Amongst the Seeds hiking – lumpy canvas satchels in various sizes slung over their shoulders – Head Maleen stumbled sluggishly through the forest, sweat staining the back and armpits of the tunic she’d donned. A constant drizzle fell from the canopy above, filling the air with a humidity so thick that moving felt closer to swimming than walking. Those present were mindless of the mud clinging to their clothing – each carried a more elegant set of clothes for the conference as replacements.

“Y’alright, Maddie?” asked… Kit as she moved next to the young Head. Despite being burdened with a missing hand, constant limp, and a bag of equal size to the others, the only sign of her frustration was a gradually deepening scowl. “Need help?”

Maleen flushed deeply, straightening both arms to her side to conceal the damp patches beneath them. “I’m okay, thanks.”

Kit raised an eyebrow, momentarily amused. “You sure, princess?”

The Head’s blush faded. “Yes,” she claimed, ducking beneath a low branch. Its leaves left a trail of water over her cheeks. “Our friend back there is already carrying most of mine anyway.”

The other woman leaned heavily on her scabbarded sword as she limped along. “Don’t think Ol’ Beaky’d mind takin’ th’ rest, Maddie.”

“What about you, then?” Her tone was strangled. “Why not give him your pack?”

“Me?” Kit’s cackle transformed into a grunt as her knee quirked sideways. “You could just ‘bout place a saddle on me an’ ride me all the way there. I’m fine.”

At her words, a sudden fit of coughing broke from Maleen. Eyebrows scrunched, Kit leaned over the smaller woman and slapped her on the back rhythmically. When the coughs were choked into tiny gasps, she produced a flask from her hip and offered it to the Head, who took a few sparing swallows before handing it back.

While Maleen recovered, Kit narrowed her eyes in thought. Eventually, she snorted. “…Saddle, huh?”

The smaller woman closed her eyes. “Just kill me,” she muttered.

With her eyelids shut, the young Head couldn’t see the mute disbelief in Kit’s expression slowly transform into a wide smile. She raised her arm to brush a finger against Maleen’s cheek…

“Well, I s’pose I could be…”

…And found her hand absent.

The former swordswoman withdrew her stump without touching Maleen’s face. “Reckon we’re nearly there,” she said, jaw tightening. “Think I’ll check up front.”

With that, Kit hobbled towards the front of the procession and left Maleen alone. When the small woman opened her eyes, she kept her gaze pointed towards the muddy earth. Her bronze curls had been straightened into a limp orange by the rain falling from above, constantly clinging to her eyelids. It was a wonder she could see anything at all.

A strip of cloth might solve the issue.

Head Maleen eyed it for a moment, then took a deep breath and gingerly retrieved it. “Thank you,” she said, tying her hair behind her head. Afterwards, she straightened her back and continued onwards.

The group’s destination was supposedly a short distance from the cave system, but required eschewing animal trails for a path never meant to be walked by humans: overgrown with greenery, vegetation, and mildly poisonous plants that soon had the entire procession scratching their arms. Of the dozen members of the group – besides Kit and Maleen, all large Shrikebloods – only one deigned to remain with the straggling Head.

For every inch of ground that grew between Maleen and the main group of Seeds, Erin’s visage grew a little darker. Her fingers beat against her thigh a little faster. Eventually the hiker closest to the pair disappeared from eyeshot entirely, which boiled Erin’s simmering impatience into words.

“Hurry up, Head,” the muscular woman snapped.

“I am,” Maleen managed to say between pants.

“Get the thing behind to carry you, if need be.”

For a moment, she seemed to consider that. Then she shook her head. “That would not,” she gasped, “be a good look.”

“Neither is this,” Erin ground out between her teeth.

Maleen did not reply.

When the silence between them stretched, Erin ran a hand through her hair. “Sorry. But you are the Head of Heltia. I…” Her jaw worked as she stared between the many trunks of the forest, searching for some kind of reply. “…know it’s hard, but we need you to do better.”

Once again, Maleen did not reply. But her feets’ cycle from humid air to mud to air again quickened for a short time. As it turned out, a short time was all that was needed.

In the depths of the wilderness, beauty was not rare. It could be found in small things: the patterns of bark; a spiral of ants; the body of a small bird, utterly frozen in the moments before decay set in. Or in larger ones: the way distinct trees knotted themselves together in their quest for sun; the earthy scent of countless mushrooms, grasses, lichen and leaves tumbling over one another; the cruel, circuitous winding of a river as it ate the stones of its riverbed. Exacting in its equality, for patterns have no mind to discriminate with.

