Maeve was agitated.

As they huddled beneath a tree for shelter, Aeden kept a close eye on her. Anger was by no means unusual in her, but this was different. This was something much darker. Her amber eyes fairly glowed from the force of her emotion, though she didn't seem aware of it and nobody dared point it out. There was a new stiffness in her, even as she sprawled onto the ground: a tightening of the shoulders, a tension in the legs and arms. Aeden recognized it easily. How could he not? That was how he moved.

She had learned fear.

While the finer feelings of others often escaped him, he was quite sure he understood her in this. Ronan had come dangerously close to death once again, and this time he'd been the target. Aeden knew the worry that brought. He'd once had a sister. He, too, had wanted to protect her.

Though the notion of protection had ceased to hold meaning to him, right alongside safety.

Tsking under his breath, he shook the thought away. He was trying to empathise, and that required a decent amount of concentration. He found a low branch with a decent vantage point and sat down. His shoulder ached; he gingerly stretched it as the others settled down.

It didn't surprise him that, for once, Maeve joined Morrigan in fretting over nothing—nothing being the cut along Ronan's head. She hovered more than she helped, badgering her brother as Morri dressed the cut. Don't move so much, drink this water, that sort of nonsense. The young human took it in stride, but when he caught Aeden looking, an invisible plea for help entered his eyes.

He sighed and stood up. He did like Ronan: the man was easy to speak with, and doused Maeve's temper when it mattered. Plus, Aeden still needed to make amends for the punching incident. He cleared his throat, drawing focus to himself. "We need firewood," he announced. "The storm—the real one—is still coming. It'll be cold."

Ronan waved off the women and stood, a tad too eagerly. "I'll go."

"Not alone, you won't," Maeve snapped, seizing his arm. Heat spilled off of her in waves. If her summoning abilities didn't fade at night, she'd do nicely as a campfire herself.

"Maeve," he said gently, "it's only wood. I'm not going far."

"I don't care. I'm going with you."

Aeden raised a brow over her shoulder, questioning.

Ronan must've seen something in Maeve's face that changed his mind. He shook his head at Aeden, apparently ready to accept his fate. "Then we'll both go."

It wouldn't be right to say that the two split off. After the tantrum Lún had thrown, it would've been stupid to go far. They hardly strayed beyond the light of the campfire. While they kept their voices lowered and steps soft, Aeden could hear them perfectly. He could catch their breathing, as a matter of fact. If not for the indefinite hum of the forest—insects buzzing, birds calling, leaves rustling—he suspected he'd be able to hear their heartbeats. Having keen senses was as much curse as blessing.

Aeden was polite enough to tune them out, though that was only because they weren't speaking about anything worth eavesdropping on. He glanced at Morrigan instead. She'd retreated into a spot of shadow and looked like she'd prefer to stay there, hidden from the world. Her arms were wrapped tightly about her middle. Her breathing came stilted.

"What's wrong, Morri?" he asked. Sensitive as she was, Morrigan rarely remained this shaken after her visions ended and things calmed down. She'd seen death too many times to be surprised, and was sídhe enough to accept it when it came. Panicking was a human tendency.

"When I saw Ronan die," Morrigan replied quietly, "I also saw Maeve's reaction."

Aeden thought of Sorcha, of how her heaving gasps had halted as her eyes emptied. It had been a sudden, terrifying moment. The quiet had swelled. "Grief?" he murmured, knowing better.

"Fury. Unbalanced, raw fury." She pursed her lips. "The Ándúr Nimh is born of rage. It feeds off of it, too."

"I know that, Morri, but Mae's no sea serpent. She's not that powerful."

"Exactly. I think we could lose her to it."

They were both quiet for a bit. Aeden forced a smile. "I've been partaking in my share of anger, too, but you don't seem nearly as scared about me. Should I be hurt?"

"I am scared," she said quietly, pinning him with those ancient, red eyes of hers. "But your anger is tempered by fear. You aren't completely lost in it. Not yet."

"Morri..." He winced. It was easy to forget how analytical she was beneath all that compassion. "A little too blunt, that one."

