4. The Fox and the Wolf

  Regardless of how poorly he slept, he was always early to rise. He relished the peace of morning to better collect his thoughts and pace himself. Typically, he tried to avoid the daily bustle of the busy town centre by keeping his training, chores, and supply runs as far from it as possible. On days like that when it couldn't be avoided, he'd become adept at timing his appearances for when the majority were otherwise occupied with duty or social gatherings to better conclude his business with as little interaction as possible.

  As his first action of the day, he made his way to the open-styled, three-story building of the Minahata—the administrative, record-keeping caste of Amona—and arranged for the Circle to meet in the afternoon for his report, which would permeate out to those interested enough to represent, record, or witness.

  The Minahata hub was unusual for its multiple floors, but otherwise represented the utilitarian architecture of Amona. Given the tight management of resources and the dire threat from the north, there were few structures with lavish embellishments. The vast majority of homes were constructed simply, with only one floor and large doors that slid open easily for quick access in the event of an attack. Those few that had the luxury or argued necessity to have elevation, did so with strict adherence to the regulations of no more than five stairs of height, and made with as much open floor space as possible for freedom of movement.

  At the town core, the streets were tight with bottlenecks for the Amonian shieldwall should the need ever arise. Unhindered movement for reinforcements was enabled by dedicated horizontal planes built onto the slant of every roof, accessed by ladder and hatch from street level. The proximity of most buildings allowed for even the most vulnerable to comfortably hop from roof to roof along wooden shingles, roughened for confidence of footing. Every structure, regardless of function, housed a small, unlocked cache of arms for ready access. Amona was perfectly adapted for repelling an invading force, but it hadn’t been put to the test since the days of their founding.

  Inla walked away from the Minahata building, past the aged beech tree at the heart of the square, and took a turn down a long street that seemed endless through the stubborn morning mists. The summer sun had just began to crest the lowest peaks of the valley, struggling to bring the day to his home. He’d always been disappointed that there was little mention of fog in the Archive texts, as if it was of no consequence to the wider world, where to him it was almost magical like walking a lucid dream in the peace of obscurity.

  Through the haze, the orange glow of smouldering coals, and the moving silhouette of billows came into view on his left. Halisha, the oldest smithy in town and one of few establishments to keep the heritage tongue, held a special place in the hearts of all Amonians. Its proximity to the town centre by virtue of its age, along with its reputation for quality craftsmanship, meant it took the predominant share of available work. Such was the skill and knowledge of the resident Mastersmith of Halisha and his novitiates that he’d been the unanimous choice to represent all blacksmiths on the Circle for the entirety of Inla’s life. What's more, Master Elm was known to be a man of integrity, the most recent example of which was his refusal to accept any more students despite the sizeable Halisha backlog, for fear of diluting the quality of his tutelage and simultaneously allowing his contemporaries to fill their own quotas.

  "Hey you."

  Inla froze on the spot. It was rare for anyone to get the jump on him. He turned around. "Ah."

  "Ah?!"

  "I mean hey… Fox," he blurted out, immediately feeling on guard.

  Fox leaned casually on Master Elm's fence with her slender short-blade sheathed and in hand, having just come directly from the Halisha forge. She gave him a measured look with the beginnings of a smirk forming at the corner of her lips. Her hair was unbraided and loose that morning, albeit meticulously brushed straight. Usually the colour of falling leaves, it was muted by the lingering mists giving her a ghostly quality. Her hair had darkened over the years, once being a fiery orange in their youth. "Hey yourself. How was our favourite cesspit, Sheadun?"

  "The same. Different," he said dryly. He was fully aware his defences were up, but he couldn't help himself.

  "A man of few words," she pouted.

  A middle-aged administrator hurried past them on the way to work, side-eyeing Inla. "Circle this afternoon on it."

  "Oh yeah? Maybe I'll go and listen to the man of few words," she threatened, knowing full well it would throw him off.

  "You hate the briefings, Fox."

  "Ugh I know. Boring old farts," she confirmed, dramatically throwing her head back and lolling her tongue out.

  "I'll only be in and out, anyway," he said, quietly hoping that there wasn't any conviction to her threat.