The place Gaia had found held a gentler kind of splendour. In the gap between two steep hills, the branches of a fat lump of a beech-tree brushed the morning light into the sleepy shadow of the clearing. Scores of fallen sticks sat cradled by hundreds of blades of grass, grown long enough to tickle the knees of the scattering of Shrikebloods surveying the area. The ground sloped slightly, until it reached a tiny stream at the bottom of a ditch valiantly fighting its way over a gulley of stone. The ghosts of a few disparate insects flitted through vanished reeds. A gentle place.

It wouldn’t fit in the bag.

Harsh, gravelly coughing broke the serenity of the scene. Gaia sat on a fallen branch near the centre of the clearing, hacking spittle into her hand as the Shrikebloods – Erin included – abandoned their bags to race over to her. Her waved protests only intensified their concern: flecks of blood covered her hands. The cartilage in her neck stood sharply against her skin.

When her coughing subsided enough to allow a few words between them, the large woman waved Head Maleen over, forcing the crowd to separate.

“Apologies Head Maleen.” Her throat narrowed at the final word, just barely avoiding another fit of coughing. “I don’t think…” A pause. “…I can handle the arrangements…” Another pause. “…Could you take over?”

At those words, the middle-aged woman erupted into another round of hacking spit and blood into her palms. Maleen stared, wide-eyed. Even as Gaia grappled with whatever afflicted her, she remained mighty: muscles and tendons bulging against skin as she struggled to bury the coughs fighting their way from her. Sickness and strength coursed through a single body, and the mere notion of that felt strange.

But Maleen stretched her lips into a smile and nodded, for the trappings of luxury were needed to convince the Houses that the Seeds were more than a disparate bunch of dirt-munchers and with Gaia occupied mastering her breathing, the last remnant of House Heltia was all they had.

“You gonna be alright, Maddie?” yelled Kit, who’d been busy bouncing a pebble on her boot at the edge of the clearing. “Sounds a like a godsdamned hassle.”

“We have no one else, Kit,” Erin stated blandly.

“Why don’t you go back t’shovin’ yer tongue up Gaia’s arse?” the crippled woman spat. “I ain’t talkin’ t’you.”

Erin spluttered, boots squelching as they twisted in the damp earth towards Kit. “That’s… Vulgar.”

Kit’s scoff rang out over the clearing. “What’s vulgar’s how you’re pushin’ all this work onto Maddie.”

The Head in question opened her mouth. “I’m fine- “

“You shut up, too,” she snapped. “You could be burnin’ alive and you wouldn’t ask anyone t’so much as piss on you.”

The Shrikeblood inhaled bracingly. “There’s not much of a choice.”

“How ‘bout you choose t’shut up?”

Erin eyed the other woman sideways. “Kit…”

“What’re you gonna do?” she sneered. “Hit me?”

“I don’t hit cripples.”

Boots twisted in mud. The river burbled. No one seemed to notice Head Maleen’s eyes flicking between everyone present.

Gaia tried to speak, but coughs covered her words. Another Blooded took up her slack. “Do you really want another tree knocked down, Erin?”

“Right.” The muscular woman slowly wiped the scowl from her face. “Sorry.” The apology lacked any intonation.

Kit’s lips peeled back as she raised an arm. It ended in a stump. She stared at it for a few moments, then scoffed quietly to herself.

Maleen was paler than usual. “I’m fine.”

They got to work. The young Head hesitantly told the Seeds to begin removing detritus from beneath the tree while she recovered from the walk. Kit had to be prevented from dragging a branch larger than her body from the clearing, lest she gouge the ground with unsightly furrows. When Maleen agreed with the instructions, the former swordswoman sat heavily beside Gaia while the other Seeds began hoisting an immense canvas tent – treated to repel rain – beneath the tree. With that done, several small tables and chairs some thing had carried were placed inside of the tent.

A space large enough for the delegations to shelter from the ubiquitous drizzle had been created, yet preparations were far from complete.

“Miss Head,” called a Shrikeblood, gripping the edge of a table, “where d’you reckon these’d fit?”

Maleen instructed the woman to arrange them each table equidistantly and symmetrically, then had to explain what both terms meant.

“Head Maleen,” said a Seed with a gap-toothed smile, “where’s this go?”

