With the sun now set, Jack and Wolf sit around a small campfire on top of the plateau. There are three large piles of wood around them, configured into log cabin burn piles and stacked four-foot high. Wolf notices Sarah approaching from outside of camp and continues to bite off a piece of dried meat. He chews it like he has a mouth full of peanut butter. Just because it’s good doesn’t mean I have to give her the satisfaction of knowing that I’m enjoying it, he thinks. His nose scrunches as he smacks loudly and tries to maintain the dissonance of liking the jerky while using body language to suggest eating it is a chore.

  Jack looks over at his change of expression and chuckles as he shakes his head.

  Wolf’s eyes narrow and his ears lie down on seeing Jack amused. Don’t judge me.

  “Alright,” Sarah says. “I spoke with one of the Spartans—the swimsuit fighters,” she corrects, looking at Wolf. “I made them aware of us being up here. They aren’t supposed to attack us and expect us to not attack them as well.”

  “Why,” Wolf begins, but finishes swallowing the jerky, “would they believe you’re on their side?”

  “Because they’re already expecting someone to attack them from here tomorrow, so whether or not we’re with them is irrelevant.”

  Wolf looks around. “So they’re going to spring a trap here?”

  “No. They know they’re getting attacked from here and will do nothing about it.”

  “Wait, what? Are they leaving then?”

  “No, they all stay behind and die, but they have to die. It’s important.”

  Wolf curls his hand over his nose. “I’m confused. So these guys know they’re going to get attacked but don’t defend it and don’t avoid it? They’re supposed to die here… so what are we doing here again?”

  “Relax, Wolf. We’ll still let them die. We just need the experience. Plus, I have an itch that I’ve been wanting to scratch for—”

  “You can probably get a cream for that,” Jack says, nodding and deliberately not looking away from the fire.

  Sarah’s eyes shift to him, her gaze focusing energy in an attempt to burn a hole through his head. She finally rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “It’s not that kind of itch, Jack.”

  He still doesn’t look her way as he struggles to suppress a growing amusement.

  “Wait, what was I saying? …Oh, there’s something else I want to take care of. But we’re not actually trying to save the Spartans. If I wanted to do that, I could have just shown up sooner and had the Greeks build another corpse-wall to block the mountain path.”

  Wolf looks over at Jack, who’s poking at the fire with a stick. He waves off Wolf’s questioning stare. “Just go with it,” Jack replies. “The answers will not be satisfying.”

  Sarah nods. “Well, we’re expecting a fight in the morning. How are y’all doing muscle endurance wise?

  “I’m fine,” Jack says. “Our healing seems to cover muscle recovery as well, so I’m not tired at all.”

  “Yeah, same,” Wolf says.

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  “Alright,” Sarah replies. “Well, just try to get in some rest before morning.” She turns and moves behind one of the log cabin burn piles, then eases down to sit cross-legged with the wood behind her. She pulls the satchel off and opens a portal over-head with an exit over the lit campfire. It causes a cone of firelight to shine down over her lap as she pulls the journal back out.

  Sarah opens it to one of the two entries, lowering her eyes to rest at the bottom of the page. She brushes her thumb over the mark that’s present there as she hears her younger self ask about it.

  ‘What’s that?’ she had asked.

  ‘Oh, this?’ the kind eyed man replied. ‘That’s something from a long time ago.’

  The mark is an anvil with a raven alighting to stand atop it. The raven’s wings are outstretched, with the individual black feathers transitioning to red as each tip flits as a flame. She closes the book and pulls her knees up to lay it on top, then rests her head against it like a pillow. Her eyes close as an unnoticed blue begins to blossom across parts of her scarf.

  ‘Broken things need love, too.’

  ‘You’re a fighter—always have been.’

  'Of course you’re small, but so is dynamite.’

  The word bubbles float around behind her closed eyelids, and their messages drown out the sounds of the nearby fireside conversation and laughter. With the covers pulled down over her eyes and the past’s wisdom pulled up over her attention, she focuses on hearing the memories until her dreams manage to wrestle control back away from her.

  A young Sarah stands in a darkened room, looking at the narrow slit of light along its bottom. The light gets broken by someone stepping up to the other side of the door and springing the trap. The door swings open and Sarah raises both hands into curled claws. “Rawr,” she declares with her nose scrunched.

  The figure takes up the entire open doorway, almost blocking out the light behind. “An ambush, huh?” the figure asks, then flicks on the bedroom light. The man has a scruffy black beard and overly large shoulders and arms. He bends down and scoops open palms under her arms, hoisting her up so fast that wind ripples across her star-spotted gown.

  Little Sarah’s eyes grow large, and her mouth opens as she stops just before reaching the ceiling. Her gasp morphs into a giggle as she comes to rest on his forearm. He tickles her belly and quacks while she attempts to kick her way out of her predicament.

  “Shouldn’t all the ducks in here be getting ready for bed instead of setting up ambushes?” he asks.

  “I was the wolf,” she proclaims, with excited eyes.

  “You were?” he asks, eyebrows raising. “And why was the wolf so keen on attacking me out of nowhere?”

  “Maybe cause he wanted tickles too.” Her seat begins to bounce as he walks her over to the bed.

  “What happened to me being the wolf?”

  “But you’re always the wolf. So I wanted to be him this once.” Sarah gets set into her bed, and he pulls a red blanket over her while two big pillows have her in a near upright position.

  “I guess that’s fair, but who am I going to be now?”

  “Red Riding Hood,” she says, grinning.

  “Oh, that’s funny, huh?” he asks, taking a seat in the chair next to her. He reaches over to her bedside table and clicks on a unicorn-shaped lamp. Large star-shaped shadows cover the shade from where the shapes are affixed to the inside. Beside the lamp is a book with a cover displaying a red cloaked girl skipping down a trail with a basket hanging from her arm.

  Little Sarah sees a mark on the inside of his forearm as he takes the book. “What’s that?” she asks, pointing.

  He follows her gesture and looks down at the tattoo. “Oh, this?” he asks, turning his forearm up. “That’s something from a long time ago.”

  “Did it hurt?”

  The man’s kind eyes grow distant as he nods. “Only in what it cost me.”

  “But why is the bird on fire?” Her eyes go wide as she thinks about it. “Is that what happened to your duck?”

  The man’s face contorts at her question. “What duck?”

  “The one that you said flew away. Did you catch it on fire?”

  Realization dawns on his face, and he shakes his head with a smile. “No, that duck is fine. This here’s a fire raven, and it’s sort of like my signature. I used to make things for some really brave people and would always sign those things when they were complete.”

  “But why’s it burnin up?”

  “It’s not. Those are just its wings. Fire is what it’s made of, so it doesn’t actually hurt the raven.”

  Sarah’s face scrunches as she tries to understand how the bird’s made of fire. Her face keeps making more exaggerated expressions, then she fans in front of her face. She curls her lip up in disgust and begins pushing in front of her as if to distance herself from some invisible something.

  Sarah opens her eyes to see Wolf licking her face. Her eyes grow wide with both understanding and anger.

  “Shh,” Wolf whispers. “We’ve got company.”