Molly was at wits end, and the next person who told her not to worry was getting stabbed.

Seven days of endless trudging.

Seven days of camping on strange magic stones that hurt her back.

Seven days of not wearing her armor in the most dangerous place she had ever set foot because it was slightly too noisy while she walked alongside an animal that passed gas every other step.

Last night they were rejoined by the other band of orcs that had led the beast away on the first day. Their arrival put everyone in good cheer.

Somehow they ignored that there was no sign of Nickolas.

Molly tightened her grip on her sword's pommel until her knuckles popped.

She was a thrice damned failure, and she had no idea how to handle the weight of that.

The orcs didn't care, as far as they were concerned Necun was just taking the opportunity for a holiday with her husband. The tithe men were worse, they just stared off into the brush, and muttered that the Warden's son was likely dead. Or worse. Peter thought that Nickolas was being slowly eaten by a monster from a childhood story.

The only voice of even moderate sanity was Marious.

“If he's dead I don't see how you worrying about it will help.” the Medicine man said cheerfully. “Might as well take a cute orc husband and settle down. I'm sure the next tithe caravan can send word that you died honorably fighting off an entire army of beasts before they overwhelmed you. Death before dishonor, and all that.”

Molly slammed her forehead into the wooden frame of the cart Marious was leaning on.

“Why does that sound like my best option?” she muttered drearily.

“Because I'm an insightful man, who knows a woman's heart?” Marious said sagely, manipulating a bit of clay in his fingers. “Either that or you're willing to accept any outcome that punishes you to an extent you find suitably flagellant.”

“Flagellant?” Molly asked, face scrunching in confusion.

“It means to hit yourself with whips or a chain until you're bleeding and in pain.” Marious explained patiently. “All the rage at Goodhallow Fortress I'm told. They're the weird ones who think pain, and blood are the only ways to settle arguments.”

“Is it that strange?” Molly said, pressing her forehead harder against the unyielding wood. “To want the pain outside to match the pain inside?”

There was a long moment of silence.

“Yes?” Marious said with the slightest hesitation. “That would double the pain. Obviously that's worse.”

The unexpected comeback jolted the Knight's mind, and she burst into laughter.

It was better than crying.

“Well.” she gasped out after the bout of tear filled laughter had subsided. “Guess I'll just join the others, and assume he's sipping wine while staring at the stars with Necun.”

“Was that her name?” Marious asked. “I had forgotten. Also we can't see stars here, and unless he was very clever Nickolas didn't grab any wine before he left. Sipping warm water while staring at insects humping is a touch less romantic.”

There was an unpleasant pause while Molly absorbed the words.

“I think.” Marious tacked on the end.

Molly glanced over at the Medicine Man.

Marious finished pinching the clay into a tiny bowl.

“Why am I here?” Molly moaned as the last of her will crumbled.

“Because you still haven't gotten over your pining for Nickolas, and running into dangerous situations is how women deal with their feelings?” Marious provided.

“No. I mean....No! I. No!” Molly sputtered, pushing herself off the cart as a blush bloomed on her face. “I mean why didn't I go after him?”

“Because those feelings, and the terrible plans that result from not having a way to express yourself without violence stop short of actively suicidal actions?” Marious tried.

“It was my duty!” Molly continued, ignoring the man's comment. “If someone was going to get lost in the Green it should have been me! I took an oath to give my life for his!”

“Good luck with that.” Marious scoffed, more to himself than the Knight. “With how Nick thinks I'm shocked he wasn't dead by his fifteenth nameday. Then again I'm shocked the Hunters endured the swarm as smart as they did, so maybe everyone has hidden depths.”

The man pushed his little bowl towards the fire his vegetables were cooking on.

Molly slid her sword a few fingers out of it's scabbard before slamming it back down. It made a satisfying clack.

“When Nickolas gets back he'll know.” she said, staring off into nothing. “He'll know I broke my oath. What then?”

“Molly I've been Nickolas's friend for a least a handful of cycles. And known him since he was eleven.” Marious said. “I like to think you and I are acquaintances at least. With that qualification let me state, without any dramatics, if that is your biggest worry you should just stop worrying until we reach the city.”

Marious poked his little pot to see if it was hardening.

“That's it?” Molly muttered. “Just stop worrying? That's the advice?”

“Best I have.” Marious admitted. “Feel free to ask Peter.”

A long silence fell between the two.

Marious gently turned his pot over so the fire could harden the other side.

“What are you doing with that clay?” the Knight finally asked.

“Need a container for some new herbs.” the man said cheerfully. “Testing to see if this clay is any good, what water to clay ratio I need, so on so on. Want some?”

“No Marious I don't want a tiny pot.” Molly said dryly.

“Suit yourself.” he replied.