The young woman directed the man to hang the tapestry he held – a depiction of an egg sat in a nest of bones some dextrous Seed had woven – on one side of the tent.

“Head Maleen,” Erin called. “Which platters should I set the food onto?”

She gestured towards the silverware spilling out of someone’s pack.

“Hey, uh, Head… Maddie.” Kit’s gaze followed the Seeds Maleen was instructing. Her five fingers precariously squeezed around three different candelabras. “You… Where d’you want these?”

Maleen swallowed, and pointed at the tables.

“Do you think a yellow carpet would be most complementary to House Baylar, Head Heltia? Or would purple better reflect your own nobility?”

Both in addition to northern colours, she said, placed in accordance to seating arrangements.

“Are the snacks arranged well?”

She reordered them.

“What manner of tablecloth should be used?”

They only had one, anyway.

“We been stompin’ mud in, Miss Head. Should I clean it?”

Yes.

“Anythin’ I can do fer you, Maddie?”

Head Maleen blinked rapidly. After a few moments, she plastered a smile across her face. “No.”

----------------------------------------

House Baylar arrived with little fanfare.

Five individuals trekked over a hill: two blunt-featured men whose fur cloaks and ragged garb concealed the clanking of steel beneath, a tall, well-muscled mortal bearing a braided beard and a mane of hair that would have been impressive were it not for the rain drenching him – all three blinded by a strip of cloth across their eyes – and the two Shrikebloods that had escorted them. General Yalo and his two Lizardblooded guards.

Dash had recounted his interaction with the General to Ronnie, when prompted – both twins were more talkative around the Strain. From his account, the man’s impressive title concealed a relative lack of military experience. None of that was surprising – the greatest warriors of the Houses died with Avri – but given the Albright’s impressive campaign record a single ally, however economically powerful, boded poorly for supressing whatever remnants of House Albright remained after the battle.

Which was why the arrival of Houses Illico, Andoras, and Korla was significant.

The three northern Houses had long since entered their twilight years. With the Dolphin enslaving their population on one side and Baylar chipping away at their lands on the other, their day-to-day affairs were the most concerned with existential matters than any of the other Houses. The fact they arrived in concert was somewhat surprising given that they had resorted to cannibalising one another decades ago. Yet even if they hated one another, a show of solidarity against Houses Baylar and Heltia – the former having paid the latter to fight the northern Houses frequently – seemed to be worth more than whatever grudges they held.

A stocky man with similar colourations to the twins represented Illico, a thin, dark-skinned man represented Andoras, and a narrow-eyed woman represented the fading House of Korla. They introduced themselves as Lonwo, Khoe, and Kara, respectively. Each were accompanied by two mortal guards – excepting the Korlean, who was accompanied by a single Lizardblooded woman instead. All wore coloured silks symbolising their Houses – brown, white, and grey respectively – yet despite their finery being unsuited to wilderness travel the mud-stains were light. None seemed bothered by the grime.

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These three diplomats could offer little in terms of economic support. But decades of experience fighting more numerous and better-equipped foes made their presence invaluable. If Gaia and Maleen could convince them the risks were worthwhile.

If.

But what could betrayal do? No one present knew the location of the gathering – they’d been blindfolded on the journey over – and had been guarded by Seeds the entire time. Gaia could kill any one of them herself. And if an Albright contingent placed Kit, Head Maleen, or Erin under threat, they would not be abided.

The branches of the great beech tree were rough, and its damp leaves – mottled red and green – sabotaged sight. Silhouettes of Seeds around the tent muted the light within. Even so, the flapping of the tent’s canvas as the procession entered was as loud as Enn beating its palms against the earth. Their words seemed no less quiet.

“Gaia. Head Maleen.” General Yalo’s silhouette dipped its head against the candlelight penetrating through the tent’s canvas womb. “Many thanks for your hospitality.”

“…Likewise,” intoned Kara moments after Yalo. Though her accent was similar to Bhan’s, her tone was cold; cautious.

The other two northerners gave grunts, but were otherwise content to let the woman speak for them.

“It’s kind of you to deem our paltry hospitality sufficient,” replied Head Maleen. The practiced smile in her voice was easy to visualise. “Had I the full resources of Heltia, I am sure a more impressive greeting could be arranged.”

A pause. “I’m sure,” said General Yalo flatly. “But they have been… rearranged.”

