I checked the body. According to my alchemy text books the hare was in the condensation stage, which made it a noble and just threat considering my cultivation. I mused on the strange standard of academic texts of labelling beasts by the terms brought to us by our realm walking visitor.

Wood and Bronze were both in the Condensation stage. It was where glamour was still being collected, the body's reserve always in need of being topped up but at your core, your Hearth was well formed and constant. At Wood, you had enough to regularly infuse yourself but it tended to be uneven or in short bursts. After the second gift and reaching Bronze, you could reliably keep your whole body infused and it was when most went about refining their body. Even with the additional gift, there was still the risk you might run out of glamour if you over-exerted yourself.

There was a stage before that was what most called the Stone or Body stage, that's where mortals and beasts were. Able to occasionally use brief puffs of glamour, but having yet to form a true hearth.

Bors was iron or foundation stage, his glamour was distilled from emanations from the Fae to a resource he held within, condensed it into something that started to stamp his ownership on the concept. The better you understood yourself and the gifts you pulled on the greater the potential for control. Beasts of this stage were often intelligent and some even capable of speech.

Above that was steel, mithril and then a level just known as ‘Fae’. There were only rumours about that stage. Steel was when the cultivator must start to work on their soul forge. Mithril, the Forge was finished and lit, The cultivator or beast creating their own glamour and able to achieve things that seemed beyond the realm of sanity. For the beasts, these stages were known as Formation and Nascent Soul.

The less I thought about the ‘Fae’ stage the better, there wasn't a beast equivalent, as any spirit or beast that reached that level was by definition part of the Fae.

My mind snapped out of the breathing technique I'd slipped into by accident, the death glamour had knocked me into it as surely as feast got me drooling. Only embarrassment was far from my only worry. My rigid self-control locked down my Hearth's demands. Despite the thick glamour that remained I stopped myself and focused on the other task I must complete.

Death glamour should not be so casually consumed. All had heard the stories of death gifted going crazy from consuming strong glamours. Their souls were warped by their meal's power. More powerful the foe, the more human, the worse the effect would be.

The hare was no Fae beast of legend, which would've saved my ego no amount of distress. That didn't mean it was weak, it was a high-level condensation stage fae beast. With considerable pain, I cut it open. The body was tiny, and it seemed a cruel joke that I'd barely had to work for the entire doe but had been beaten bloody for something Bors could finish in a couple of bites.

I didn't want any of the meat, beast meat tended to be terrible unless your gifts were complimentary, no what I needed I found about where I'd expect my Hearth to be, a little below its heart. A walnut-sized beast core.

I was at the river so washed it off. Beast cores were a key component in enchanting, and alchemical brews. That required a lot of processing though, that processing got rid of impurities, bits of soul stuff that clogged the pathways. Right now they were basically poison.

I popped it in my mouth and chewed it like the nut it resembled. I immediately began moving the tainted glamour it released through my body. I needed the impurities, after my first death the knowledge came to me. With the same certainty that I knew breathing was good, I knew the impurities were allowing my resurrections.

It took a good half an hour to process the core, I could feel the boost to my cultivation, and at the same time like soot coating the inside of the chimney my pathways got that little narrower. I was nowhere near the level I needed to be at to shrug off death but it was a start.

It also didn't restrict my Cultivation by much, I'd been struggling for each sip of glamour for so long now that I'd forgotten what it was to drink freely. I was in no hurry to return to that state. If I had any say I’d feel it again, I only had to reach the threshold for resurrection, not block my growth entirely.

The day was getting long, and I still needed to get back. I buried the rabbit nearby, I knew monster parts beyond the core had value but didn't have the energy to work out what parts of it I wanted. Returning with the whole thing was not an option. If Bors asked me where the core was I didn't want to explain I chomped on it like a boiled sweet.

I let a blast of smoke glamour through my clothes and found them clean again. My lute had remained a blade for mere moments and was now slung over my shoulder, it was quickly joined by the doe.

Arriving back at camp as the sun was dipping low, I was feeling a natural exhaustion. My wounds were still raw and bruises were growing. I must've looked a sight as Bors ran over. I was touched till his first action was to grab the doe from my back. The Knight Errant was buzzing at the sight of the meat. He helped me over to the fire while gushing about my luck with the doe.

I stretched and focused on circulating the glamour from my Hearth around my body to speed my healing along.

“I thought you'd karked it for a while, looks like you almost did? Got in a battle with a bastard of a ballad, or fall foul of a malicious melody?” I eyed Bors, he was grinning.

“A barb you've polished for some time I take?”

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“Only most of the afternoon, I was pondering how poorly that battle of barbs would go for me.” Bors with practiced ease began to skin and quarter the doe.

“Perhaps you should stick to slinging swords, and I do my winning wit. Would you believe a hare did this to me?” His face fell.

“Ah fuck!”

“What?”

“I said it was safe, I totally forgot about the Gale Hare that's been about. It never lets me get anywhere near it, and it can't threaten me. Those things are vicious, I saw one take a Squire’s head clean off at Caerbannog. I could've sent you to your death 'cause I was hungry!” Bors whole body collapsed in on itself. The giant of a man shrinking, no longer a titan and now just tall.