Releasing a long breath Molly dropped to the stone, and pulled a leg up under her chin.

“Well since the plan is currently don't think too hard I might as well ask what your plans are.” she said, voice low.

“Creating new medicine.” Marious replied with a smile. “There's so many new materials to learn, and I'll see what the orcs medicine looks like. From talking with those old fellows the caravan has along for spellslingers there's a whole little circle of medicine makers I can talk to. So that should take a few cycles. Maybe ten if their methods are really exotic.”

“And that will....let you make better healing potions?” Molly asked.

Marious blinked up at her. He shrugged.

“Sure lets go with that.” he said easily. “Maybe I'll even see if I can work out how to reattach an arm. Some of the heartlands chirurgeons claim they can do it, but I've never met a survivor.”

Molly shuddered.

“I change my mind I'm going to find Peter.” she stated, turning to walk away.

“Alright. Good talk. Try to remember to stop thinking too much.” Marious called after her, returning to his pots.

Sure. That's how it works. Molly thought.

In truth she felt the talk, as baffling as Marious had been, let her cool her head down to a reasonable simmer. As much as she hated to admit Marious was correct, the lack of her usual outlets was getting to her. Normally she had access to a training field full of her comrades to blow off steam with. A few rounds in a ring had a tenancy to clear the mind.

Here she was just shuffling along as the Hunters killed anything that looked like a threat that came close to the carts.

She would be the first to admit that the women were skilled, but it rankled not being the one standing between the non combatants and approaching danger.

I'd still take a good line of heavy armor over this jumping nonsense any day. Molly thought. All that wasted energy for a minor distraction? Being quick on your feet is one thing, these women are dancing around, showing off for the men like a heartland duelist. With a line of good armor, and a few good bows I could kill anything I've seen. Except maybe the swarm, but the orcs even had to form a line to deal with that terror, which just proves my point.

As she thought through the tactics she had seen Molly wandered through the camp. The sudden jarring shift to a bubble of safety had taken several days to process. It was strange seeing the orcs who moments before were diligently staying as silent as possible burst into laughter and cheers when they crossed into the circle of stones. That first night around the campfire the scene was comical. The tithe men huddled around a single fire, desperate to stay quiet as they watched the edge of the stone circle with intense eyes.

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Meanwhile their wives were getting hammered, singing songs of long hunts and romantic conquest.

A mural painter back in the fortress would have committed the sight to canvas the moment he could.

Predators laughing at the edge of the circle of light.

Things changed slowly, but they did change to Molly's surprise. The 'spellslingers' as Marious called them had started paying more attention to the tithe men, sitting with them around the fires, or walking with them on the march. From what she saw they didn't speak much, or offer any substantive support.

They were just...there.

It suddenly struck Molly what it reminded her of.

The Sargents who pressed farmers into fighting lines during a serious beast attack. She had met a few such women when her mother took her on her travels to the far flung villages under Blightstone's protection. They were not Knights, not truly, just hard women with hearts of iron who knew how to stand, shout, and intimidate a bunch of farmers into holding their ground. It was their trade, official bullies.

As a child Molly was convinced they knew no fear.

Now she knew they were just too brickheadded to process more than one emotion at a time. That emotion was typically anger. Or hunger. Definitely one of those.

But when you needed to hold a line there was no better choice than the brutes. During a demonstration she watched one wade into the line, gripping a farm girl by the collar, and holding tight until the sweating girl got her spear into the correct position. Others could do the same with a well placed glare.

The older orcish men were performing a similar role, just without the implied threats of violence.

She assumed.

Their steadfast presences quashed the growing haze of fear that had been hovering over the men since they had witnessed the Green horizon. Little things like offering a waterskin, or even offering to gather more wood for the fires pierced the mood. By the third day the humans were chatting in low voices around, and occasionally with, the orcish men the moment the fires were lit.

Molly wasn't sure what the discussions entailed, the men tended to get skittish around her, killing their conversations when she approached. A few even refused to look her in the eye, talking to her feet in their rare interactions. It was disconcerting to the Knight.

Meanwhile the Hunters kept a hungry eye on the men, waiting for their chance to swoop in. Molly assumed their intentions were at least mostly honest. No untoward attempts had been made to pull a man away to her knowledge at least. They just watched with hopeful eyes.

It was like a bunch of squires blushing as they tried to get a washerman's son to watch them train. There was hunger too, but it was more of a distant hope. The women wanted to grow close, spark a romance with the man they claimed.

Only their elders clearly hadn't informed them of how.

