A few hours had passed and Alma had slowly unpacked certain essentials during that time to make sitting in front of the blazing fire—that strangely did not melt the ice around it—more comfortable. Although she wasn’t sure just how long they would be staying, she had placed down a sleeping pad and her sleeping bag on top next to the fire and sat down. She pulled out her familiar cartoon-themed thermos and drank from its earthy goodness. Instead of the laced witch’s brew from earlier, this personal thermos was filled with regular, plain old coffee. She enjoyed the burn as it rode down her throat. She remembered spending some time searching for Derleth right after that chat with her friends, but could find no sign of him despite his message to look for him. She ended attributing it to something having come up for him and she was now stuck trying to keep warm in the coldest place she'd ever traveled to.
Qu’l-Nia had later walked to the edge of the clearing to “clear her head” and has been standing there watching the darkening of the forest ever since. The markswoman had walked over to her a couple of times to see how she’d been faring, but was told not to worry because she could use the extra time to study the construction of the eldritch man’s domain more closely in case drastic measures had to be employed. The only constructive thing Alma could tell her was that it was a good idea and carried on.
Looking over at Hwalín, Alma noted the elf sitting smugly while wearing Qu'l-Nia's magic cloak around her neck; an othering-infused piece of equipment that kept her warm even in the coldest of environs. In truth, Alma had wanted to request a cloak of her own from the eldritch woman, but she had felt that asking at this point, when so much time had passed since their journey started and her initial refusal, would make her look like an idiot. And that would be too much of a blow for her pride to handle. The Hecatian had been sitting directly on the frigid snow, taking great care in her handiwork as she sharpened her swords with the small whetstone she always carried with her. The tool had been a gift from her uncle and along with the other things she tended to carry on her person, was one of a few things Hwalín seemed to hold very dearly. The elf seemed to have a story for everything she wore, but it had always been her mysterious necklace that Alma was the most curious about. It was the one thing Hwalín never seemed to talk about and thinking the reason for it being personal, Alma could never find the appropriate time to ask about it.
The sniperess had become lost in thought after being mesmerized by the noisome grinding of the whetstone. Alma had actually grown to hate the little thing, because—aside from its hypnotic sound—the boastings of its presentable results were often the cause of many a joke made by the elf about being able to slice Alma's rifle in one slash. And as is known, the ex-soldier takes much pride in the validity of her weapons. Hence, it became moments like these where Alma’s swearing could be comparable to that of a sailor.
Alma took another swig of her coffee. “Hwal,” she called in her usual flat, monotonous voice. “I’ve always wondered. What’s the deal with your necklace?” The excitement of finally getting her question out was palpable. Her curiosity had been set ablaze and she was finally looking forward to its dousing.
“Eh? This old thing?” replied Hwalín, holding up her necklace with her thumb and forefinger. It shimmered with a soft, pearlescent glow. “It’s trash. My ex gave it to me a long time ago. I woulda tossed it with the rest of the bastard’s things, but it looks pretty snazzy, don’t it? Assuming since you asked about it and all.”
“Oh…” Alma tried to hide the disappointment on her face. “Yeah, it looks pretty cool. I’d wear one.”
“Yeah? It’s yours then.” Hwalín unlatched the chain from around her neck and dangled the piece of jewelry in front of Alma’s sparkling gaze.
“What? No. I couldn’t possibly… Really?”
“Sike!” The elf pulled her hand back and placed her necklace back on. “Naw, it’d be pretty weird giving you something like that. Tell you what though. Next time we’re in town, I’ll pick something out that’ll fit you perfectly.”
“Oho? Suddenly Miss Ain’t-a-big-judge-of-fashion knows what’ll look good on me?”
“That’s clothing! It’s completely different when it comes to jewelry. You know Hecatians are expert gold and silversmiths. Pro jewelers. We ain’t as great blacksmiths like the dwarfwin or professional leatherworkers like our green cousins, but then again, who is? We can suss out the impurities in any gem one-to-one and infuse them with all kinds of gorgeous magic.”
“Oh yeah! Aimer—err, my rifle is of dwarfwin make!” She took another sip. “They make the best guns! There’s this one website that sells the newest dwarfwin guns and their barrels are just so gorgeous, but just try getting one imported and suddenly you’re drowning in all this special paperwork. Thank madness I just have it all shipped to Heli now instead.”
“That right? She fine with that? Actually, I’d like to meet the guy who delivers all the way out there.”
Stolen story; please report.
“That witch? She’s fine with most things I do for some reason.” Alma chugged down more of her coffee. “She’s got her own share of weird hobbies. But we just learned to stop questioning each other. Actually, there’s this one really cute thing she does where—wait. Why am I telling you this? And why do I feel a slight buzz?”
“There it is.” Hwalín chuckled deviously. “Yeah, mate. I might’ve added a little alcohol to your coffee. Figured it’d help take the edge off after that little debacle we had earlier.”
“What?! You spiked my coffee?! I didn’t even drink that much! How am I getting drunk already?!”
