The road home for Jebediah and his allies was neither quick nor eventful. Not that any of the mice had complained about this. Sure, their first foray into battle may have been rather brief and indecisive, but for the moment, it was still more than enough for most of the travelers. All things considered, morale was quite high, however. The past tends to be heavily shaped by the attitudes of the present, and since the soldiers were fairly optimistic, all of them still being alive and all that, each individual looked back upon their own levels of participation, as well as the general outcome quite positively. Well, most of them did, at least.

While at first the battle had felt like a technical victory at best, as confidence began to grow, so too was the history rewritten. Now, it was believed that each and every one of their troops had come together and sent a technologically advanced force running through sheer strength, talent, strategy and determination. Even details like the fact that said force were severely outnumbered ended up largely ignored, if not forgotten entirely. Even the weakest members of the Starman cult had begun to feel invincible, and more than ready for the greater battle to come. Of course, this wasn't to imply that they didn't appreciate the break that the trek back had offered.

There were no additional attacks, not that there was much of a risk of being ambushed anyways, with the birds acting as incredibly effective scouts. Even the weather chose to cooperate, making the journey to the kingdom quicker than their initial walk to Home Base. Slightly quicker, at least. One change which was difficult to miss were the increased number of those strange, blank spaces in the sky. While only days before, just a single one of the strange, distant hexagons had been visible within the bright blue skies, there were now over a dozen individual islands of white, in some cases comprised of several of the mysterious, interlocking shapes. These garnered little attention from most of the mice beyond casual interest. There was nothing that anyone could, apparently, do about them, and therefore they weren't seen as worth worrying about.

During the trip, the flock had remained deeply worried about my disappearance, but took comfort in their new and rather dangerous toys, constantly needing to be talked out of testing them out some more, seeing as how they had a very finite supply of the explosive grenades. The newcomer, Claire, had remained largely silent, giving simple, quick and in no way impolite replies whenever anyone would speak to her directly, but simultaneously making it abundantly clear that she had no real interest in socializing. Meryll was also uncharacteristically quiet, likely requiring all of her energies to conceal her still very painful injury.

Eventually, the amount of time it that it takes for most things to happen, they arrived. The great metal gates of the kingdom were visible in the distance, and seen by the bulk of our soldiers for the very first time.

"So, this is your kingdom?" Archibald asked. He was the pitcher mouse, who dressed in red, contrary to Reginald, the batter who had a blue uniform. I make that clarification purely for the sake of the reader, and not at all because I constantly confused the pair, myself. "It's very... nice?"

To be fair, it wasn't the more impressive looking, presentation-wise. Although to be doubly fair, building a fortified surface structure was much, much more difficult to construct than simply digging out tunnels.

"Where exactly are we, again?" Annabelle asked Samson, who stood at her side.

He responded with a sigh. "We're back at the kingdom."

"Oh!" she said, in an excited tone, before frowning and furrowing her brow. "Wait, I thought we were going away from the kingdom?"

"We were, but now we're back." The one-eyed mouse said. The bard simply shrugged in response, still rather skeptical.

It was a given than the watchers above the city would see such a large army approaching long before they had reached the entrance. Perhaps less of a given that they would recognize the army as their own, rather than the forces of the shadow king, but then most of the citizenry had failed to, or simply refused to recognize the imminent threat that his force had posed. Regardless, the heavy gates were drawn open as the armed band of mouse soldiers approached. The portion of the city just beyond the gateway was always a busy one, just a dozen lengths from the ever-populated market district, but it was even busier today. It looked as though every mouse in the city was standing within the city square, eyes transfixed on the group, especially upon the farmer leading them.

"It's him!" One whispered to another, "The bloody hell reaper! I hear he single-handedly destroyed a squadron of the shadow kings best soldiers!"

"No way!"

"It's true! And then he faced their general in single combat! And then he called them a mother-fucker!"

"Wow..."

There were a lot more general murmurings of similar tone. The populace which was, not so long ago completely apathetic about the conflict had now found themselves suddenly interested, now that their side had actually won a battle.

