The dark canopy stretched overhead in an endless expanse of rustling leaves and creaking branches. Rasp’s limited vision picked up occasional shafts of sunlight that trickled down through the dense treetops here and there, but the majority of the journey was carried out in what amounted to absolute darkness. Unable to track the position of the sun, his sense of time was turned on its head. He didn’t know how long they’d been traveling since leaving the cabin, but the fact that they weren’t stopping meant it had only been a few hours. A bit of a shame, considering his ass had gone numb ages ago. No matter how he shifted in the saddle, he could not rid himself of pins and needles feeling working its way down his leaden legs.

Whisper spent the journey nestled in his hood, going on and on about magic this and potential that. The words flowed in one ear and out the other. There was a trick to fooling Whisper into thinking he was paying attention, Rasp found. All he had to do was keep his thoughts open, mindlessly mirroring what his mentor said without actually absorbing any of the information.

…Which is why the obvious course of action will be to throw you over the next cliffside, Whisper’s voice carried on in the background.

The next cliffside, Rasp mindlessly agreed.

Into a pit of sharpened stakes.

Oh, yes. The sharpest.

Full of snakes.

Full of snakes.

I know you’re listening.

Not listening, yep, yep. Got it.

Raspberry Stoneclaw!

His name shot like a lance of lightning down his spine. Rasp sat straight in the saddle, gritting his teeth as the echo of Whisper’s voice bounced along the inside of his aching skull. Gods dammit! Will you stop doing that? Rasp released the reins, using his forefingers to massage the sudden throb from his temples. It fucking hurts.

If you were paying attention, I wouldn’t have to.

Rasp rolled his head back with a groan. But it’s so boring.

You don’t even know what I was talking about.

Of course I do. Magic, training, how I’m not listening.

For a few blissful seconds, Rasp’s mind was free of Whisper’s voice. Naturally, it did not last. Lucky guess.

Please, it’s the only thing we ever talk about. I need a break. My mind’s not a sponge, it doesn’t just absorb these things. Your lessons need time to ferment before they stick.

Unusual choice of wording, but I get your point, Whisper sighed. I will leave you to it then. Before I do, however, I have one final question.

Rasp could feel his eyes rolling into the back of his head.

Have you given any more thought to what it is you want?

And just like that, his mind went blank, void of all intelligible thought as it struggled to piece together what the question even meant.

You do not have to provide an answer right away. Ferment on it.

Rasp stared straight ahead, face slack in puzzlement, as Whisper’s thoughts detangle from his own. The question echoed within his mind. ‘What is it you want?’

What an odd thing to ask. Not the question itself, really, but the fact that anyone cared what he wanted. Rasp’s entire life had been a matter of other people telling him what they expected of him and he, in turn, doing everything in his power to carry out the exact opposite. His training wasn’t supposed to last forever. After he finished his apprenticeship, he would be free to do as he wanted.

The problem was he didn’t know what he wanted. He didn’t have a home, no family, no purpose. He was blind, possessed unimaginable power, had no desire to use said unimaginable power, oh, and literally cursed on top of everything else. By all accounts, he was destined to spend the rest of his life on the run, avoiding any people who wished to use him for their own means. Which, apparently, was nearly all of them.

The happiest time in his life had subsequently been the shortest. He found himself looking back on six months he’d spent with the Belfast family more and more, kicking himself for not realizing what he had had while it was in front of him. He could go back to Lonebrook, he supposed. But doing so would be placing the very people he loved in the line of danger.

In the end, when he got to the root of it, what he really wanted was to be someone else. The type of person who only dreamed of going on fantastical adventures but never actually broke from their dull life. Someone destined to live out their existence in quiet monotony, surrounded by friends and a warm bed and lots and lots of food. No more stringy onions and bitter dandelion greens, but bread, and meat pies, and mountains of mashed potatoes swimming in butter.

On second thought, maybe he was just hungry. He tended to drift into overdramatic territory when his stomach was nearing empty. “Hop?” Rasp spoke without thinking, surprised to find some of the life had returned his tongue.

