Flames crackle in the bonfire set up by the soldiers, who sit in amid of the guard's camp. The fire gives an impression of reaching for the sky as they lose themselves in futile chatter, exchanging drinks and breakfast, food that could feed a village if each man and woman weren't eating for three people.

Their display of greed does little to earn bouts of sympathy from Wolf. He shoves both his hands in his pockets, and walks away after having taken a single plate of grilled meat during his time spent around the embers' heat.

"Not enjoying the festivities?" Lilith crosses her arms. She uses her body to block the path to his quarters—a tent they took the liberty of lending to him, because they did not know whether to make him stay with the women or the men.

Wolf scoffs. He walks around her. "There isn't anything to celebrate, really," he mutters "If you ask me, this is a waste of time that's only delaying our search."

To his surprise, she does not reprimand him, but laughs. "I suppose there is truth in what you say. You must realize," Lilith turns to face him. The sharp fragrance of her perfume infests his senses, "they are not like us. They do not care for the search. They only want the gold. The glory."

This makes sense. Most heroes in these parts are far from heroic.

"And you?" Wolf's eyes meet hers half-way. "You don't want that?"

"Please," Lilith presses an open palm to her breastplate. "I'm already in command here. I've no need to prove myself."

Wolf would love to disagree. He doubts her claims are true due to the sheer amount of gold that covers her armor, her weapons—as wise men say, the most modest warriors make history. He refrains from expressing his skepticism, though. Befriending the enemy is his best bet at survival, being polite is his second, angering her is not. "I see," he says. And then, "I need to bathe. Where do your men usually go to wash themselves?"

Silence follows. An awkward expression slowly weaves itself across her features, as if she isn't sure what to say, for once.

Wolf's throat tightens. When Lilith parts her lips to speak again, he knows what is coming. "I mean no disrespect by this, however, I'm not sure how good of an idea it is for you to bathe among the other men." She has been the only one who does not treat him like a woman. The others however...

Would you like me to help you off your horse, my lady?

And does the lady want another bowl of soup?

So, pray tell, where is the lady from?

Every day— No, every other minute, Wolf is forced to remember the skewed view of the world these people hold. If he is being honest with himself, sometimes, he would rather they say nothing at all, than add their labels everywhere.

"They do not exactly... view you as a man," Lilith mumbles. She quickly adds, "I do." But does she truly? Or is she merely being nice, accommodating, because Wolf is helping her? "However, here, people are..."

"Idiots?" Wolf supplies.

The head of guard laughs. "Well," she smirks, "that's certainly one way to put it. They are not the most open-minded kind, I admit."

"And you are?"

She shrugs. "How they carry themselves on the battlefield is only thing that matters to me. I couldn't care for what my soldiers do in their spare time, even if I tried."

The scent of grilled meat is carried towards the by the rising winds from afar. Wolf wonders how many boars they are planning on cooking today. "So, I cannot bathe then?" he asks.

Lilith rolls her eyes. "I take that back; how my soldiers fight and having them not stink up the place are the only things that matter." She clears her throat. She points to the lake, shielded by the woods. "They usually wash up over there."

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Wolf frowns. "You're letting me go?"

"For today, yes. I doubt they'll be following your lead any time soon with the way they have decided to gorge themselves on our provisions."

The soldiers' cheers ring across the forest. "You should stop them," he says. "It's a waste of food."

"Perhaps, but it's good for morale."

"Morale is useless on an empty stomach."

She throws him a haughty glance. "Don't worry, love, I'll make sure you're well fed throughout this journey. Even if we have to starve a man or two."

Wolf almost chokes on his spit. Love?

She turns again with the intention of walking away, but he grasps at her arm and stops her. "W-wait."

Lilith looks at him from over her shoulder. The cerulean in her eyes is close to being transparent in this light. "Yes?"

"The water..." Wolf purses his lips together. His grip around her tightens, then waivers again. "It's winter. Do you seriously expect me to bathe in a lake that'll likely freeze over soon? Or was that a joke?"