  "Well?" she said suddenly. Fox gave him an intense look of expectation, steadily raising her eyebrows to comic extremes until she stumbled forward away from the fence. "What did you get me?!"

  "Uh…"

  "Uh?! A stack of emeralds from the jungles?! Maybe some poetry from Sultan Zeya Zeyar and his blind lover? Orrr… some clan weave from that place you said was responsible for shattering Haligern?" complained Fox.

  Inla was she surprised she committed any of his recited stories from the Archive records to memory. "I didn't… I'm not a mind reader Fox, and those things are hard to get in Sheadu—"

  She burst into wicked laughter, cutting him short. She waved her hand and head to silence him, dashing forward to cup his gaunt cheeks with both hands on arrival. "SO SERIOUS. I'm just playing with you."

  He reflexively lifted his hand up in irritation to move her away, but stopped himself short. Her hands were clammy, and her dominant right was rough to the feel from training calluses. He tried to chart an impossible course through the murky, blue depths of her eyes, but lost himself. Her playfulness was infectious to most, but it made him feel anxious at the best of times.

  By all accounts, Fox wasn't a conventionally beautiful woman. Her broad face was scarred more than most, and a particularly gruesome injury had left her with an artificial cleft on her upper lip that made her smile crooked. Her heavyset shoulders gave the illusion of poor posture that she claimed was evidence of her ancestry to trolls, but her fair skin was clear evidence to the contrary. She was laddish, petty, and crude at the best of times, but also capable of deep passion and honour. She was a free spirit and entirely unobtainable, but he was still drawn to her regardless of Willow's counsel, and he hated himself for it.

  "Ready for the Narak?" she asked when she finally released him after what seemed like an eternity.

  Inla rolled his shoulder. "Ready enough. Arm's a bit stiff. Might join the shieldwall this month…"

  Her face dropped. "Oh, but I love watching you swing that thing around!" She playfully protested, gesturing to Ito.

  He forced a smile, but his eyes betrayed him. He could never tell how to react to her remarks. He knew the answer was to just be himself, but somehow that didn't feel good enough. "If I make a mistake I'll be cut in two."

  "So serious, Inla," she clucked, tapping on his chest with the pommel of her sword. "AND speaking of— you've been avoiding me, mister."

  He stiffened and paused, the quiet of the dawn threatening to envelop them. "I avoid everyone, Fox."

  She was not at all placated.

  "Look… I— do you want to go for a walk? My morning is free until the afternoon and I'm too tired to trai— "

  "— sure!" she said beaming up at him; either oblivious to, or selectively ignorant of his embarrassment. She took off down the street before he had time to react.

  ○

  "Boo," said Inla to the broad back of a stout and wide-hipped woman.

  She spun on the spot with eyes full of surprise that melted to warm joy. "Inla!" cheered Willow, skipping over. Her arms coiled around him with a gentle, maternal tenderness that betrayed her form.

  He didn't resist and fell into it, letting her squeeze some of his burden away, no matter how briefly.

  "You smell of bread, Will," he said, his voice muffled by her shoulder. Her blonde braid tickled his nose.

  She released him and looked him over from head to toe. "And you're all bones and arms, old man."

  Her round face glanced down at his once black robe, now white. Willow apologetically dusted him off with her apron, sending plumes of flour into the air and making the situation worse.

  "Will, you know Fox of course," he said, leaning to the side to reveal his companion lurking in the background, pretending she was more interested in the fresh bread at the far end of Willow's stall than eavesdropping on their conversation. Fox already knew he confided in Willow about her, but he felt compelled to maintain the pretence of formal introductions.

  "You already know we trialled for the Sisters together, silly. Hi again, Fox," she said almost curtly, before turning her scrutiny back to him. "You need to take better care of yourself."

  "I'm okay. Just some things on my mind lately."

  She planted her hands on her hips. "Still camped out of town?"

  "I like it. I have a system," he said with faded sincerity.

  "A system," she repeated, her eyes narrowing. "You know you can come stay with us any time you like? We miss you."

  "I know. It's fine." He flashed a smile and promptly fussed with his sleeve until the swell of emotion subsided.

  "Hmph—" grumbled Willow. She glanced at Fox before turning to one of her trays.

