a clean, sweet smelling aroma that seemed to somehow self clean the items she put in there.

"So what? You expect me to believe you helped me out of the goodness of your cold, dead heart? You threw knives at me!"

As if to prove her point, Silvera doubled her pace with her knives, the steam box letting out a loud hiss of disagreement but she ignored it and pulled on her gloves before turning it for a third time, her knives quickly whittling down another two to three skewers. Even with gloves on, Silvera wound the morsels around the sticks and kept them evenly spaced just as the box’s lid was lifted open.

"Yup."

Her knife was pointed at him lazily, hilt first even as she disconnected the two skewers with ease and gently dropped a small section of the folding box into his lap. The hot food bubbled precariously within the container, the mix of cheese and sharp vegetables making his mouth water even as he momentarily distracted himself from the pounding in his head and the annoying chef who refused to answer a simple question.

Silvera continued to show off her knife skills more for her own enjoyment rather than anything else as Swift hunkered down and slowly tried to master the art of eating food on a stick. The lively nighttime sounds were punctuated by his Trill and popping sounds of the steadily dimming campfire sounded a lot louder even as Silvera began to put away her tools. Swift couldn’t help but watch her work, the clearing she had set up didn't have much in the way of wildlife and his stomach was fixated on the last two skewers set up carefully on a slab of carved wood.

"It looks like you were already planning on leaving, Swifty.”

The sack at his feet spilled over, books and spare clothes slightly tumbling out into the damp grass as the second dumpling lodged in his throat and made him choke, coughing as the thick cheese struggled to escape. He spat it out over the side of where he was sitting, a clear flask of cool water waiting in Silvera’s hand as he downed it without a thought. Poisoned or not he didn’t care anymore, especially almost choking to death.

"How did you…"

His eyes widened at the sight of her knife, knowing full well she could’ve just stabbed him in the back, Silvera noting his train of thought immediately and quickly stowing it away in a hidden side holster, smiling apologetically. Swift didn’t notice her warm hand on his shoulder, flinching a little even with her large coat wrapped around him as if her kindness still hurt him after so long only seeing her selfishness. 

Red faced out of embarrassment or just the exertion of the almost death by dumplings, his forehead burned with the remnants of a fever as he slowly noticed Silvera’s brief pained expression being smoothed over despite the flickering concern changing to mere indifference. Silvera left his side momentarily, expertly acting as if nothing could touch her and was only there to keep an eye on the last two dumplings steaming away in the quiet embers.

"You aren't the only one who knows about the Nook Knolls, Swifty. It's how I got you here safely.”