Maleen wore a more measured tone than usual. Anyone who didn’t know her might think it natural. “A steep injustice forced by Albright hands, if I am correct?”

“Of course,” the Baylarian responded. “Safeguarded against them by us, for now.”

“And this incredible mistreatment is your reason for turning against House Albright.”

“An oppressor to rival the gods themselves,” Yalo agreed, yet when he continued his words were sharper. “Delivered upon all of us; avoiding prosperity to keep the rest of us weak. Such oppression- ”

The Korlean woman interrupted in a clipped, practiced accent obviously foreign to her. “House Albright does not border our lands. House Albright is not our oppressor,” she stated bluntly. “You are.”

General Yalo missed a beat, but deftly concealed it by quickly packing a piece of cheese in his mouth.

In the space his silence provided, the other two northerners spoke. “You happy making use of oppression, eh?” remarked Khoe levelly.

“Eyah.” Lonwo gave a dark chuckle. “How will this stop, hm?”

“You give- “ Kara began, then paused. “Are you going to give guarantees?”

“Without a doubt,” stated General Yalo. “We- “

“How we trust you to keep them?” interrupted the stout Illican.

“We’re a merchant House. We know the importance of keeping deals.”

“Deals heard by five?” The man scoffed. “Pah. You a House first and last. You know King Aaron give leave to eat you?”

“Little Baylar buffet,” quipped his Andorish companion, “for us to bury snouts in.”

“You’d bend to those dogs?” snapped General Yalo. “What does that make you?”

“Smart.”

“And better dog than swine,” Lonwo added, giving several mocking oinks.

Sensing the conversation rapidly devolving into the northerners insulting a House they loathed, Gaia spoke.

“You’re here because the Albrights will fall.” The hoarseness of her mistreated throat gave her words a haunting cadence. As if they were told by the earth itself instead of a mere mortal. “Which is the only guarantee that matters.”

“…Prove it,” said the Korlean.

“Is your Vulture even here?” asked General Yalo. “We can move elsewhere- “

“You would’ve seen it had you looked up.” Gaia coughed. “Head Maleen?”

There was a pause.

“Tully?” the young Head called. “Can you come in here?”

It was a cold day. The rain didn’t help. Tempest was an ofttimes loud and hot season, as if the firmament above fought itself with every peal of thunder, but just as frequently was muted. Subtly bitter.

Mud clung cloyingly. The tent’s flaps felt far too rough. But its interior was beautiful. The arrangement of furniture, accessories and tapestries symmetrical and almost entirely without stain, despite being carried through leagues of mud. A vase of wildflowers sat on the table between.

It was not perfect. Many of the subtler signs of esteem were missing – the perfect symmetricity of the scene visually gave authority to all present, instead of just herself and Gaia. But Maleen hadn’t the training to notice that. She had been allowed to shirk her duties for most of her childhood. But given the time she had spent studying, it was good work.

Gaia and the Head had changed from their patchwork tunics into far more regal garb. The wrinkles that should have been marring Gaia’s silks – embossed with verdant landscapes bisected by great speartrees – were entirely absent. A matronly Shrikeblood has spent nearly an hour smoothing them.

Head Maleen herself wore a suit of runeworked chitin armour glowing a faint blue. The same she had worn on the hill, months ago. Repaired and revised to enhance her dignity as the leader of House Heltia.

The diplomats did not look at her. They gripped the sides of their chairs, unmoving.

“It came?” The only part of Yalo’s body that moved was his mouth.

“You didn’t see the ghosts?” Maleen said innocently.

“We were blindfolded.”

“Eyah,” whispered Lonwo.

The food on the table was interesting. Scrubbed clean. Too clean.

“What it doing?” asked Kara.

“Putting food in…” Yalo sounded bemused. “…A sack?”

“As you can see,” Head Maleen began, lips drawn into a tight line, “we have the god under… Under control.”

“Raven’s bones,” Khoe swore quietly.

“That’s not a Ravenkin?” asked Yalo. “That’s… That’s the Vulture? No beak; no feathers?”

The northerner’s gazes flickered towards Maleen. “It real?” they asked vehemently.

Head Maleen nodded woodenly. “It is. The Raven appeared similar, albeit much larger.”

The Raven had been immense. Not of a size with the Lizard, but large enough that the cavern it lurked within could fit thousands of souls. Or one god.