"Greetings!" A small black mouse said, as she approached the group. She smiled wide, body covered in a robe of ornate blue, and supported by a staff which had doubled her height. "You must be... Jeremiah, was it?"

"Jebediah, actually." The farmer replied, scratching an ear, rather confused by the sudden influx of attention. He wasn't alone in that regard.

"Ah, yes, my apologies. I am afraid that your nickname is more commonly spread than your actual one. Oh, but where are my manners? My name is Mia. I'm the headmistress of the university."

"The university has no head." Samson said, looking to the young woman with suspicion. While the lower levels of the school did have a vague hierarchical structure, and there was, indeed a mouse at the peak of it who occupied the laboratory of the lowest level, they possessed no real authority. The two dozen robed mice standing behind her, standing in deference, implied otherwise, however. While still looking very much decrepit, they had more color to their fur and more meat on their bones than one would have expected from the subterranean sorcerers. Their bodies looked stronger, their posture had greatly improved and they actually looked like real mice rather than re-animated corpses from some bygone era. At least until you looked into their eyes, which appeared to be nearly dead.

The headmistress ignored the remark and continued. "I had received word that on first leaving the city, you had come to the mages in search of aid, but were quite rudely refused. I fully intend to remedy this injustice." She half turned her small body, extending a fingerless gloved paw towards the robed men and women. "There are my finest students, who have been training tirelessly in their magics, both offensive and defensive. If you would have them, we would be eager to lend our strength to your cause."

"Well, I've never been one to turn down anyone who wanted to join." The farmer replied, looking to the robed mice who all stood at attention. They certainly had the disciplined postures of loyal soldiers, but their reluctant expressions had failed to match that body language. "Are you all sure about this? It might be dangerous."

"Um, yeah, I'm not so sure..." one raised a paw, "We're scholars, not soldiers. I don't want to get killed in some war."

"Oh, of course, it is entirely your decisions." Mia nodded, smiling a little wider, looking back at them. "You can go off to fight, or remain here... and resume your tutelage under me."

All of them took a step back, before eagerly nodding in agreement. "Um, of course we'll eagerly help your noble cause! Even if we should die in the process, and are never able to return." Another said, sounding almost content at the prospect. The others appeared to very much share that sentiment.

"Hah! Out of the way, losers!" Another voice called, roughly shoving the healthier but still rather frail mages out of the way. He wore a mesh shirt of plastic and metal, mostly plastic, open in the front, his fur dyed all manner of colors, presumably with a more coherent artistic vision in mind, but they had since all blended into dark, unnatural looking blotches. "I'm Rakesh, the poisoned blade! Me and my gang, the Death-Fangs will make short work of that 'shadow king'!"

A large group stood behind him, offering affirmations, waving knives, chains and clubs, all dressed in similar tattered hap-hazard manners, their fur painted up and styled in an outlandish manner. Rakesh laughed as he raised his own black blade up to his face, running his tongue along its ragged surface.

Jebediah and his cohorts stood and stared quietly before Sellas finally spoke up. "Um... that 'poisoned blade' thing... It's just a name, right?"

"Heh, of course not! I've got no interest in metaphors. I let my knife do the talking!" The mouse hooligan boasted.

"So... it's actually covered in poison?" Sellas asked, looking very much concerned. "You know, the knife that you just licked?"

"Yeah!" the mouse said, smiling confidently, before his eyes went wide as he came to the sudden realization. "Um, I mean, sure it's poisonous, but that's just if you're cut with it, right? It should be fine if ingested?" he asked, looking very much uncertain. His confidence fell even further when he took in her deeply worried look. "Um, maybe I should lie own for a bit..."

He quietly walked away, leaving the rest of his gang to grumble amongst themselves.

"I never really liked that guy, anyways."

"Really? Me neither! I just assumed that everyone else did!"

"No way. That guy sucks. I hope he dies."

"That feels a little harsh."

"You think so?"

"Um, like I said before, if you're willing to fight, I'd be happy to have all of you." Jebediah interjected, cutting off the debate amongst the gang members.

