Their exit from Al-Rimal brought with it a heavy shroud, and though Saila’s insistence to linger and help bury the dead was a small bit of light, the gloom that seeped in as the three made their way into the wilderness could not be missed.

Few had known the dead. They were a mix of soldiers, young and old, angry. Unsatisfied with Felisia’s looming victory- all but won in the eyes of most- wanting more than they had got.

Noble knew that well, and hoped the little lady’s small kindness would calm them.

As for the girl’s own mood… she had stayed silent in the saddle, staring back at Al-Rimal until it faded into the horizon.

Only then did she next speak.

“Was that our fault?”

Noble peeked back over his shoulder. “Our fault, little lady?”

“Yeah. It- I mean…” she hesitated, as though the truth of the question was outside even her own understanding. “… before it happened, I had that, weird feeling, you know?”

“Hm,” Noble nodded, and turned back to the road ahead- a wide open plain pock-mocked by the ghosts of war- the skeletons of Trestarian fighter-jets, frames piercing through tattered canvas skin like exposed like rib-cages. Shattered fragments of transport vehicles, hollowed out remains of tanks. Crater’s the size of men.

He shook his head, then said “no, I don’t believe so, but what gives you the thought anyway?”

Saila fidgeted in her seat, tapping at her knees. “Just, a feeling. Trouble seems to follow us, is all. Maybe I could feel it?”

“Maybe,” Noble answered. “Though, don’t go blaming yourself. Bad things happen every day, we just happened to wander into it. Comes with the territory sometimes.”

Saila gave him an expected sigh. “Well, maybe we can wander into something good next time? I uh… I don’t…”

Her words trailed off, but Noble knew the gist of it.

Saila was a smart girl. The weapon was Felisian and the brutally unparalleled. The chances were slimmer than she’d think, but the thought that this was Knave had crossed Noble’s mind as well. The lack of blade wounds said otherwise, and when he’d asked around no one seemed to have met the man, so Noble had to trust in this feeling.

Perhaps it was all just nerves. Four months away from the hustle of even these smaller towns could dull the sharpest of edges… or leave them itching for activity.

“Saila,” Noble said, leaning back to look her straight on. “How’s about you do some hunting. Sun’ll be setting soon.”

With a sudden leap that jostled their poor horse, Saila went from the saddle to the ground, drawing her staff, and spinning it expertly- or imitation-expert anyway.

“Sure thing soldier-man. Wanna make it a challenge, or…?”

“No no, I’ll trust you to see it through,” Noble threw a thumb out towards the bleached remains of a larger aircraft. “I’ve got some hunting of my own to do.”

“You’re gonna rob the dead, really?”

“The dead don’t need nothin’, and may appreciate the living carrying them on,” Noble tipped his head to the side. “Besides, I’m only looking for bullets, just in case.”

“God, really? Referencing The Twin Guns? Nerd,” Saila smirked, turning on her heels. “But alright. See you after I’ve bagged some lizards.”

“Alright, you just be careful now. If you see anything dangerous-”

“I should leave it alone, yeah, yeah. I got it, don’t worry!”

She stomped off with a confident- and excited- swagger.

Noble lingered on her as she did, smiling beneath his mask.

###

Saila had her suspicions.

One, that what went down in Al-Rimal wasn’t quite as clear cut as Noble made it seem. She’d made an effort to eye all the Felisian soldiers on their way out- risky, terribly risky, what were you THINKING- for some sign of violence. Some splash of red, or a smoking weapon. But no, all were clean and sharp, and none of their weapons matched.

Two, that the itch at the back of her neck, the feeling of eyes tracing over them and holding, was more than just an abundance of paranoia. This she hadn’t been able to check, what with Noble being around- I just don’t wanna worry him, that’s all- to make some great fuss about it.

So, she was more than grateful when he suggested the impromptu hunting. The solitude to think to herself was appreciated- as would be the real meat. They were good on food- courtesy of Koryu and Mister Kenji- but it was mostly trail rations, dried berries and nuts and the like. She needed- wanted, something freshly cooked, like those delicious lamb skewers.

But first, of course, her eye.