Of course, Maleen had never seen it. Whatever report she gave was deception. But that’s diplomacy.

General Yalo’s eyes flickered back and forth. “It’s under your control?”

There was a long pause. The young Head glanced at Gaia, who opened her mouth and was immediately interrupted by a pained wheeze emerging from it.

The young woman turned her unblinking eyes back to Yalo. “Certainly.”

“Prove it.” The Korlean’s voice snapped like a whip in the quiet of the tent. “Make it do thing.”

Maleen stared at the woman, then nodded. “This… This table is bothering me. I’d like it if someone moved it.”

Despite her request, no one in the tent moved to help her. It was unsurprising. Negotiations were in full swing.

And she was trying to make a point. Bending to make a point. Maleen bent. Head lowered sideways, away from the sight of others. Jade eyes shining.

The table was moved outside.

“Why it listen to you?” the Korlean woman demanded. “What you done?”

Maleen pursed her lips. “That’s a secret.”

“Some Heltian project?” Khoe asked, brows furrowed.

His Illican companion whirled to him. “The Albright Declaration true? You hid Ravenblood?”

Maleen shook her head. “A blatant fabrication by the Albrights.”

“How this happen, then?” The bark of Lonwo’s voice seemed cacophonous.

Her lips trembled. “Good fortune and judicious application of intelligence.”

The northerner’s voices began collapsing over one another.

“How it alive?”

“It ate Avri, fool.”

“So godkin, not god.”

“Esfaria guards corpse, though.”

“Esfaria failed?”

“One bug can slip through.”

“Godsblood fades. Nothing to eat.”

A quiet query from Yalo interrupted them. “Was the death of Avri part of your plan?”

“W-what?” The novice Head’s incredulity failed to conceal her stutter. “No!”

“How did you create a god?” he demanded.

“We didn’t! What mortal can do such a thing?”

“Neelam Heltia was a genius- “

Her jaw wobbled. “Why would he let you kill him, then?”

“You called it Tully?” Yalo’s eyes widened. “That was the birth-name of Graves. Your head of security. The Spiderblood who smuggled you through our lines.”

Maleen’s teeth creaked. “How do you know her?”

“Are you joking?” he snapped. “Who do you think I am?”

“Vulture is woman?” asked Kara.

“Gods men, if anything,” retorted Lonwo.

The northern lady waved a hand. “Bah.”

His voice grew to a painful volume. “Don’t ‘bah’ me, woman.”

“Tully was no god a year ago,” the Baylarian stated. “How powerful is this thing?”

“I don’t- “ Maleen blinked rapidly. After a moment, she swallowed. “Powerful enough.”

“Are you sure?”

“It’s ten feet tall!”

“So are Oxbloods!”

Erin peeked her head through the canvas flaps. “Get it to kill an animal, Maleen,” she offered. “Demonstrate its power.”

The General nodded, braids bobbing as he did so. “Your lackey displays remarkable sense.”

Beneath the table, Maleen dug her nails into her thighs.

Lonwo stood so quickly he nearly knocked his chair over. “Give proof!” he shouted, jabbing a finger into her chest. His chest rose and fell rapidly. “Proof god is here!”

Gaia attempted to speak, only to break into another fit of coughs.

Maleen’s jaw worked silently. Her moist eyes glared at the table.

“Give us assurances, Head Heltia.”

“I- “

“None.”

“Of.”

“You.”

“Appreciate.”

“That.”

“Which.”

“Is.”

“Present.”

Indistinct words spat over one another. Impossible to comprehend, but enough all the same.

He fell over the back of his chair. “It- it- it speaks?! Wha- what did it say?”

Head Maleen blanched. “Quiet for a moment.”

“What- “

“Be quiet.”

The vehemence in her voice silenced them.

“We’ll reconvene in a few minutes,” she said quietly. “I need to take it outside.”

Head Maleen stood and left the tent in one fluid motion.

The dull drizzle falling from the sky quickly struck the woman’s curls – ritualistically dried and artfully arranged – into limp strands. She strode down the shallow decline of the hill and past the gulley at its bottom. Then, boots sliding against the mud, she fought her way up the resulting slope. Of the Shrikebloods guarding the clearing, only one followed.

“Head Maleen,” Erin called in a projected whisper. “Come back.”

The young woman halted.

“We don’t need them. Baylar has already provided everything the Seeds need, and the Northern forces are too far away to provide assistance.” Incredulity coloured the muscular woman’s voice. “This is all an opportunity for you.”