"We'll join you too!" A high pitched voice called from the crowd, "We'll defeat the shadow king's armies, and protect our city from his evil!"

There were a good deal of confused murmurings among the general populace as they looked about to see where, exactly that bold proclamation had come from, only to see a group of small children standing together, their crude, wooden and not even remotely sharp weapons raised high. There was an audible sigh as a cream colored, unclothed mouse woman rushed to urge the kids back inside, giving a shy, apologetic smile to Jebediah and his group before leading the disappointed group of youths away.

"How about my band of overcity engineers?" A young man garbed in multicolored bandanas bound about his body and limbs asked.

"My continent of royal knights will eagerly join in your crusade!" A heavily armored mouse called, raising her spear in the air. Some wrapped bandages were still visible under his plastic helmet, but presumably the weeks away had given him, along with many of his compatriots time to recover. To some extent, at least.

"The culinarian guild will help as well!" Another said, dressed in a white apron.

"Really? Cooks?" Jebediah asked, not entirely dismissing the idea, but clearly a little bit skeptical.

"We have very sharp knives!" the man in white replied, proudly.

"Good enough for me." The farmer shrugged. "Sure, if you all want to help that badly, you're all welcome to join us."

"Excellent!" A deep, raspy voice coming from a shadowy, masked figure said. "The clothiers guild will be eager to lend our blades to your cause!"

"No. No tailors." Samson quickly cut in, shaking his head.

"Um, technically I'm a seamstress..." they replied, only to be met with a one-eyed glare. "Are you sure? Our weaponry and ambush tactics are second to none."

A simple silent, continued glare had ended the conversation, as the masked figure vanished back into the booing crowd.

"I wasn't really expecting this." The farmer said in a soft voice, looking back at his allies.

"Typical." Samson grumbled. "They weren't willing to help us when we actually needed it, but now that they think we're on the winning side, they're eager to join in the fight."

Jebediah nodded in agreement before furrowing his brow, giving the matter a little more thought. "Well, when you put it that way, it doesn't doesn't sound particularly objectionable. It's common sense, really."

The one-eyed mouse paused and sighed. "Yeah. I don't know why I even said that."

Sellas, in the meantime, gave a soft, half-smile in response to the brief discussion. As for the eager crowd, they all stared at the great hero in anticipation and awed silence. Silence which was, unfortunately, met by the farmer in question, making for a rather awkward situation.

"I feel like I'm expected to do something here..." Jebediah said. "Maybe I should, I don't know... address the crowd?"

Samson gave a nod of affirmation.

"Greetings, all of you." Jebediah called out to the unexpected audience. He managed a somewhat louder voice than usual, but not quite as loud as one might have hoped, and nowhere near as commanding. Fortunately, the silence of the crowd allowed for his words to carry effectively across it. "I'm not much for speeches."

More awkward silence followed. For some reason, all of the mice present had expected those words to lead into an actual speech, and in truth, were I there, I would likely have anticipated the same, despite the farmer having made his intentions abundantly clear. Everyone figured out the truth, eventually, and on their own time which lead to awkward applause where nobody quite knew when to start it or when to end. Fortunately, applause isn't a very complicated manner, and in due time, everyone had managed to work it out.

"It seems that our leader has even more allies now." Reginald said to his rival.

"Indeed. I suppose we'll need to work extra hard to stand out." Archibald nodded.

As for what, exactly, to do now, there was some confusion amongst the army. Well, the upper echelons of the army, at least. Most of the mice were quite content to simply follow the commands of the leadership, even if that leadership, Jebediah aside, happened to be a little bit arbitrary and ill-defined. Upon first arrival, their path had been rather clear, but the sudden encounter with the enthusiastic mob had thrown things out of order, even if not in an unwelcome way.

"Well, we have no shortage of soldiers now." Samson said, "I suppose we could use some more supplies. Not just rations and bandages and the like, but some proper weapons and armor for some of the recruits certainly wouldn't hurt. Actually paying for that stuff might be an issue, though."