Her usual, demure demeanour returned in an instant. She lowered her eyes, regret clouding her expression. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

"I know." Nobody lived as long as she did without a healthy dose of wile and calculation. She couldn't help it if it slipped through on occasion.

Morrigan sank back, now looking more tired than worried. Aeden would have loved to collapse as well—stretching his shoulder wasn't helping, and his torn wrists ached—but was distracted by the sound of Ronan's voice off to the right.

"I'll be alright, Maeve." His voice was so firm that Aeden was inclined to believe it, no questions asked.

"And what if you won't?" she demanded. Her voice hitched, fear leaking into it. No, Aeden thought. That's worse than fear. "What if I lose you?"

Silence. Morrigan turned away, pretending to hear nothing. Aeden contemplated ignoring the conversation, but found it quite difficult as Maeve went on.

"Go back, Ronan. Find a human town and wait for me."

"There aren't any out here," he said gently. "Not for a long way. The Rene's too thin and the land's too rocky to farm."

"And you can't go back on your own, I suppose." She sounded more thoughtful than defeated, probably planning to chaperone her brother back to the nearest settlement.

"Maeve. I'm coming with you."

"Are you mad?" she hissed. "This serpent bastard is dangerous. If he goes after you again, I don't know if I can protect you!"

Ronan gave a little groan of frustration, his voice hardening. "And you think I don't want to protect you? Listen to me, Maeve. You're my family. I told Clídna that all I want is to keep you safe, and I meant it. I have iron, and I have salt, and we have Morrigan and Aeden helping us. I'm not powerless, I'm not beneath you, and I'm not leaving your side."

It was a fine little speech, and left silence in its wake. Aeden mentally applauded Ronan's stubbornness. They might not share blood, but he was secretly as feisty as Mae. Perhaps even more.

"I never thought you were beneath me," Maeve said softly. "Not once."

"Aye. But that means we're equals, and that means you can't stop me if I want to stay." He'd returned to a gentler tone.

"This is foolish," she muttered.

"I can handle myself."

"Are you certain?"

"I am."

Maeve sniffed, and then her voice abruptly turned to irritation. "I think Aeden might've heard all of that. He has the ears of a wolf."

"I have no doubt he did."

"Tch. How embarrassing."

His cover broken, Aeden stood and padded towards their voices. They were only two dozen paces away. Maeve had her arms folded, while Ronan dutifully carried a bundle of firewood. Aeden suspected he'd kept working the entire time they argued.

"You two are loud," he said, defending himself.

Maeve shoved past him with a huff. "This has nothing to do with you."

Ronan and Aeden exchanged glances before following her to their makeshift campsite. Morrigan feigned innocent drowsiness. Or perhaps she really was half-asleep and unaware of what had happened. It was hard to tell.

Aeden returned to his perch while Ronan assembled the fire. "You know," he said, hoping to lighten the mood, "you could always drop him off with Clídna. I bet she'd take excellent care of him."

Ronan choked and doubled over, coughing.

Maeve threw a stick. It ignited as it left her fingers, leaving Aeden to dodge both wood and flame. "That doesn't deserve consideration."

"It's... not wise," Morrigan agreed, looking uncomfortable. "She would try to trick him into staying with her permanently."

Aeden jabbed a finger at her. "I knew you were listening."

"I-I wouldn't fall for such things." Ronan fumbled with the fire. It was hard to tell with the evening light blotted out by clouds, but he seemed red.

"Many would say that, but she's experienced," Morrigan said gravely.

"Sun and moon, don't tell me you were actually flattered or something," Maeve hissed, also noticing Ronan's flush. "She was treating you like a plaything!"

"Oh, but she's so very pretty," Aeden snickered.

"Enough, please." Ronan exhaled sharply, embarrassment and exasperation mingling in his eyes. "I assure you, I have no such interest."

Morrigan seemed relieved. "Even after learning her ways, it's best to be careful with her. She's skilled at gathering favours—I barely escaped becoming indebted to her myself."