Maleen mumbled something.

The Shrikeblood called up at the smaller woman’s back. “Speak louder.”

“You’re a hypocrite.”

The patter of falling rain followed. Briefly, Erin had no words.

“We’ve discussed this, Erin. What do you think is going to happen when House Albright falls? This whole continent – the whole mortal realm – will be wrapped in a succession war. What we’re doing here is trying to prevent that. But you don’t care. All you care about is the, the godsdamned Shrike.”

The muscular woman winced. “…The gods are the true enemy.”

“Is that so?” Maleen sniffed. “To what? Human life? Because for someone who pretends to care for humans, you really don’t seem to have a problem with us killing each other.”

“I…” Erin closed her mouth and gazed downwards.

When no further reply was forthcoming, Maleen continued walking. She stumbled and slid between tree trunks; over roots; through bushes. Falling rain was soon stifled by the canopy above, leaving the forest damp and still. Hidden by clouds, the light from the sky had grown grey. The world seemed to occupy some space outside day and night.

It was a cold day. Cold enough that the memory of warmth seemed a fantasy.

Head Maleen stopped trying to suppress her tears. She simply braced herself against a tree trunk. Shivering. Weeping. Staring at nothing. Moisture that had built in the meeting fleeing. She did not see. Staring at nothing. Shivering to herself.

“This responsibility should never have been yours alone, Head Maleen.”

“You don’t have to do this.”

“It’s alright to leave.”

Though she did not understand the individual words, the young woman understood enough. “Why don’t you,” she croaked, “then?”

“There.”

“Is.”

“No.”

“Where.”

“Else.”

“To.”

“Go.”

“Maleen.”

Tears travelled down. Through the creases of her face. Then fell from her chin. “Nowhere else,” she murmured. “I’m the only one who can do this.”

The thing that was me had nothing to say – had too many things to say – and those things burned beneath skin like writhing worms, but in the reflection of the opaque pools of rainwater and silt gathered in the roots of the place dwelled a thing that crawled from nightmares barren of reassurance, and though there were many objects in the bag none seemed capable or impressive enough to overcome the hand that offered it so the thing turned and walked away, towards the familiar flame flickering nearby.

“…An’ we was runnin’ through… We must’ve been runnin’, cause we carried Vin t’the Fort with Baylar chasin’, an’ I remember bein’ sore. An’ I know I saw Baylar comin’ when I was pissin’… But there’s a whole damn night twixt those two points, an’ I don’t know nothin’ ‘bout it.” A pause. “I- I should know this. I got these scratches after. So I fell down. An’… I remember Vin gettin’ shot by arrows, an’ he told everyone it was alright and didn’t let us help but then there’s godsdamned nothin’ ‘cause I can’t remember a single godsdamned thing from that night and… I remember rememberin’ it! Damn it!”

In her blood-stained fur armour paced Kit, forward and back around the clearing she’d sequestered herself in out of fear she’d disturb the diplomats, and she muttered to herself and scowled and snarled and beat her remaining fist against trees and struggled to keep herself furious, because the alternative was worse, and then she saw the thing and stepped back and said “You bloody did this,” before it threw her over its shoulder and ferried her back.

To Maleen, where the swordswoman was dumped unceremoniously at her feet.

The dark-skinned woman sputtered in the mud, barely managing to scrabble up to her knees but slipping too fiercely to scramble to her feet. “You rat-bastard. What in Siik’s thick skull’re you…”

Her voice trailed away as her eyes found Maleen – desperately attempting to rub away the tears.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Kit crooned quietly. “What’s goin’ on?”

The former swordswoman didn’t seem to notice her stump braced against the mud, nor her other hand folded around the side of Maleen’s head.

“It’s nothing,” the young Head said.

Kit snorted lightly. “Well it sure does look like- “ Suddenly, she paused as if struck across the face. After a few moments, she cleared her throat. “Why don’t you tell me anyway?”

Maleen sniffled. “You don’t have to listen.”

“If I didn’t wanna be here you wouldn’t so much as smell me, alright?” A smirk stretched across her face. “An’ you know I smell pretty fierce.”

Kit had begun bathing less frequently after the Fort. She’d apparently been under the impression her stench was imperceptible, until the previous day when Sash had asked why she smelled so bad. The young woman had gotten increasingly furious as no one denied Sash’s accusations. There was no anger, now.