It struck Molly as cruel in a way. Her mother had at least ensured she was versed in some poetry. Combined with the confidence only the gleaming armor of a full fledged Knight could bring she was sure she could woo a man. At least enough to get past the awkward first few steps of courtship. These women had either been left out to dry by their elders, or were too cautious about scaring the men more. They had given up. Now left to mope as they waited for an opening that would never come. The easy choice, without the risks involved in courtship.

She hoped there was a plan in place for some elders to take the women aside, and explain that the men would never approach them first. Molly wondered, not for the first time, if orcish men were different in that regard.

The Knight stomped over to where the rooks were leashed. The smell wasn't pleasant, but it was quiet enough for her to think properly. She watched as the animals munched on grain mixed with leaves gathered by a caravan hand. A small part of her desperately wished she could go back in time. To stop herself from volunteering to follow Nickolas into the Green. Looking back it was obvious she was chosen, and asking for volunteers from amongst his guards was as formality.

Even if there was a deception she couldn't bring herself to blame the Warden. The woman cared for her son deeply, even if Nickolas chaffed at her affection. The woman wanted him returned safe, and Molly was the obvious Knight for the job.

Molly clenched her fist, and let out a slow breath.

Just below her skin her aura bubbled and spat.

There was nothing she could have done. Deep down she understood this. Following a trained Hunter through the branches wasn't in her skill set. Molly wasn't even confident she could jump that high. That left following on foot through the swarm. Unlikely.

By all reasonable measures Molly made the correct decision. The Warden's son wasn't abandoned, he was taken to safety by his wife.

But Molly knew the truth. None of that was going through her head as she watched Necun drag Nickolas away.

At the time her mind was too consumed with fear.

Beasts she could handle, even the strange distorted packs they formed wasn't something any proper Knight would flinch from. She had personally killed over a dozen creatures that had crawled out of the Green. Two were in close combat. Bloody days with gnashing maws, and slashing claws. Molly had held then. The fear was never crippling. She always remembered her duties, her oaths. It carried her through.

The swarm was different.

The wall of noise. A clicking sea of black death. Coursing over them like a landslide carrying nothing but total obliteration. If she had been in a line with her fellow Knights holding she might have held it together, but here? In this strange deadly place where even the sun was hidden? Alone with nothing, but these insane orc Hunters to hold with her?

Her mind had gone blank.

Only the fear remained.

Oh she kept swinging her sword. The combat forms were carved into her bones. It took no thought at all to hold a line. Beyond that? Molly, proud Knight of Fortress Blightstone, and defender of it's heir, had fallen into a blind panic.

The memories were a blur now. She barely remembered when Nickolas was taken away, just the sudden burst of heat, and the short window of calm as the swarm avoided the flames. Processing the moment, realizing that Nickolas was gone, hadn't hit until the swarm had dwindled to it's last limping dregs. Halfway through a strike through the creature's hard shell it fell on her mind like a brick.

Her aura had been burning hard, keeping her in the fight. Molly half suspected it was the only reason she kept fighting instead of hiding under a rook.

It had nearly collapsed once she realized what had happened. The aura withdrew below her skin like a snapping bowstring, it left her gasping, and dry heaving over the creature's corpse. The Hunter's had laughed it off, assuming it was just combat stress hitting all at once. Molly saw no reason to correct them. She held herself together for the rest of the day, but her aura burned, pushing her to run off into the brush to search for her charge.

Now her aura had settled into a dull ache and she relied on Marious to talk her out of something that stupid. Foolishly she tried to push her aura back out, to flex it in an exercise so simply any squire could accomplish it. The backlash nearly sent her to her knees.

Gasping, she stumbled to a bare patch of rock.

Was I really that tied to him? Molly thought, fighting the pain as she sat. I cared for him of course I did. But a full collapse of my aura?

No. she thought, trying to flex it again. No it must consider this a breach of my oaths, no matter how sensible the decision. He wouldn't have been better off because I tossed myself into the swarm trying to follow him.

But that's not the full story. the thought came unbidden. You could have asked about the dangers. You could have learned the swarm doesn't react well to fire. You could have done your duty.

You could have stopped this from happening at all.

Molly pulled her legs up, pressing her eyes to her knees.

She tried not to cry.

“Rot. That bad huh?” A rough voice said quietly behind her.

Molly jolted, and her hands flew to her eyes to rub the wetness away.

Before she could stand a Hunter dropped to a crouch beside her.

“Bycia said you looked rough.” Kella said. “Didn't think it was wander off alone for a cry rough.”

The Hunter offered up a small wineskin.

“Want a drink?” she asked. “Or would that just make things worse?”

For a moment Molly stared at the offered gift with glassy eyes. Then, slowly, she grasped the wineskin, popped the cork, and took a long pull.

“There we go.” Kella said in a soothing tone. “Take the edge off.”

The Hunter took the significantly lighter wineskin back, and took a drink for herself.