"Oh, you're looking for advanced weaponry and defenses?" One of the chefs from the crowd, technically now a newly recruited soldier, asked. "I know just the place! It's where we had our knives made! The blacksmith there will surely have everything you could possibly need, and more!" He held a blade up to demonstrate, and, well, there was no question that it looked impressive. Pure, shining metal, not perfectly smooth, of course, but clearly more than some salvaged bit which was crudely cut from a larger piece, and bent into a crude knife shape.

"Blacksmith?" Samson asked, skeptically. The mice around him shrugged, unfamiliar with the term, but certainly having no better ideas.

The crowd of citizens had mostly parted to make an open path, even those among the group who were now new recruits and technically a part of the army. They still dared not impede the path of the bloody hell reaper, believing that doing so could easily have cost them their very souls. That wasn't to say that their trip didn't go unimpeded, either, of course. There were fans who wanted autographs, onlookers asking questions, merchants hawking their wares, and bards who were trying to forge exclusive contracts with the hero, already trying to come up with a wide variety of rhymes for his name. Rather audacious behavior, considering the fact that the group already had their own increasingly famous bard under their employ, but Annabelle didn't appear to take any offense to it. It wasn't surprising behavior, either, as bards tended to be nothing if not audacious.

All the while, Sellas and her band of cultists had their own work to do. Or, to be more accurate, their own work to resume. The lesser members had all fanned out, eager to enlighten the passing citizens about the glories of the Starman. They had slightly more success from this than usual, due to their recent military exploits, but not quite as much as they might have hoped for. Seeing them as might heroes was one thing, but being willing to endure a religious lecture was still a bit too much for most people. There was some internal debate among the group as to whether they should have spent their time within Home Base working to spread their philosophy, but ultimately the leader had decided against it, reasoning that they surely had their own beliefs there, and that it was an already diplomatically delicate situation, even without throwing in any added variables.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

"What's going on here?" Tanzra asked, stepping up alongside Sellas. Well, to be more accurate, Augustus had stepped up alongside the priestess. For how little time she spent not riding the cat, it was a wonder that her legs even worked at all.

"Oh, we are spreading the teachings of the Starman, to encourage other mice to offer up their prayers to him." the older woman smiled.

Tanzra blinked. "Why?" She asked. All the while, Augustus was standing, obliviously as usual, as a group of small children giggled and tugged at his fur, ineffectually trying to climb up onto his body.

"Why?" Sellas asked, incredulously.

"Yeah. Why should people pray to this 'Starman' guy?"

"Because he is great! He commands all things, both large and small!" the priestess replied.

"Well, the world is a pretty big place, and there's lots of stuff in it. Lots of it is great, but that doesn't mean we should pray to it." The cat rider said, "So, why? What do you get out of it?''

Sellas could only sigh. "What is it with people? Why do they only seem to understand things in terms of profits and losses?" The cult leader shook her head, "Okay, let's say that, hypothetically, you did get some sort of reward from God. Say, money of success or love or, well... whatever. So what? In time, we'll just be dead anyways, and after the fact, will it really matter whether we were happy or sad? Rich of prosperous? Will it really matter, thousands of months from now? Millions?"

"Well, no." Tanzra shrugged. "I can't really imagine much of anything we do mattering by then."

"Exactly!" Sellas lit up, nodding her head, "And yet, it's inevitable. The moment is fleeting and already gone, but time moves on, forever. Why cling to the petty, the temporary, the momentary tangible reward?"

"So... you get nothing for it? He doesn't help you out, or drop lightning bolts down on your enemies or anything like that?" Tanzra head-tilted.

"Of course not. We serve, because service is its own reward. It is a chance to be part of something greater, something infinite." Sellas says, "Any other possible reward would be paltry and trivial in comparison. Don't you see? Things, even people are just temporary. None of us last forever, and what use to you will they be after you are gone?"

To the cat riders credit, she actually did seem to give the matter a good deal of thought before finally shrugging. "I don't know. I'm not sure how I'll feel about anything after I'm gone. You'll have to ask me then."