“Well, that's a balm for my bruised ego if not my actual bruises. I felt like a right fool after the fight, beaten raw by something I could pick up by its ears.”

“You killed it? I'd have thought you'd just managed to escape.” I cursed myself for letting that slip. He continued. “I am sorry though. This is why I'm on this bridge, I do things without thinking.”

“Like pick fights with Orders?”

“No, they pick fights with me. I just don't think about the consequences of saying yes. I should be the bigger man according to Arty.” Bors kept talking and from a storage ring caused a cooking pot to appear. He probably hadn't even noticed he'd showed it off to me.

“I don't see how you could fail at that?” He chuckled at the joke but remained surly.

“I collected some herbs, root veg and tubers from down by the river. Shall we make a stew?” He nodded and headed down the water returning with a pail of water. He took my foraged bounty and set to cooking, something I was happy to let him handle.

Silence descended and I sat back. I felt more at ease in Bors's company than I had walking through the woods on my own. While I was in captivity I'd have assumed it was all some ploy to get me on his side, yet burning within me was an absolute confidence that he was just as honest as he seemed. He meant well. His mistake was just that, and from the aggressive way he chopped I could tell he was angry at himself for his failing.

I hated that this was an exceptional experience for me. Almost unique. To have someone worry over me. Not the loss of my value, just my intrinsic safety. I felt my finger start picking out a gentle tune. I let my glamour out, letting it touch the smoke, which began to dance, and faces began to half-form.

Maeve was first, she quickly twisted into the Lady, and then memories that I often forgot I had surfaced and I found my mother gazing at me. I lost control of the glamour then, my heart twisting.

“You alright there Taliesen?” Bors was serving out stew into a couple of bowls. More of the accursed bread was back, not clubs, but round loaves hacked into bowls.

“Sorry. I got lost in memory.”

“No worries, your control is impressive. Better than mine for certain.” A scowl darkened his brow.

“Bors I'm not angry at you.”

“Why not? I could've got you killed 'cause all I can do is smash things and I can't even stop to think about others for even a minute!” He spoke into his food glaring at it.

“This stew is really good. It doesn't deserve the evil eye off you.” I replied. It really was exceptional stew for something made of scrounged ingredients, far better than I could've made.

“You must accept some apology, there's something I must do to make things right. You have to be angry.” the other words, framed like a command burned me opening the barely patched wounds of the last few days. I wanted to squirrel away my secrets but I'd spent so long lying, living in a choking mask of subterfuge, that the truth burst forth. It demanded to be heard.

“Bors, I shall be honest with you, as I sense you have been honest with me. Up until very recently, I've been as near to property as makes no difference, the chattel of some truly vile people. I have spent every day working to avoid having my light snuffed out by the mere whims of my jailors. I have survived constant scrutiny where a single wrong step could have me turned into spare parts. I was not about to die to some jumped-up rabbit.” I felt my rant build up steam.

“What is nice is I am free, eating this scrumptious stew that has no business being half as good as it is. I have your noble company, and it is a fine company. I could've stumbled upon one of those Order pricks and I could've been sent out into the woods as a joke or just challenged to duel for their entertainment. Instead, I am here. I am alive. I AM FREE. YOU DO NOT GET TO DECIDE IF I AM ANGRY.”

Silence descended on the camp. At some point, I'd stood up, which would've left me standing over anyone but Bors. Instead, I just stared him in the eye. I flopped back to my seat and picked up my abandoned stew bowl.

“I don't know, that sounded pretty angry.” Bors grinned as he broke the silence. I couldn't help it I laughed, and laughed. Bors did too.

“And here's me complaining about a bridge. How do you get involved in shit like that?” Bors asked when the chuckles had passed.

“Let's just say that when you said you were against divine cultivators, that's when I knew we would get along.”

“Scum the lot of them. It's why I get so worked up by the Orders, they should be riding out to slaughter the lot of them. Not having tourneys against them. I do wish I had some of your smarts, there's a limit to how much sense you can beat into a bunch of knights.”

“And if I had some of your strength I'd have escaped long ago. I tell you what, I lined up some revenge on my way out. Made them bleed for what they did to me.” I smiled at the memory. The look on Maeve's face gave me the sense she'd believed me. Enough to at least check out the bottle.

“You might not be angry, but I'm still angry with myself over the whole hare thing. Sounds like you're set to wander for a bit. I've got a spare tent and bits, you could join me here to work out what you want to do next. I'll keep you safe till you want to move on.”

“Totally nothing to do with wanting some company on this lonely bit of masonry.”

“I am informed that a Knight Errant should have some mystique to them, so I shall refuse to answer that question.”

“Another from your mate Arty.”

“Nah that nugget of wisdom comes from Percy. She's all about our reputation, our stories of renown. You'd get along, you both got the wits for it. They'll all be coming back in a month or so, so my offer stands at least till then.”

“I'd like to meet these Knights who stand against the divine cultivators, we can trade tips.”