  "How's Reeds doing?"

  "Here." She handed him a fresh, brown loaf. It was crusted on top and still warm to the touch. "Oh, the big idiot is fine. Pride's hurtin', but he's no fool. Should be ready for this months Narak. He's to be in the wall beside me so I can keep an eye on him. I promised to skin him alive if he planned otherwise." She wore her concern well, but it was still plain to see.

  Inla reached for her arm to steal her attention. "He'll be okay in the wall. You'll see. It was just a scare." He could see her resolve melting and her eyes filling with tears. He moved to hug her.

  She protested, shooing him away and fanning herself until her composure returned. "No, no, I'll jus' start bawlin'. You're a good man. Don't you let anyone say otherwise."

  He smiled sheepishly.

  Willow wiped her cheeks with the back of her hands, giving herself a fresh dusting of flour in the process. "Any news from the market?"

  "Not much. Some refugees from another succession in one of the crown states. Didn't get the name, but the Nodin probably knew months ago, not that it matters. Just wish they'd told me before I went so I knew to expect more crowds than usual."

  "Another one? You'd think they'd learn to set better rules of lineage by now."

  "Right. Sad looking bunch, but they're together at least. Not many women and children. Not sure if that's a good or bad thing," he mused, feeling relief at having the opportunity to unburden himself of his thoughts from the road.

  Willow looked stricken. "I can't imagine being so desperate to go across the plains… the Humma—"

  Inla waved to cut her off. "—they don't typically keep the Haligernian women. Sometimes the children if they show promise, but rarely. Don't get me wrong, the men have appetites, but they aren't their type. I think it's unlikely they sneaked through their territory, as vast as it is, and the tribes are all different so—"

  "—the Humma don't take the women? Since when? That can't be right."

  "It's a misconception. It's all there in the Archives. Back then, the Circle used to push the narrative that the Humma were just as bad as the Sinti so that our women would stay in the valley and stick it out. No women, no future, right?"

  Willow frowned.

  "I wouldn't exactly call it a secret, certainly not among the Sisters or some of the Wardens, but I think there's still an informal desire to keep it quiet in the event that we start bleeding manpower. Lies are lies though, in my mind, but it isn't exactly a hard secret to keep. Since when was the last time anyone other than the Nodin cared about the wider world, right?" he said, checking around for Fox who’d since grown bored and strayed further away to have a boisterous conversation with a young man in thick training leathers.

  Willow looked stunned, but quickly made her peace with the revelation. A grin crept onto her face. "So you're saying Reeds wouldn't have to worry about his wife being carted off as a slave if I went for a wee stroll?"

  "No more than I am. You never did, or your ancestors for that matter, because you're Amonian. Since the original split all those years ago, they see us as guardians of a sort. It isn't lost on them that they're related to us. Many of the tribes even hold us in a position of respect or reverence, particularly Misa's bunch near here, if you could believe it."

  She leaned in and lowered her voice to a whisper, "Should you be telling me this?"

  He shrugged. "Like I said, it's no secret. The Sisters have been going down to introduce themselves for years, but haven't witnessed it myself on my own visits."

  "They'd give those sheepskins a run for their money."

  "They certainly do. I get all the questions from the men pining over them. I feel like a courting service sometimes," he said, rolling his eyes.

  She looked bemused, then chuckled. "Come again?"

  "They're dogs for strong, exotic women. The Haligernian women are not trained to defend themselves. In those lands they're treated as trophies for the men of their lives, so most are too vulnerable. The Humma think them weak. Another mouth to feed. Not a good mate either, right? When you spend your life on the road, I mean. They just turn them away and make them go the southern routes." He handed off one of Willow's loaves to a young boy patiently waiting for them to finish their conversation. "So, imagine what they think of our lot. Little do they know, the Sisterhood was founded by refugees from Haligern all those years ago."

  "I knew Folfrigan was the old common tongue, but I didn't know the Sisterhood was their idea. Anyway, all I can say is that it's nice to be appreciated. I'm going to tell that big oaf that I have a tribesman waiting for me if he doesn't do as he's told. So… what happens to the men travelling with the women?"