Sellas simply stared at Tanzra and sighed, shaking her head, deeming the woman to be a lost cause. Ultimately, she wasn't too saddened, however. Even lost causes had their place in this world, and their role in things to come.

Despite the many minor hurdles, it wasn't a very long walk to the forge, as nothing within the city was a particularly long walk away, and even from a distance, it was immediately recognizable. Rather than the common booths, desks and kiosks which made up the bulk of the shops of the market district, this was pretty much a structure in itself. Four stone pillars stood high, joined together by short stone walls with smooth wooden paneling set atop them. The air emitting from the structure was unnaturally hot, the flames at the center glowing brightly, belching dark clouds of smoke upwards into the mesh of metal and rust above. I could only imagine that it must have been quite an annoyance to the mice living within the overcity, above.

Within the structure were many wooden racks, upon which weapons and armors of all sorts were set, some in varying states of completion but more than a few clearly ready for use. These weren't weapons of stone or plastic or even glass, however. They were pure metal, from hammers to spears to swords of all styles, all gleaming with the brightly burning refracted flames of the central forge. There, striking a nearby anvil with an oversized metal hammer, stood the master of this place, a small tail-less mouse with snow white fur, and dressed in heavy, grease covered apron, with long gloves covering her scarred paws.

"Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod!" Meryll exclaimed, roughly pushing her way to the front of the group. She had been rather quiet and sullen ever since the battle, but her eyes were now as wide as saucers.

"What? What is it?" The small mouse looked about, borderline panicked, rightfully convinced that some sort of catastrophe was looming. What else could possibly inspire such a loud response?

"It's you!" Meryll replied, pointing a mitted paw at the girl for good measure.

"Um... yes?" Jerin head tilted, clearly not understanding why that was so unexpected.

"Wait, wait just a minute..." Samson sighed, resting his forehead in his palm, "Since when have you been a blacksmith?"

The small mouse girl shrugged, "Quite a while now. You've got to learn to stay in touch with current events." she said, "I needed a new job, and it seemed like the obvious route. I've got experience handling metal weapons, am super strong, and hammering the metal makes these really cool sparks!" She smiled and she brought the broad hammer down onto a glowing bit of metal, resulting in a rather impressive shower of bright specks.

"So, not only has the university been completely restructured and turned into an efficient organization pumping out powerful mages, but Jerin is, apparently, now a famous blacksmith? How long have we been gone?"

"Hmmm, that's a very good question." Jebediah nodded before shrugging. "Well, lets put the confusing timeline aside for the time being. If we're looking for quality weaponry, this looks like the place to find it."

The one-eyed mouse was clearly less than satisfied with the way that the explanation was hand-waved away, but knew better than to drag the matter out. It wasn't as though further debate was likely to make things any more satisfying, after all.

"Wow... big crowd..." Jerin said, looking across the group standing before of the enclosed structure. "So, uh, do you guys have a leader or something? That would make this a lot easier."

"Of course." Sellas smiled, stepping forward, pointing a paw towards Jebediah, having rejoined the group. "This is our commander, the great hero that you had chosen to lead us to victory over the evil shadow king and his unholy minions!"

"I did what now?" Jerin blinked, looking across the group before focusing on the remarkably nondescript man standing at their forefront. "You're saying that I choose this guy to be some sort of hero? Him? Are you sure? Hmmm.... that feels like the sort of thing I would remember..."

There were a few hushed, awkward seconds as much of the army stood anxiously. Was there some sort of mistake? What if this man wasn't their proper leader after all? If so, what hope could there possibly be for victory?

In the end, Jerin simply shrugged. "Well, whatever." which resulted in a sigh of relief from the bulk of the forces. That was a good enough affirmation in their minds. "So, do you all want to buy something? If not, I really need to get back to my work." she said, holding up a half-finished needle which she eyed with an annoyed expression. A long blade with a keen edge, but with nowhere close to the smooth texture that she was so acquainted with. Not unusable, not by any stretch, but still very much a failure.

"Of course! I'll take everything!" Meryll excitedly exclaimed, pulling out a huge pouch of crumbs and setting it on the wooden desk in front of her.