Maleen chuckled quietly, and Kit’s grin loosened. “So what is it?”

The smaller woman’s laughter grew thin, before vanishing entirely. “…All this.”

Kit waited for more. When none came, she gingerly leaned herself on the tree next to Maleen, wrapping her good arm around the smaller woman’s head. Beads of rain converged into droplets on the canopy above and fell to the earth below, where they vanished into the mud.

“…Yeah.” Her murmur was barely audible. Scoured of intonation. “I never thought I’d be here either.”

“Because you didn’t matter.”

Kit spent a heartbeat digesting that, then squinted at Maleen. “’Scuse me?”

“You were… You were a monster hunter.”

“A lowly dirt-munchin’ peasant, huh?”

“I wasn’t meant to matter.”

Kit shifted, turning her entire body to face Maleen.

The Head’s eyes were still fixed on the ground. “I… I’m alive because I didn’t matter. Neelam Heltia’s cousin’s great-grandchild. A backup of a backup of so many backups.”

“But you lived in Nests.”

“We all did. But I don’t…” Her voice descended into a growl. “No one expected anything. No one cared. I didn’t get poisoned because they forgot to invite me to dinner.”

“…Your parents- “

“Didn’t care. Both given Owlblood after they had me; both too busy staring at runes or at nothing to remember I existed.” Maleen rubbed at her eyes angrily. “I read and I helped the servants and sometimes I talked to the guards and sometimes I snuck out into Spires and that was it.”

“Maddie…”

“I’m not meant to be here, Kit.” Her face crumpled. “I should be dead. I would be dead, if I’d mattered. And I’m trying.”

“…I know.”

“I’m trying, but I don’t know,” she sobbed, “how to do any of this and I keep messing up and I’m going to ruin it all.”

For a stretch of time, Maleen buried her face in Kit’s arm and wept. Little changed within that span. The rain fell from the sky and one young woman cried while the other looked upwards.

The Head’s composure returned within the space of a few moments. She shifted, wiped snot from her nose and the arm she’d leaned against, glanced at Kit, then looked away. “Sorry. I’m fine, now.”

Kit said nothing.

“I should get going.”

“Y’know, I don’t think any o’ us expected to be the people we are, in the places we sit,” Kit said suddenly. “An’ it’s hard. Fer you especially. But you’re here, and you’re playin’ th’ hand you was dealt, and I…” She rubbed the back of her neck. “Win or lose, that takes guts. An’ I admire that.”

Maleen sniffed. “Thanks.”

“We’re here, y’know?” Kit gave a strained smile. “Whether you wanna stay or leave, we’re with you. I bet even big an’ dark over there’d be with you. But I see you, Maddie. I don’t see someone who,” she paused, licking her lips, “who does or doesn’t or should or shouldn’t. I see you. An’ you’re good.”

The young noble gazed out into the rain, orange curls dripping. “I, uh…” Her voice cracked. “I’m the only one that can do this. The only Heltian.”

“You gonna do it, then?”

“I’ll try.”

“Well then.” Kit made a shooing motion. “Back you go, hm?”

Head Maleen snorted, then wobbled to her feet and began carefully walking towards the tent.

When she vanished, the smile fell from Kit’s face.

“Stupid.” The former swordswoman stared at her missing hand. Tremulously, she raised it. Then beat it rhythmically against the side of her skull. “Idiot. Idiot. What do you know? Head o’ what? Head o’ damn holes, maybe.”

The young woman looked up, teeth clenched. “What’re you lookin’ at? You happy? You bloody happy?” She buried her head in her arms. “Jus’ go.”

Kit sat against the tree, teeth clenched, and said no more.

The journey back was cold. Cast in the light of a myopic grey sky. The procession continued. The Head wore the same secretive smile that concealed nothing except her fear. A few more stones went in the sack. The procession left, having negotiated an agreement. Kit ripped the scowl from her face and joked with Maleen on the way home, and the young woman’s smile finally reached her eyes. Erin kept to herself. Gaia coughed more. They trailed ahead. Entered the caves. Noticed no absences.

Countless insects crawled through dirt and tree and foliage. Smaller birds sheltered in their nests while larger ones opened their wings and braved the heavy skies. Grass swayed. The sun fell beneath a rolling ocean of trees, lighting them aflame in one last gasp before it was submerged completely. Eventually, the day ended.

Nothing else did.