“So.” the dark haired orc started. “Is this about golden boy or something else?”

“Of course it's Nickolas.” Molly said miserably. “He's all I've been talking about for days.”

“Might have been cover for a deeper wound.” Kella profered, scratching her chin. “People deflect in different ways. Knew a girl who would talk about wooden boats with wild eyes when she was nervous about the next hunt. Carved ones mind, she hadn't been sailing in her life.”

“How do you even know what sailing is?” Molly choked out, surprise surfacing in a sea of dreadful pain.

“Hm? Why wouldn't we?” Kella asked.

Molly just blinked at the orc.

“Because you don't have lakes nearly big enough for it?” she finally blurted out.

“Lakes? Nah. Those don't stay long enough to bother with.” Kella replied, before drinking from the wineskin again. “Is that what you have beyond the mountains? We just need them for rivers.”

Confusion seized Molly's mind for a moment before her aura suddenly flared. It was an ache deep in her chest that took her breath away. She blinked away the pain as she rubbed her ribs.

“You're trying to distract me.” the Knight muttered.

“Is it working?” Kella tried with a chuckle.

In response Molly put her hand out for the wineskin, drinking deep when it was pressed into her hand.

“I've just been going over the swarm attack in my head.” the Knight admitted. “Trying to work out what I did wrong. Or if I even did.”

“A big part of that was on us.” Kella said, after letting out a hissing breath through her teeth. “Neither of you knew how to handle a swarm. Frankly we're lucky that the men were gathered up so quickly. Sometimes the outer dregs hit us faster than we like. Still, it wasn't that bad. Even with the surprise fireshow everyone made it out. If anything golden boy saved us some trouble. We never tried distraction duty with someone who could sling fire like that.”

“Everyone keeps mentioning distraction duty, but not what Nickolas was distracting.” Molly said carefully, the aftertaste of the wine bitter on her tongue.

“Swarm has to come from somewhere, and the big momma doesn't like fire.” Kella replied with a low voice. “It's. Well. If it decides you look tasty the only way to survive is to be too high up for it to climb.”

The Hunter shuddered.

“Only seen one once.” she said slowly. “It was tearing into this shelled monstrosity that was spitting boiling water out of it's back. It just...carved through it like a knife through tender meat.”

“But we were fine.” the Hunter continued. “Hiding just above the action. The Matriarch tossed a few spines at us, but nothing a Hunter isn't used to. That's why we're not worried. Necun knows what she's doing, if we haven't met up that just means she headed towards the city. No use worrying about it.”

“If we're being honest I really don't give a frozen slink about how Necun is.” Molly blurted out, regret instantly coiling in her chest.

A great silence opened up between the women. Kella stared at Molly. Molly pretended to watch the dark shadows of the underbrush while watching the Hunter from the corner of her eye.

Behind them a chorus of laughter broke out amongst the caravan hands. In the distant underbrush an echo of an animal's harsh call sounded.

The silence held while Molly's insides turned cold.

“Well that's just rude.” Kella finally muttered. “Even if you do love her bond.”

Deep shameful regret was instantly burned away by indignant anger as Molly snapped her head around to face Kella.

“What are you-” the Knight started.

“You love the Warden's son and it's obvious to everyone. Don't be a fool.” Kella growled back. “And don't be wishing ill omens on my companion, regardless of your mood.”

The orc woman had leaned forward. Molly felt the warm breath on her face, saw the darkness swimming in the Hunter's eyes. Then Kella pulled back with a harsh snort.

“Either stop twisting yourself up, or do something productive.” the Hunter said. “Between you, and the men the moods turning sour, even with the main pod back. Well, except for the Medicine Man, but no ones sure what to make of him.”

“And what am I supposed to do oh mighty Hunter?” Molly asked, voice holding strong against wavering. “You're not exactly going to teach me how to leap through the trees in a few days.”

Kella narrowed her eyes at the human. Her lips parted into a smirk that looked positively vicious in the flickering firelight.

“You're not that dim.” Kella said, as if she just came to the conclusion. “You're worth at least a third of a Hunter, which is more that I can say about most women. Without this rotten moping you could be keeping the tithe men calm, and smacking down the occasional critter. More importantly you could be the voice those men listen to when we have another emergency.”

“No.” Molly said, eyes dimming. “No I really can't.”

Kella snorted.

“Come on it's not that hard, just flare your aura a little, and bark some orders.” Kella said. “Once you know the right ones to give it'll even be helpful.”

As if her aura heard the words it constricted, pushing on her like a current of ice water pushing her to the riverbed. Molly slammed her eyes shut and let out a slow shuddering breath, bringing her knees up again.

“Oh rot.” Kella said with dawning horror. “What happened to your aura?”