Aeden perked up. He'd gathered as much by watching the two bean sídhe talk, but Morrigan hardly ever mentioned her time with her mentor. He knew little of their relationship aside from the obvious fact that it was strained. "What does she want from you, Morri?"

"I live in the mortal realm and am careful enough to avoid being killed," she muttered, rare annoyance flitting across her face. "With my help, she'd be able to gather information even more swiftly than she already does."

Maeve scoffed. "How unsurprising."

The conversation wound down after that. A fire was swiftly made. Morrigan pulled Maeve aside to finally teach her some wards, however that worked. Aeden listened to the women whisper about energy usage and utilising the old tongue to focus before losing interest. If he was anything like his mother, he wouldn't be able to use spells all that well even when he did grow old enough. Púcaí leaned into physical power over fancy wards or curses.

"How are you feeling?"

He looked sideways at Ronan. The man's expression was too serious and too probing, so Aeden grinned at him. "Rather lost, I'm afraid. Maeve's right: I don't have much to do with all this business about Lún."

"Even though the Ándúr Nimh struck you and is driving Shayne?"

Aeden stiffened.

"I'm sorry," Ronan said quickly, a wince pulling at his features. "I meant no offence."

"It's... fine." The lie tasted like dirt, so he opted for honesty when he continued. "The more time that passes, the less I find myself caring about his motives." No explanations would change the fact that Shayne had taken his family. Aeden had only ever needed an excuse to stay with Maeve and bide his time: finding information about the Ándúr Nimh merely gave him more insight into an enemy.

"I see." Ronan paused, then gestured at Aeden's wrists. "I was referring to your wounds, initially. How are they?"

"Eh. They're fine," he said absently, glad for a superficial topic.

"I have some water if you'd like to redress them."

"I'd appreciate it." He was tolerably certain that sídhe couldn't get infections like humans did, but it was nice to have his wounds covered. Less things could snag on them that way, and it dampened the scent of his blood. He hated that smell.

Unfortunately, he was keenly reminded of it as he shucked off his bandages. The cuts constantly opened when he moved, so they hadn't had the chance to seal. Blood, old and new, stained his skin. Aeden sighed, rubbing some of it off with his fingers as Ronan fetched water from his pack.

It was too easy to see where the chains had sliced into his skin. On top of that, the majority of his forearms were covered in angry, red burns from the touch of the metal. He could make out the shape of links in some places; he scraped his nails over the marks, as if he could scrub that away too.

"It's taking a long time to heal," Ronan said, his brows furrowed.

"Iron does that." Aeden closed his eyes as the man poured water over his wrists, thankful for the cool touch of liquid. "Morri's arm is taking time, too."

"Her cut has already closed. With all due respect, Aeden, you ought to keep still more often and avoid touching your wrists. You're aggravating the injuries."

He gnawed on his tongue to keep his anger from showing. "I'd rather not let these stop me from living as I please. I've had enough of stillness."

"If you insist," Ronan acquiesced. He set to work rinsing the bandages.

While he did that, Aeden patted himself down for other injuries. The cut on his side had stopped bothering him some time ago and was fading into a scar. Aside from some other scratches of varying depths—also made by iron, which meant more scars—and the stabbing pain in his shoulder, he was intact.

Aeden didn't want to be intact. He was still far too weak, his recovery slowed by hard travel and the iron that had hurt him in the first place. If he got into another battle, he'd need to rely on the others to help him. And that was dangerous.

Suddenly yearning for distraction, he decided to test the limits of Ronan's calmness. Mischief was good for the soul. "Speaking of Morri," he said, lowering his voice conspiratorially, "do you fancy her?"

Ronan nearly dropped the water flask he was using. He shot Aeden a bewildered look. "What?"

"Do you fancy Morri?"

"I'm not—" He stopped himself, turning back to the bandages with a sharp shake of his head. "Enough of this. You've already taunted me about Clídna."

Aha. Aeden grinned, leaning forward to see his face. "That's no reply."

"Because I'm not answering that," he muttered.