  "The strong or capable ones are trained… put in a mixed vanguard or raiding units with veterans and sent out together against whoever comes out to defend themselves on the jungle border. Been that way since forever. I've met a couple of them. They fight hard for their place and look healthy enough."

  "But why would they fight for their captors? That doesn't make any sense," asked Willow as she smoothed out her apron.

  "It's strange, but they do. They're treated well. I guess once they get past the initial shock and resentment of being held prisoner, they start to form bonds of brotherhood in battle and realise that they could do well among the pack. Remember that most caught out on the plains are running from something. Takona Misa told me that a young man from the northernmost Haligern state married his blood sister." He turned Willow’s loaf in hungry anticipation.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  "Really? Huh. I had no idea. You're just a barrel full of information today, old man," she said with every ounce of sincerity. "I get so nervous when you're down there with them. Should I ask what happens to those that refuse to… participate?"

  "I'm not sure. Death or freedom, if they're of no use. They're a hard people, but they have their honour too. That being said, I'm not familiar with many of the different groups. It's not like I've been further than the foothills myself. Misa is a bit of a jester, but I hear the other Takonas further from the mountains are not so accommodating. Then again, I also hear that those near Haligern itself basically function as a trading outpost to the city states."

  "I guess the refugees that made it to Sheadun went the long way, then. If we tell tall tales of the Humma, I can't imagine what horror stories they tell their children in Haligern," she said, chuckling to herself.

  "Maybe so." Inla's mood darkened. "There was something off about them, Will. Something off about the whole place."

  "Off? In what way?"

  "I'm not sure yet. I'm going to suggest an investigation to the Circle today. It doesn't feel right, like you're in the throes of a nightmare and trying to wake. I get the same feeling towards the end of the Narak when there isn't anything left to fight back."

  "Inla… that's scary. Are you sure you're not just—" she started, stopping short when she saw his disquiet. "—do I need to be concerned?"

  "No, no. It just needs looking into. You know me, penchant for the dramatic—"

  "—stop that," she said in a tone that snuffed out all argument. "You're not dramatic. You just care. That isn't something to be ashamed of, or any sort of weakness, and don't you dare change, or I'll have your hide."

  Inla's laugh caught him unaware, spluttering out from the pool of malaise that was threatening to choke him.

  "Anyway. Hopefully they find their path."

  "Hopefully, though I'm not sure why they come here of all places, like it's the answer to something. They're just trading one danger for another."

  "A fresh start, Inla. The promise of something different. Wouldn't you risk it? For your family? For me?" she chastised.

  "I would, of course," he repented. "Sorry. Head’s in the gutter lately."

  Willow reached over to him and tucked his dark fringe behind his ears. "Don't give in to it." She kissed him on the forehead.

  "Hey, they had goods from the jungles at the market. Not sure which dynasty. I didn't have the bag space, but I'll get you something next month."

  Her eyes widened. The dense and deadly jungles to the south-east had always fascinated her. Tales of ancient dynasties, stone temples that crested the canopies, and cursed weapons that used time to kill were a quick way into her good graces. "I miss your stories!" she blurted out in excitement.

  "I wish I had new ones for you," he lamented, the bulk of his conversations with Rojani being otherwise preoccupied with the darkness creeping into Sheadun.

  "The old ones are just as good. Come for dinner. You look like you need a good feed."

  "I'll think about it, Will. I'm not great company these days."

  She wagged her finger at him. "Ahk, all the more reason! Y’will, before the Narak. I won't accept no for answer."

  He accepted his defeat. "Okay, fine. It's a date. Leave out the Shuffleboard."

  "He's been practising with the kids from the barracks, you know. He's determined to beat you one day."

  "Uh huh," said Inla with an unconvinced grin. He leaned in to hug her. "I better head, Will."

  She squeezed him tight and glanced behind him again, to Fox. She made a start as if to speak in secret, but stopped short. Concern and simmering anger filled her expression.

  He threw her a puzzled look, but almost certainly knew what was on her mind. He lowered his voice. "I know. I'm trying to be careful."

  Willow sighed, a long-established fatigue forcing her own defeat, "Okay, okay, go on then. Shoo."