"Um... wow, that's a lot of money, but I've got an awful lot of weapons here, and they aren't cheap." Jerin replied, "Plus, I doubt that even someone as big as you could carry all of them."

Meryll was rather depressed by the words, on multiple levels, but was ultimately happy to pick out some of them herself. And not a small number, either. In her typical fashion, she chose quite a large variety, mostly bladed weapons, haphazardly tossing her old ones aside, once precious artifacts to her but now worthless junk in comparison to weapons of actual metal which were, more importantly, hand-made by her hero. These wouldn't go to waste, however. Many of the new troops, especially members of the Starman cult were happy to pick them up, having no problem with wielding hand-me-downs.

What particularly appealed Meryll were the imitation needles. The blacksmith, however, had some objections. "These still need some work, and even at best, they can be a little hard to use. You look like you're awfully strong..." The small mouse said, much to the disappointment of the larger one, "I feel like something a little larger and more solid would suit you better"

"No! These are heroes weapons, and I want to use them!" Meryll said, "I... need to use them."

"Well, if you insist. Tell you what, though... take this one along as well. You've spent an awful lot of money here today, so I'll give it to you on the house." The white furred blacksmith said, reaching under the counter to pull out an extra long, thick blade. To the average mouse, it would have been quite heavy and overly long, but neither Jerin nor Meryll had any real difficulty with handling it. The design was rather plain, but that didn't mean that it was ineffective, with a fine enough edge but clearly relying more on the weight and momentum of the swings than the actual sharpness to cause damage. It emulated the look of a lot of simple wooden and plastic swords, only scaled up significantly, which hardly mattered to the armored mouse, who just so happened to pretty significantly scaled up herself. It wasn't flashy or graceful looking, having no real engraving or ornamentation. A tool clearly designed for function over style.

Meryll was clearly a little torn by this, both excited by the prospect of having a specially made weapon created and chosen by her idol, but also disappointed by the idea that that same idol didn't consider her to be well suited for a proper heroes weapon. That she was never suited for such a thing. That she never would be.

"How about a new scythe?" Jerin asked the farmer who was studying the various metal implements with, at most, casual interest. "That one you have there is looking pretty ratty."

"Hmmm? Oh, I appreciate the offer, but I'm very much accustomed to this one." He said, removing the gnarled wood from his back, studying the barely sharp blade. "Besides, I've never really liked the idea of simply casting something aside, just because something better comes along. That kind of attitude leads to treating people the same way."

The small blacksmith simply shrugged.

"Hmmm, I could use a new spear, myself..." Tanzra butted in, examining a few on a nearby rack before pointing to a particularly nice one set at the top of it. "How much is that one?"

"An excellent choice!" the blacksmith smiled, "That one will cost you three hundred crumbs."

"No problem, I have plenty of money!" Tanzra smiled back. All the while, Augustus, her mount, had caused a bit of a stir within the local populace, but far from a panic. Sure, there was some initial apprehension at the idea of a dark lord simply being allowed to stroll into the middle of their city, but he was rather small by such standards, and clearly non-aggressive. Generally speaking, the reason that people disliked dark lords so much was due to their rather consistent habit of trying to kill mice. Take that out of the equation and most people were pretty much fine with the greater beings. In fact, even with their more murderous nature, the monsters had no shortage of fans, even worshipers amongst the mice. While doll crafters had largely focused on heroic figures, there was no small market for plush versions of the more infamous dark lords, either.

As for the orange cat himself, he seemed to enjoy being the center of attention as more and more of the citizens, beyond the reckless mouse children, worked up the nerve to approach, examine and touch his fur.

"Wait a minute, you have money?" Samson growled at the spear-woman. "Why on earth did you try to rob us when we first met, then? You could have just offered to buy some of our food!"

Tanzra blinked and hmmmed before smiling, "It never even occurred to me. Oh well, it all worked out in the end, right?"

The one-eyed mouse couldn't help but glare at her, but all the while, another pair of skeptical blue eyes were locked directly on him, looking him up and down. "Do I know you? You look kind of familiar." Jerin asked.