“Still here, Rasp. Haven’t gone anywhere,” the faun replied somewhere to the left of Rasp’s mule.

A false sense of contentment eased the storm brewing within his thoughts as Rasp realized he finally had an answer to Whisper’s daunting question. “I want a sandwich.”

“Can’t help you there, I’m afraid.”

“I would get it myself, but you don’t let me near the rations,” Rasp reminded him. “Ergo, you are the food provider. Chop, chop now. You have no one to blame but yourself.” Safeguarding their food was a rather selfish act on Hop’s part, Rasp felt. As if he couldn’t be trusted not to scarf down their entire supply the moment Hop’s back was turned. The absolute lack of trust was completely unwarranted. After all, he’d only done it once so far and it was only half the rations, not all of them!

“It’s more complicated than that,” Hop said. “Do you remember the night we were in the city?”

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More than he desired to, unfortunately. “Yes.”

“While you were left with the bags and Whisper was off doing whatever it is Whisper does, my task was to replenish our food supplies.”

Already, Rasp did not like where this was going. Partly because Hop always took forever to get around to his eventual point, touching on as many needless details as possible before circling back around to his answer. The other, much larger piece of Rasp’s discomfort stemmed from the fact that the sudden lack of food was probably his doing somehow.

Hop carried on oblivious to Rasp’s internal woes. “Having finished my other errands, I was on my way to get the food when I was interrupted by a very persistent raven. I followed him and, instead of replenishing the supplies as planned, I wound up carrying you out of the city in a burlap sack slung over my shoulder.”

Crap. He hated it when the consequences of his actions came back to bite him in the ass. “We don’t have any food leftover?”

“Some. The point of rationing, however, is to make it last.”

“Didn’t Whisper just visit a village? They didn’t pick something up on the back?”

Hop hesitated. “Are they, um, asleep? Whisper, I mean.”

“Why are you whispering?”

“Because I’ve read about far too many fae encounters to knowingly insult one to their face.”

Rasp didn’t see what insults had to do with food, but for the sake of filling his grumbling stomach sooner than later, he dutifully checked. He drew into himself, opening his mind and waited for the uncomfortable moment the obnoxious voice in his head went from one to two. When the moment never came, Rasp concluded that his mentor had likely fallen into a deep sleep–an occurrence that was becoming increasingly more common these days.

“They’re asleep.”

For whatever reason, Hop still felt the need to keep his voice annoyingly low. “I don’t know if you have noticed, Rasp, but Whisper does not eat. Not in the same sense as you or I.”

“So?”

“So to answer your question, yes, they did bring food from the village. Specifically, several bags of dried corn feed.”

“That’s good, right? I like corn.”

“The kind you feed to chickens.”

“Oh.” Rasp’s sudden hopes for a decent meal deflated, much like his empty stomach, which was quite insistent it would start cannibalizing itself if he didn’t fill it soon. That was one of the quirks about depending upon a fae for survival. Although Whisper had spent many eons living amongst humankind, they still didn’t have a good grasp on what constituted edible. For example, there were a number of wild mushrooms not meant for human consumption. After the second accidental poisoning, Rasp had insisted on doing most of the foraging himself. Hop’s unexpected enlistment into their troop had come with many added benefits, including a surplus of meals that Rasp didn’t have to question whether or not they’d be his last.

“If you’re insistent on eating something right now, there are several edible food sources around us. White clover, dandelions, a nice strip of birch bark to chew on, perhaps?”

Before Rasp could comment how he would have preferred chicken feed to any of those, the feathery snap of wings filled the air near his head. Pain erupted across his right shoulder moments later as Father landed, talons digging into his cloak and, consequently, the tender flesh beneath for stability.

Rasp tilted his head toward the raven. “You’ve been notably absent. Where have you–”

With a muffled croak, Father shoved something into Rasp’s open mouth.

It was cold, bloated, and covered in a slick layer of watery mucus. Rasp panicked. Instead of spitting it out, he swallowed, feeling it start to liquify on its way down. “Oh my gods,” he croaked, mortified by what he’d just done. “That…that…was a worm. Did you just feed me a worm? Tell me you didn’t just feed me a worm!”