"Why ever not? Don't you trust me?" Aeden widened his eyes in mock innocence.

That drew a laugh from Ronan. He passed over the damp bandages, shaking his head. "With some things, aye, but not that."

"Wh—you do? What things?" Aeden asked, forgetting his original goal in his surprise.

Ronan raised a brow as he helped Aeden rewrap his wrist. "I'll keep that to myself."

"Well, now I'm curious."

"I'm sure you are."

He genuinely was, and he didn't like it. Ronan had managed to turn the tides on him. Catching himself, Aeden leaned back and straightened his expression. "You're tricky, aren't you?"

Ronan recognized the compliment for what it was. He was clever like that. "Thank you."

Aeden allowed him a few seconds of relief out of respect before he continued. "But tell me: if you don't find Clídna beautiful, what about Morrigan?"

"You must stop. And I never said anything about beauty," Ronan replied, more prepared for the teasing now. Still, his ears were red as he tied off Aeden's last bandage. "You seem quite determined to broach the subject. Do you fancy her?"

He wrinkled his nose. "Of course not. She's like my—I mean, ah, she's known me since I was a child. I merely figured her looks are an objective fact at this point. Do you know how many mortals have fallen in love with her?"

Ronan looked vaguely worried. "I suppose... many?"

"Indeed." Aeden was grave. "I'm pretty sure that's where all her jewellery comes from."

"Yet her wedding ring finger is bare," Ronan mused.

"Noticed that, did you?"

He pressed his lips together, shooting Aeden a glare for only the second time during their acquaintanceship. "Would you hold it against me if I hit you?"

"Oh?" Aeden tilted his head, amused. "I could allow it. Go on, give it a try."

Ronan knocked him around the back of the head. The lack of hesitation told Aeden that the man had not, in fact, forgotten about the punching incident.

He rubbed his neck, snickering. "You really did it. But that was weak, even for a human."

"I don't want to hurt you," Ronan said defensively.

They stared at each other for a bit. Aeden kept laughing, and eventually Ronan cracked a small smile of his own.

"What are you boys doing?" Maeve snapped from across the fire. "Stop messing around and put some muscle into it, Ronan. Lord knows his head is thick enough."

"Oh, please don't." Morrigan placed her hands on Maeve's shoulders and turned the woman to face her again. "You must focus. The rain will start soon."

Aeden and Ronan settled on discussing the proper ways to punch while Maeve fumbled with spells. The man knew a surprising amount about fistfighting: Aeden hadn't thought him the type to get into tussles. Perhaps he really did have a secret, Mae-like side.

It wasn't long before a crackling barrier rose up around them. It shimmered with a faint heat when Aeden drew close to it: it felt like the sun was shining on his face, even though it was nowhere to be seen behind the darkening clouds.

"This isn't bad for your fifth attempt," Morri said kindly. "You're farther along in your growth than I thought. Now, you shouldn't need daylight to cast wards like this. If you feed enough of your power into it now, it'll hold overnight and we'll be shielded from the next storm."

A rare, proud smile tugged at Maeve's lips. It suited her—it lent life to her eyes. "Grand."

Aeden found himself glad that she'd cheered up a bit, at least outwardly. Less danger of things getting burned. He made himself comfortable beside the fire, adjusting the edge of one dampened bandage until the combined glares of the others forced him to stop.

"They itch," he muttered.

Maeve scowled at him. "My leg itches, too. You don't see me ripping it open again."

Grumbling under his breath, Aeden shifted into a wolf and stretched his fore and back legs out in defeat. He wouldn't be able to mess with the bandages without hands, although he fully planned to gnaw at the cloth strips when they weren't looking.

The new form also meant that he wouldn't have to worry about hiding his expression anymore. It felt as if thin, anxious threads were winding about his ribs as he listened to the others keep talking. He was warm, fed, and—for the moment—safe. He was travelling with folks who helped him fight, who would bandage his wounds for him.

It was comforting, and that scared him almost more than Shayne ever had. He didn't want to be happy and at ease. He didn't want to have people to lose.

It had hurt too much the first time.