Saila, with some hesitance, picked up an old fragment of rear-view mirror from the charred remains of a utility vehicle. It was warped from heat, fragile, and almost too stained by weather to see properly, but it sufficed. She focused on her right eye.

Nothing.

Maybe it… wasn’t real? Saila suggested. It felt ludicrous on the face of it- the memory, four months past, of rubbing her face and finding a gnarled tooth sticking out from her hand, had too much texture to be false. Maybe it was just some wood that looked similar. And it certainly wasn’t in my EYE, I’d have… felt it, right?

Perhaps, but that still rung hollow. After all, maybe she had felt it, and in the moment simply forgot. As clear as it stood out in her mind, not every detail was crystal- the ‘dance’ with Knave being more a flow of emotions than events.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Whatever the truth was, there was no sign of fangs in her right eye. A check of the left showed the same, and that calmed her.

Maybe Al-Rimal had just been a coincidence. A pulling of a nerve by the wind. Maybe-

Thump, thump.

Saila froze.

Something was moving. She tightened her focus- muscles tensing, eyes searching. If it was an enemy, there was the nearby vehicle for make-shift cover. If something else… well, Yari had taught her how to handle the fiercest of critters. She’d be-

Thump, thump.

In the distance, leaping about in fits and starts, was the largest desert hare Saila had ever seen. Tension slacked, and she watched it for a moment, dashing about in search of scrub-grass or desert roots.

Instead, the little critter zipped over to an upturned vehicle, wiggled its way underneath it, and crawled back out dragging a half-torn ration pack. Made with preservation in mind over anything else, though Saila doubted the little survivor cared much- his prodigious size was indication of that if nothing else.

Dark eyes crossed with hers, and she felt the faintest tingle along her neck. Then, with a speed common to grave-robbers, it scurried off with its ill-gotten gains, package dragging behind it.

It was, in a sense, beautiful. Even here, among the wreckage of war, life found a way.

It was also a perfect opportunity for showing Noble her mother’s old rabbit stew recipe.

Sorry little guy, but today the Salamander has the luck… she thought, and followed after gently- suppressing the beginning grumbles of hunger in her stomach.

###

Digging through old war machines was a task that always put a strange calm over Noble.

It wasn’t that he enjoyed it. There was just a mechanical nature to the work that let his mind grow fuzzy. To pick clean an aged carcass of metal for the smallest scraps he needed… it felt like old times.

Bullets were a far cry from discarded furniture, clothes, and food, but it fed him just the same now.

The horse safely left to his own business, Noble began his work of sifting through the remains.

Trestaria had some of the best aircraft in the world- nimble prop-planes that could skim the desert and rain down fire with the blazing sun at their backs. Typically, a one-seater, though the larger two-seater models allowed for cover fire from its more vulnerable angles.

From the charring along the fuselage- never mind the lightning shaped tears in it- this one had fallen prey to Felisian anti-air storm rounds.

Noble checked the front cockpit- empty save its occupant, slumped down in their seat. Buzzards had been here long before he had, and the bones were picked as clean as could be expected. Near he could tell, he died on impact. The back seat was… far worse shape. Whether the occupant had suffered the indignity of being torn to pieces before or after crashing, Noble did not know, but the damage to the bones suggested something had.

It was a small miracle the plane hadn’t detonated. Nestled in the shredded remains of the back seat, was what he needed- a small pouch of ammunition.

Noble thanked the corpse absentmindedly and returned to where he’d left Matchsticks, checking each bullet to make sure they were still good after so long.

Enough were, and the black-silver longnose was eating as happily as he would be as soon as Saila got back.

He placed them by the six little treats the doctor and he had cooked up over the past four months, and set about making camp.

###

Saila tromped back into camp not long after, a hare as large as her head held high in triumph- lightly singed but otherwise intact. She’d also helped herself to the aged chocolate bar from the ration pack it had absconded with, figuring she deserved the treat.

Noble had congratulated her success by asking where the lizards she promised were, and Saila just about came in swinging on that one- laughing all the while.

Saila went to work preparing her mother’s stew while Noble finished setting up camp, and by the time dusk drifted over the war-scarred field, the two had finished a campfire and set the pot- another gift of Mister Kenji’s- boiling.

In that calm night, Saila asked a question.