“That’s Hecatian ale for you, baby,” she said with a wink. “Ten times stronger than beer.”
“Oh… No wonder it tasted funny.” Alma giggled. “Okay, you got me good with that. But no more surprises!”
“Cross my heart. ‘Sides, you already seem a touch more chipper than earlier.” Hwalín reached into her bag and pulled out the bottle of ale she had used. “Might as well join you. Haven’t had a good drink since the swig I took earlier when I was pouring it in your coffee.”
“I feel like I should be mad at you, but it really has been forever since I had a good drink too.” Alma took another sip, now trying to control her intake. She seemed deeper in thought now than previously. “I guess… thank you.”
“Anytime, mate.”
“It’s just—Things have been moving so fast ever since we got here. Ever since I figured out how to control my powers, sort of. And… Zula." Her grip on her cup noticeably tightened. “It should’ve been the first thing I asked him about. I’m pissed at myself for forgetting. She could be hurt out there somewhere, and here I am enjoying a drink with friends.”
“Oy, mate. It’s meant to take the edge off, not push you over it.”
“Sorry… I think I’ve reached that level of drunk where I go from silly to deeply introspective.” She took a deep breath and released a wistful sigh. “You know, I was really worried about the direction my life was gonna go after my discharge. I basically centered my whole life around an army career. I’m not really good at anything else. Pretty average in school. Hated my life for a long time.”
“That’s rough, mate.” Hwalín pressed the bottom of her bottle into her thigh nervously, wondering how to keep the awkward silence as short as possible. “Well, what’s stopping you from just re-applying?”
“I was thinking about it. But part of me just feels really guilty and ashamed. I didn’t even last a day! Like, are you kidding me?! Even my sister was out in the field before me. And it might have gotten her killed…” Alma felt the despair tangibly creep into her voice. A tear rolled down her cheek and narrowly missed falling into her coffee. “Oh, Goddess. Hwal? What if… What if she really is dead…?” The feelings she had tried so hard to repress had finally burst free. Her eyes watered and bitter sadness streamed down her cheeks.
“Hey, now. It’s gonna be okay, mate.” The elf placed her hand on Alma’s back and gave it a good rub. “Let it out, let it out. You’ve been a strong girl keeping it together this long. No need to try so hard.”
“But we’re on such an important mission. And I can’t even stay focused without thinking about so much constant shittiness. Hoping against hope that I’ll somehow see my sister again someday.” Alma tucked her sleeve forward and wiped the salty moisture from her face. She kept rubbing restlessly, trying to scratch the itch in her eyes that just wouldn’t go away. The grip on her cup looked almost painful. “Fuck! I can’t even be proud of these powers. It’s not like I stopped seeing weird things around every corner. And understanding what they are does not make it any better, believe me. I didn’t want to mention it and freak you guys out but when we first got here, the barrier into this place was surrounded by these giant, icky worms that looked like living fingers. I couldn’t believe it at first, but it seemed like they were all trying their hardest to crawl inside. Plopping their weird plump bodies against the invisible wall and slamming their heads against it. Some slamming hard enough that they just burst their ends open and splatter their strange entrails against it, leaving a glimmering pool wet with chunks all along the base of it. And it runs for miles, Hwal. MILES! Why do you think I practically raced in here? At least there’s nothing to worry about here aside from that tree.”
“Bloody Beryllands, Alma. That sounds absolutely vile.” The scowling Hecatian took a deep guzzle of her ale. “I hope I didn’t step in one. Get those nasty guts on my good boots.”
“Heh. I don’t think so.” Alma chuckled. She pointed a thumb at the titanic trunk next to them. “The tree over here is probably the weirdest thing I’ve even seen, to be honest. It’s one of the few things I’ve seen that actually looks pretty cool.” Her gaze intensifies, losing itself in a swirl of the ethereal. “You can’t even begin to imagine what I see when I look at it. It’s like this beautiful, otherworldly aurora that constantly changes between colors I’m not sure how to describe. It flows up into the sky and melts into the surrounding clouds, making them glow incandescently with an eerie, silvery light that looks almost holy. And those beams of light rain downward as if to protect this one area of the world from anything unpure. I actually think the swirling aura makes up more of the tree than any actual wood. I get the feeling this thing is probably made up of several smaller trees that were forcibly merged together in some kind of strange, godlike amalgam. I really don’t know what kind of powers are at work here, but it’s fucking scary.”
The inebriated sniperess started chuckling to herself before eventually bursting out in raucous laughter. “I guess you could even call it… Hehe… the God of Trees. Hahaha.”
Hwalín snatched away Alma’s thermos. “Alright there, Ms. Sniper. I can see now getting you drunk inside an eldritch nest was probably not the best idea.”
“Hwal.” Alma stared into the remaining brown liquid of her cup, pondering about something yet again. “Do you think being in the presence of gods will eventually drive one crazy? Like some lingering influence that just radiates off of them that slowly poisons your brain as it tries to comprehend what’s happening to it? Do we even want to comprehend it?”
“I—”
A loud shot rang out from the surrounding forest, marking the end of their reflective conversation.