Father confirmed Rasp’s suspicion with an approving click of his beak

Oh gods. Rasp frantically wiped his tongue against his sleeve. His efforts succeeded only in adding an extra layer of filth to his soil flavored mouth “Why was it mushy?”

Father’s answer was as simple as it was stupid.

“Because you found it in a puddle?” That certainly explained the texture and lack of wriggling. “So not only did you feed me a worm, you gave me a dead and bloated one you found in a puddle?”

Croak?

“No, I don’t want another one!”

Father ruffled his feathers with an angry gurgle before going still.

Rasp hung his head with a groan. “Seriously?”

“Oh good,” Hop muttered. “Another conversation I can’t be a part of.”

He spoke with his head down, chin resting against his bony chest. “Father said he has imperative information, but now he’s not going to share it because I don’t appreciate how he provides for me.”

“Try giving the worm back to him. I hear birds like that sort of thing.”

As lovely as it sounded to regurgitate the contents of his stomach and offer it to the raven perched on his shoulder, the last thing Rasp needed was drive the wedge between him and his father further apart. “Oh!” He snapped his fingers at Hop. “Give me some of the chicken feed.”

“You’re missing something,” Hop said.

“Look, I know he’s not a chicken. But he’ll literally eat anything. Come on, I’ll show you.”

The faun issued a wearisome sigh. “I meant please.”

“Oh my gods, give me some of the chicken feed, Hop, please.”

With an irritated flap of his ears, Hop’s blurry shape moved out of Rasp’s peripheral vision. Rasp could hear him rustling around in one of the saddlebags behind him. Hop returned, moments later, thrusting a handful of dried corn into Rasp’s outstretched hand. “You’re welcome.”

“Thank you.” Rasp lifted the offering to the sulking raven. “I’m sorry for not appreciating your worm, dad. Please accept this gift as a token of apology.”

Father pretended to not notice for several seconds before gluttony got the better of him.

“Be gentle!” Rasp flinched as the raven’s beak stabbed into his palm, gobbling up the offering as quickly as he could. Rasp waited until he’d had his fill before asking, “About that imperative information?”

Father garbled his reply around a mouthful of dried corn.

“He says there are five travelers following us,” Rasp translated.

Thus far, his father was the only raven from the flock to have found him. Whether the others were actually searching or not, Rasp didn’t know. Despite their oftentimes volatile relationship, they were trying to make it work. One upside was that Father operated as an additional set of eyes and ears. With the raven watching from the skies, the trio had thus far managed to keep one step ahead of their many, many pursuers.

“Are they the same ones Whisper saw at the village?” Hop asked.

“How would he know that, Hop?”

“Fair point,” The faun conceded. “What about uniforms? Were they wearing any sort of identifiable symbols or clothing? Robes, maybe?”

Croak, croak, croak.

Rasp popped the rest of the chicken feed into his mouth, detailing Father’s report around increasingly desperate attempts to grind the dried corn to pulp with his back molars. “He says they didn’t look like they were from the division. They’re carrying weapons and at least two had plated armor. Whatever trick Whisper used to disguise their trail has them turned around for the moment, but he thinks they’ll find the cabin by nightfall.”

“That’s, admittedly, not good. But for the love of gods, stop eating the poultry feed!” Hop cried. “I just fixed your teeth!”

“How else do you expect me to test them out?” The implants were working remarkably well so far. Unlike the petrified corn which, even when ground into more manageable sizes, was akin to swallowing broken shards of river rock. Rasp was committed to ridding his mouth of the vile worm flavor, however, and persisted in spite of the pain.

Father normally would have put up a bigger stink about being deprived of a hard earned meal. From his smug cackle, he seemed to be enjoying Rasp’s self-inflicted torture.

“For the record, I blame you,” Rasp told him.

Croak?

“Well, yeah, partly for the worm but also the lack of thinking things through. I definitely didn’t inherit that from mom.”