“Tell me about the war,” her feet bunched up on the edge of the campfire, staring intently at the bubbling stew of rabbit meat. “Not your war, but the war. The thing that caused all this.”

“Wouldn’t say it caused all this.”

Saila bopped him in the shoulder, the impact dull.

“Don’t be a pedant!”

“Now where’d you learn that five-dollar word?”

“You, when I was talking about the inaccuracies in the dance moves in The Twin Guns. You know, where she-”

“I know, I know. Sorry, little lady,” he said, a genuine timbre to his tone. “I’ll tell you.

He cleared his throat.

“It started in Dulace- the north. Snow for miles in the winter, and even summer has a bite to it. They’re the closest to Felisia, and the least defended by some margin, so they marched against them first. It was a hard-fought thing, but the world did not pay too much mind- neighbors quarrel. It’s what they did.”

Saila stirred the pot as she listened- by now she’d learned his stories were often fractured by gaps in his memory, by damage and decay, and hoped the telling helped sort it all out.

“Then of course came the declaration, in blood and bullets- Dulace would fall soon, and it was to be a message. Join or die.”

She’d seen enough hunting that rabbit to gather how well that had gone. The graveyard of metal and bones was a nasty sight, and a quick glance to the distance told her that the dark of night did little to improve it.

“Guess they picked die, huh.”

“Suppose so. By my understanding, Kaiga simply noted their borders would be closed, and did not fight- not at first, anyway. They had their own problems. Exova sent a gunman to duel the messenger to the death.”

“Th- I’m sorry what?” Saila just about dropped the ladle. “A duel? Really?”

“It’s what I heard anyway. Hardly know if even half of what I’ve heard is true, to be honest. Mostly know the wider details- Felisia’s technological advancements led to wide-spread slaughter. It put them two steps ahead, in every encounter. And that’s not counting things like me nipping at their enemy’s heels.”

“What do you mean?” Saila asked, more out of a desire to hear more than actual clarification.

“Well, like I said,” he started. “I know what I’ve heard, what I’ve been told, what I-… participated, in. Some of it may be hearsay, some reporting by Felisia or others that skews it here or there. I imagine that’s another weapon Felisia has at our necks- those who lived it will die, and only words’ll remain. And Felisia’s good with words.”

“Why has it taken them so long, then?” Saila asked. “They’re so strong, they got the weapons to do it… why haven’t they won yet?”

“A good question. Turns out, the sheer scale of the endeavor meant that even if they have a clear advantage, they do not have time. Four fronts of war, each a unique theatre. And by all accounts the push-back, when it came, was fierce.”

“Oh? I mean, that’s not that surprising. If one guy wants to beat up everyone else they’re gonna team up, right?”

“Clever way of putting it, little lady,” he smiled, though Saila could hear a bit of strain beneath his mask-filtered voice. “Dulace has a history of revolution and revolt; even as they lost ground, they slipped in knives where they could. Supplies sent to the other nations, troops, anything that could help stem the bleeding tide. The others have- and are- doing so as well. Little networks popped up and…”

“Were shot down,” Saila hazarded a guess. “By people like you- ne- not that I blame you, or anything!”

“No blame taken, Saila. It’s just the way it was and is- Felisia wants complete dominance, so it puts them all to the wall. Some survived of course- those lost in the cracks, those who were thought dead, and those who were simply late. They still do their best, helping those in need. It’s a sad thing, but beautiful too, I reckon.”

“Hm,” Saila rocked back and forth gently- she was feeling antsy, and wanted the stew to be done already.

“Kinda like Mister Kenji and Koryu, right?”

“The very same. I’ll tell you this- you remember those masks on their belts, right?”

“Yeah- those are like, sand-guards, right?”

“More or less- point is…” he lifted his mask. “You see a mask like that, you trust the person with it. They’re doing right in the world.”

The mask went down. Saila nodded her understanding.

“God, this is taking forever,” she finally said, hopping up and stretching her legs. “I’m gonna walk for a bit. You watch the pot, okay?”

“Suppose I will. Not that I can stop you.”

She laughed, and he laughed with her.

The stew simmered, a fragrant aroma lifting through the night air.

In harder times, she’d look back on nights like this, and it’d keep her going.

######