"Um, no! I've never met you before in my life!" Samson said, nervously, looking away from her.

The blacksmith gave him another few seconds of silent observation before nodding her head in agreement. "Yeah, I guess you're right. The person I was thinking of had much better fashion sense."

The green garbed mouse couldn't help but grumble to himself as he muttered. "I need some fresh air." He walked away from both the forge and the large force which had crowded around it, eager for some time alone. Time which he didn't get. As he walked, another mouse immediately followed, the blind bard who had practically been his shadow ever since their journey had begun. A source of some annoyance to him which he didn't quite know how to address, but right now he was irritated enough to be unconcerned with tact. "What's with you? Why are you always following me around?" He angrily barked at her.

"Oh, I'm sorry... I didn't mean to be a bother." Annabelle replied, nervously. "I just thought that maybe you would appreciate the company. You know, since we have so much in common."

Samson simply stared at the bard for a moment, "Excuse me, what could we possibly have in common?"

"Well, I've been told that you only have one eye, right?" She asked. The mouse in green nodded in agreement. Technically a gesture which she couldn't see, but seemed to recognize somehow, anyways. "So that means you're half blind!"

"What? No, no..." Samson shook his head before pausing, "Well, okay, technically I guess I am..." he sighed, his tone becoming much more relaxed to the point where he couldn't even quite fight off the hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth, in spite of his best efforts. "But it's really not the same at all. I can see see perfectly fine. Having only one eye is a very minor handicap which barely reduces your vision at all."

"Really? Huh..." The bard said, thinking about it. "I just kind of assumed. Well, hey, good for you, I suppose!" She smiled before frowning just a little. "That's fine with me, but like I said, I don't want to be a bother, so I can leave you alone if you want..."

"No. It's alright... I guess." he said, still mildly amused by the misunderstanding, which was just what he had needed to push the encounter with his past nemesis from his mind. He looked back to her. "Actually, there was something that I wanted to ask you..."

"Well, I can't say that I know all that much, but I'll certainly do my best to answer!" She smiled, once again.

"It's just that most bards that you see sing as well as play an instrument." He said, "All of them, in fact, from my experience. I was wondering why you don't."

She hmmmed, thinking about it before finally shrugging. "I guess I just don't have a whole lot interesting to say?" she said, "And even if I really did have something important I wanted people to know, I'd have to arrange it into a proper rhythm and make it rhyme and them come up with very specific music to accompany it. Oh, and not only that, I'd have to memorize it, and repeat the exact same thing with every performance! It just sounds like a huge bother. It feels like trying to put a message to music? Well, it would compromise both." She paused, looking down at the instrument within her paws. "I guess it works for others, though. Maybe I should try it sometime? Who knows, maybe that's the little piece that I feel has been missing from my playing all this time."

"I'm not criticizing, it's just an observation." Samson nodded. "From my experience, most bards are completely tone-deaf yet inexplicably in love with the sound of their own voices. There's nothing wrong with focusing on what you're good at. You don't need to do more simply because others expect you to. You should do what works for you."

"Yeah, you're probably right." Annabelle nodded, lightly strumming along a few strings. "Hey, seeing as how I answered your question, I have one too... what's the deal with you and that blacksmith lady? You seemed to be pretty uncomfortable around her."

Samson tensed a little at this, struggling to find the right words. "We have a... bit of a history."

"Oh, I get it." The bard nodded. "Former lover?"

"Ugh, no! That's disgusting!" The one-eyed mouse said back. "No, no, it's nothing like that. There was just some... unpleasantness."

"Did she do something bad to you?"

"Yes... well, no." He sighed. "Not really, I guess. Kind of the opposite, I suppose."

"And you regret the things that you did?"

Samson, also known as Samuel scoffed, "Of course not! I mean, of course I wish that things had turned out differently, but that's not the same as feeling guilty over my past actions." He paused and shook his head, "Look, you seem like a good person. Maybe you're not, I don't know you very well, but I figure most mice at least try to be. But not all of us are like that. Some of us don't care about other people, and just want everything for ourselves. We recognize that it's the only way to rise up in this world, and achieve greatness. To people like us, there is no such thing as good or evil, only success and failure. My only regrets are my failures, not the people I might have harmed along the way."

