After Aytin managed to get the request across, the wildlings were more than happy to help set up the camp. It didn't take long before they had a large fire going. Then the three took turns flying armfulls of firewood back from the surrounding forest, until they had enough to keep the campfire fed throughout the night.

Sadly, there wasn't any game to be found. And so close to sunset, no one seemed particularly interested in searching further. Not after "enjoying" the tirox and apples so recently.

Ness did produce a bag of dried nuts to share. Then Attalee passed around a bladder full of some sort of very rough beer. It was sour and still had bits of mash floating around, but Aytin drank his fill, anyway. After so long without any alcohol, even that weak brew left him with a mild buzz.

Afterwards, the huntresses set up a watch while Aytin and Faelon bedded down for the night. That had been a point of some contention. Neither fully trusted the wildlings near so much wealth, but exhaustion had caught up to them.

Just in case, Faelon curled up just beneath the cache. Anyone attempting to pilfer the supplies would be certain to wake him. Judging by the reactions of the wildlings, his mere presence should be enough to discourage their approach. So Aytin just laid against the dragon's side and quickly drifted off to sleep.

He woke not long after dawn. A red dragon was better at keeping the chill away than any hot water bottle ever made. Aytin's muscles and joints were still stiff and sore from his recent trials, but it was the ache of exertion and not the lethargy that came with cold.

An experimental twitch of his left wing brought a smile to his lips. There was only a hint of pain radiating from his wound. Closer inspection showed the swelling had almost disappeared.

'I'll have to apply the medicine a few more times, just to be safe.'

The morning was still chilly, so he retrieved his old coat from where he left it near the fire. Even if it was still a little musty from sitting in the trunk, he felt much more comfortable in it than the oversized one he had salvaged from the brigands. Plus, a night by the fire did wonders getting the worst of the smell out, and it felt deliciously toasty as he shrugged into it.

Aytin squatted by the merrily blazing flames, and looked around for the wildlings as he warmed his hands and wings. Curiously, there was only a single blanket wrapped figure sleeping nearby. Their gear was still here, and someone had recently added an armful of wood to the campfire, so the others couldn't have been gone long.

The peace and quiet was nice. Without any immediate concerns, he could just sit there, staring into the fire, thinking about nothing. If he just had a bowl of porridge and a cup of tea, he could almost imagine he was back in the early days of his journey with Faelon and the crew.

'In fact...'

There hadn't been time to sort through the pile of supplies, but he still remembered where most of the crew rations were packed. The blue painted trunk stood out from the other cargo, and Aytin didn't waste any time dragging it out of the pile. He also retrieved a pair of iron pots and filled them with water from the pool on the way back to the fire.

To one, he added several scoops of oats and a pinch of salt. The other he simply covered. Both went into the coals at the edge of the fire to cook.

They hadn't left the apples behind with the tirox. Aytin grabbed a couple, and cut them into little bits. He added those to the pot of porridge.

'I wish I had some needlefruit syrup, but there aren't any storerooms to raid around here.'

He chuckled softly at the memory as he gave the pot a good stir. It was already beginning to bubble, so he shifted it slightly to keep it at a simmer.

Meanwhile, the lid on the other pot was already beginning to rattle as steam escaped. He pulled it off of the coals, and dumped in a spoonful of dried leaves.

Then Aytin sat back and waited.

He didn't have to wait long.

The sound of wings beating drew his gaze. Rina and Ness appeared, each straining to carry pieces of a roughly dressed deer. They landed awkwardly, but kept their loads from falling to the ground.

"You hunting," Aytin observed as the pair hefted their bounty.

"We hunting," Rina agreed, with a broad smile.

"Bow good?"

"Bow amazing!" Her grin widened, revealing the gap in her teeth. "Thank you! Much thank you!"

They joined him by the fire, setting the chunks of fresh venison on a cleared rock. Both of their eyes went wide as they saw the iron pots, but neither said anything about it. Aytin was relieved when they simply drew their flint knives and started butchering without comment.

It was an efficient process, one they had obviously done many times before. The deer was a good sized buck, judging from the amount of meat. One with plenty of padding for the winter.

Aytin motioned at a chunk of snow white fat on the carcass. After some gesturing, Rina cut him a strip, which he promptly speared on a stick. One quick sear later and he dropped it into the softening porridge.

"It's not butter or tallow, but it's the next best thing," he explained when he got curious looks. The huntresses obviously didn't understand, but he just didn't have the vocabulary or the will to do more. They would get it soon enough.

The sounds and smells had finally woken the other members of the group. Attalee was stirring under her blankets and Faelon had his eyes open and was silently watching them.

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A quick test with a fingertip confirmed that the tea had cooled to drinkable temperatures. He poured a measure through a cloth strainer and into a cup. It was strong and bitter and sent a rush to his head.

This brew was a strong one. Reed and her crew had chosen it specifically to rouse the crew even in the earliest of mornings, and Aytin had probably let it steep a little too long.

He handed the cup to Attalee, who was trying to blink sleep out of her eyes. Not having the words, he mimed drinking the brew.

Suspicious, the older dragonette eyed him as she raised the cup and took a long sniff before sampling the tea. Her stiffened ears and crinkled snout made it clear what she thought of the bitter drink.