Her tone is casual, and quite laid-back as she says, "Of course I was serious."

"But what about frostbite? And hypothermia? Does this not worry you or your men?"

"Ah." She shakes off his touch, then spins a single finger in the air. "If your toes fall off we always have healers in wait behind one of those tents over there. As for freezing to death..." Lilith yawns. "I suppose you'll be fine as long as you make it quick. Undress, slather yourself in whichever product you prefer, and run out."

When Wolf doesn't answer, her head snaps his way. "What?" she asks him with her brows now furrowed in a scowl. "You need me to come and hold your hand, boy? Or will that be all?"

Wolf resists the urge to bite her finger, that's still tracing invisible circles in the atmosphere around them. "That'll be all." This time, he's the one who turns his back on her figure. "Good day."

The head of guard's footsteps fade, until they are eaten up by the sound of soldiers partying the morning away.

Although Wolf is grateful that Lilith respects his wishes—he is grounded in comfort when she speaks to his soul and not the shell that holds it—the woman is condescending, and that part of her is one he finds despicable.

He strolls down toward the lakeside with a towel in hand. Wolf shudders at the thought of what would have become of him, Lir, or any of the other men, women—and anyone between this spectrum—from his village who would not be considered as such here, if they had been raised among the Aglian people.

He is not sure he could have loved life as dearly as he does now. Perhaps it would not be an exaggeration, to claim Wolf would have wished for death's sweet release. They do not treat him as if he exists. Wolf—the man—is but a figment of their imagination. It is a concept to them, something amusing to be questioned and never thought of again. And it is a dangerous thing, Wolf thinks, for them to claim they know a person's heart better than its owner does. One would surely be enough to drive anyone mad.

He arrives before the water. Blue pools at his feet in a peculiar sway he cannot help but gawk at.

In a matter of seconds, Wolf has kicked off his clothes, covered himself in cheap soap, and dived into the lake. Lilith was right. It doesn't kill him. He doesn't freeze to death, though if he were the proud owner of a nice pair of testicles, they certainly would have retreated back into his body by now and never seen the light of day again.

Wolf gets out of the water, as fast as he stepped in it. As he towels himself down, he curses under his breath. The wind has unfortunately taken the liberty of going from mildly chilled to glacial, and it isn't doing much to help his case. He does not remember ever getting dressed this fast.

Despite Lilith's earlier statement regarding the personal hygiene of her soldiers, Wolf isn't sure he wants to do this again. Perhaps he could be exempted from the rule, after all, it isn't as if he is one of Lilith's men.

He is but a visitor in the crack that lies between their two worlds—a face to be forgotten.

Wolf shivers. His teeth chatter as he marches up the hill again. On the ground lies the fallen shells of cicadas, which have crumbled off bark belonging to the pine trees lined up like toy soldiers around him. He wonders if Lir is doing this, too, rinsing himself off in the most unconventional of places, or if he has found solace and shelter at an inn or in another's home.

As he prepares himself to enter his tent and shield his aching muscles from the chill that is both outside, and within his veins, Wolf spots a soldier entering the woods. Instead of grasping a cloth to dry himself down, a sword lingers by the man's side. There is nothing peaceful about his stance. Wolf could technically blame it on his unwillingness to bathe in such cold weather, however, this looks like more than the case of an apprehensive guard who worries over the murky waters that complete the vast and seemingly never-ending lake.

The first thought that springs to Wolf's mind is that an enemy has been spotted. Yet, this does not seem right either, for he is the only one out on patrol. And if Wolf has learned one thing during his short time here, it is that—as haughty and insufferable as she may be—Lilith would never send out a single soldier to take out another. She is vicious. She does not trust them. She would send ten, if not eleven, to be sure the job gets done.

Wolf forgets the idea of taking a nap in the sleeping bag that waits for him within his tent. He huffs. He follows the man, who descends further and further down, into the woods.