"Hmmm, I guess it makes sense that some people think that. Maybe we all do, to some extent, and that's how we rationalize it to ourselves when we do things that are wrong, or simply fail to do things that are right." Annabelle replied, "Would you have still done bad things if you knew, at the time, that you'd get nothing out of them?"

"Of course not. It would be pointless."

The bard girl smiled. "Why not? If you don't regret causing harm, than it's not like you'd be out anything, right? Good people do good things for the sake of goodness all the time, I figure. It only stands to reason that genuinely bad people would do the same. Maybe I'm wrong, but it sounds like you took no pleasure from harming others, rather you just felt like the ends justified the means."

"Well, you're wrong, and even if you weren't, it hardly matters. Intentions don't matter, only actions. Hurt people stay hurt, regardless of how you felt about it at the time, or how you might feel about it later." the one-eyed mouse replied.

"Maybe intentions can't change the past, but they can certainly shape the future. Maybe others do have certain expectations of you, maybe you even do of yourself." she said, "But, it's your life. You should do what works for you. If the things you tried in the past didn't work, well, that's all the more reason to try something new."

"That's why I'm here, I guess." He sighed, "But I'm not sure it's working."

The bard nodded. "Same here. And I'm not sure it's working, either... but hey, maybe that's just how life goes sometimes? Everything feels like a mess while you're going it, and it's only after you look back after the fact that you realize that maybe things weren't so bad after all?"

"...or you realize that things were even worse than they seemed." the one-eyed man grumbled.

"Yup. That can happen sometimes, too. But, I guess that's all the more reason to keep trying new things, right? Eventually something has to work. At least if you're willing to let it. That's the hardest part, really, being willing to accept that things can get better, but once you do? Well, it doesn't exactly make all of your problems immediately fall away, but it's amazing how things start to fall into place." Annabelle raised her head, and if one didn't know better, you'd have thought that she was actively looking to the skies, towards an opening in the metal canopy above, but of course, to her, it was all the same darkness.

"Maybe some of us don't deserve for things to get better."

"Heh. That sounds like the words of someone who feels guilty. And you're wrong. Everyone deserves for things to get better. Everything does. That hope is what drives the world forward, and without it, there would be no reason for the world to exist at all. Everything would just remain the same and nothing new would have any reason to exist." She sighed, her head still raised, eyes sealed shut, "But maybe you're right. Maybe some of us can't find happiness, but if that is true, I imagine that it's pretty rare. You shouldn't just assume that you're one of those people, though. If I can find it, I imagine that anyone can."

Samson was about to make a snide remark about how it was easy for her, but it only took the bare minimum of thought to stop the words before they had reached his lips. As he had said, being half blind was nowhere close to being fully blind. What a scary, lonely world that must have been. All the more so if she was seeking out someone like him for company. "Are... you happy?" he asked, surprised to find that he was genuinely interested in hearing her answer.

The bard paused and thought to herself. "I'm not entirely sure. But I like to think I'm getting there." she said, "How about you?"

Samson frowned, his instinctive reaction was to simply say 'no', but instead he sighed and answered, "I'm not really sure either."

He closed his eye and lowered his head, only to feel a warm paw grasp his own as he looked up into the bards closed eyes. "Well, that's certainly better than knowing you're unhappy, right? That feels like a victory in itself, and one worth building on."

As for the male mouse, he simply nodded, even if he wasn't quite sure that he agreed. He wasn't quite sure that he disagreed, either, after all. That was when noticed the bard 'looking' about, visibly confused, and asked, "Do you know how to get back to the others?"

Annabelle took on a mildly embarrassed expression, clearly feeling tempted to lie before finally answering, "Um... no. Not really. Would you mind showing me the way?"

He couldn't help but lightly chuckle. "Sure. I've got nowhere better to be."