"No good?" he asked, fighting to keep a smile from his own face.

"Bad!" she confirmed, followed by several curses not in his limited repertoire of wildling.

"No sleep." He let his eyes close and head loll before taking another sip, then sprung instantly to a caricature of alertness. "Tea."

The last was added in his own language, but the senior huntress gave an understanding nod. She extended her hands with something approaching eagerness, and Aytin passed her back the cup. Attalee proceeded to drain half of it in a single long gulp.

The other two huntresses accepted their own cups and sipped cautiously. Neither appeared to exactly enjoy the flavor, but they seemed to grasp the idea that the taste wasn't the point.

On the other hand, the bowls of porridge drew appreciative noises all around. It wasn't like Aytin was all that good a cook - nearly ruining the tirox had proven that - but it was hard to mess up something so simple.

Going back and forth with Rina between bites, it was clear that they didn't have much in the way of grains. "Much meat," she answered when he asked what they ate. "Nuts. Apples." Aytin got a small frown at that.

He didn't catch the next word, and his expression showed it. "Apples, not apples," she clarified in their limited shared vocabulary.

"Ah, fruit." Aytin nodded in understanding.

"Yes, fruit. Greens." The huntress showed a handful of herbs she had apparently gathered earlier. They smelled like the ones that Voxin had used for their meals on the journey.

"For...?" Aytin pointed at the pile of venison.

"For deer."

There was a small bag of salt in the ration trunk. Aytin retrieved it and opened the package to expose the white crystals within. "For deer."

He took a pinch and flicked a tongue out. Hesitantly, Rina did the same. Her entire body went rigid and she stared at the bag like it was a cup full of honey.

"Salt." Even heavily accented, the word was unmistakable.

It also immediately grabbed the attention of the other wildlings.

With a bit of reluctance, Aytin offered them each their own sample. It wasn't that he was in danger of running out. Not with an entire barrel full. But it was another secret that he had inadvertently spilled.

'I should have known they wouldn't have much salt here. After all, where would they get it?'

There were a few salt flats on his home island that they used to make their own, and he knew other settlements mined theirs or else negotiated with traders for a supply. If they didn't have anything like that on this island...

The three were huddled together once again, speaking in low voices. With a sigh, Aytin left the bag of salt near the butchered deer and made his way over to where Faelon was watching.

"I think I flew through it, again."

But Faelon shook his head in disagreement. "No, they would have found out shortly, regardless," he assured Aytin. "After all, I prefer my meat well seasoned."

"Ha. Ha." He did crack a small smile at the dragon's teasing. "One more thing to trade, I guess."

"And have you asked about that?"

Aytin sighed. "No. Not yet. I don't know enough of their language, and we have time."

"Weeks. Not much more than two, and certainly less than four."

Xantha had expected their journey to take two weeks each way, flying at twilight and through less traveled airstreams to avoid notice. She planned for another week or two for negotiations through some sort of intermediary, although Aytin figured that part wouldn't take long. An unequivocal "no" would be a quick enough message to deliver.

Doing some quick math, it seemed certain that the response had already been sent. 'Hopefully with Stonar and a party of guards to cut a strip out of Xantha's wings.'

But she had a dragon, and someone who could spend months playing a role certainly knew a thing or two about subterfuge. There wasn't much chance that she would allow herself to be caught. In fact, if she wasn't already on her way back, she would be shortly.

"I'll ask them soon," Aytin promised. "Once I get a better hold on their language. I wouldn't want to cause a misunderstanding."

"You seem to have a knack for that."

Aytin gave him a suspicious look. "Languages or causing misunderstandings."

"Both." Faelon paused a heartbeat, and then snorted a short laugh.

"You're in a fine mood today. Two whole jokes? From you?"

The dragon shifted slightly. "It is a good day. Nothing is trying to kill us. We are well fed - or about to be." He glanced at the meat, still sitting on the impromptu cutting board. "And we have potential allies."

The trio in question were still talking. In fact, it appeared that their discussion had turned into a hushed argument, complete with gesticulations and the occasional cut-off curses. Attalee seemed particularly animated, although her wide eyes and the slight twitch in her tail pointed as much to the stimulating effects of the tea as the subject at hand.

"You don't think they are going to betray us anymore?"

"I remain cautious. We do not know their intentions. But..." Faelon let out a long, slow sigh. "Aytin, I am not stupid. I am well aware of my chances of survival should I face Xantha and her ilk alone."

"I never thought you were stupid. Just... driven."

The dragon gave him a searching look. "You inherited more of your mother's diplomacy than you realize."

"Yeah, well, it's true."

"It is, at that," Faelon agreed. "And it is true that I value retribution over my own life - Do not look at me that way," he ordered as Aytin winced. "You know how I feel, and that has not changed.

"Yet, I know that I stand little chance of achieving justice on my own. It was simply my only possible chance. But now..."

Faelon trailed off, but Aytin understood. "Now we have an opportunity to do more than throw your life away."

The other simply nodded.

"I don't want you to die." Aytin said that quietly, so only Faelon could hear.

"I... I am finding that I might prefer to avoid that fate after all."

The conversation trailed off into silence after that. Both dragonette and dragon stared off into the distance, lost in thought of the past and, just maybe, their future.