  Before leaving, Inla broke off a corner of his loaf and dropped it to the floor at their feet. Steam rose and filled the mountain air with a sweet, nutty smell. "Tomorrow takes what today remembers—"

  "—but forever together, to start anew.”

  He nodded solemnly.

  “You're the only one I know that still does it."

  "The old ways are best," said Inla frankly. He stepped away and walked over to Fox, the young soldier now absent. He handed her half his loaf.

  "Don't forget dinner! Love you!" shouted Willow over the din of a growing breakfast crowd.

  ○

  The winding streets eased along with his spirits as they made their way further out of town past swells of commuters. He felt a great deal lighter than he did at the start of the day, but Willow always had a soothing effect on him.

  "Old man?" quizzed Fox, breaking their silence. "You only have a few years on her by the looks of it."

  "Two. She always said I was wise beyond my years, so it became a thing."

  "You two seem… close." A hint of jealousy found its way into her tone.

  Inla gave her a look. "We are. She has a good heart, and she's very kind to me. Her and her husband took me in after I left the Archives."

  "Oh… didn't know that. Jus' thought maybe there was more to it."

  "Well now you know," he retorted.

  "Jus' sayin'… she's cute. Thought maybe in the past…"

  He stopped dead in his tracks, taking a deep breath through his nose. "Don't," he warned.

  She spun around to him, petulant as ever and completely undeterred. "What?"

  "She's like a sister to me, Fox. Don't sully it. Some things are sacred."

  Their scene attracted the side-eyes of passers-by.

  Fox threw her hands in the air, admitting defeat. An impish smile crept into the corner of her mouth.

  He sighed and ushered her back to the path.

  "Yes sir, Master Inla. Ten thousand lashings for my moral corruption Master, sir," she joked.

  "I'm serious Fox, don't push it."

  "You are serious Inla. So very serious. But I do love it when you're angry," she teased, playfully nudging her elbow into him.

  Inla rolled his eyes and offered no response, accepting the small victory of temporarily separating her from her petty envy.

  "I don't think she likes me."

  "She cares about me," he snapped defensively. "She's also protective of me, particularly this past month."

  "Oh?" said Fox, her interest waning as the topic moved away from her, fixating instead on the training pit up ahead.

  "Reeds was almost pulled away last Narak. Got cut up bad. I got to him in time, but it was close."

  They stopped at the perimeter fence.

  "See? You don't need protection. You do the protecting. You n' that big sword of yours," she said with a wink before turning to the pits just in time to see the young man she was talking to in town hit the sand hard on his back. "Oof."

  "YOU ARE NOT READY," bellowed drillmaster Hawk. The towering man of thick muscle wore no armour and proudly boasted a bare chest covered with deep scars. His most prominent feature was a deadened eye from a deep claw mark that travelled up and beyond his brow to the centre of his shaved head.

  Inla didn't know him personally, but knew him to be at least friendly with Aldern.

  Hawk kicked sand over the floored novitiate to add insult to injury. "VOID TAKE YOU—NEXT—"

  A young woman of about 18 winters with dark-red hair, tied and tucked into her training leathers, stepped up holding a short spear with both hands. Her tight grip and stiff movements spoke of anxiety, but her face wore determination.

  "Poor teaching style," muttered Inla, mostly to himself but loud enough to invite response.

  "He is a bit of a brute," added Fox.

  Hawk approached the girl with a lumbering arrogance at first, taking more delight in intimidation than education, but her surprising speed made him change his tune. Using her light weight to her advantage on the shifting sands, she danced around three clumsy blows with ease. As he advanced, she feigned retreat to reposition, covering her temporary vulnerability with clean and confident strikes that just fell short or wide of his bulk. In an attempt to end the fight quickly, she went on the offensive, ducking down to a crouching position to lunge at him before he was upon her, but Hawk was no fool. The drillmaster read her like a book and deflected the shaft with his forearm, then in a blink of an eye, snatched the haft and yanked her off-balance. She fell face-first into the sand.

  "YOU ARE NOT READY. VOID TAKE YOU—NEXT—" screamed Hawk, pushing the girl over with his heel as she tried to clamber to her feet. He seemed especially animated this morning, and scowled at her when she steadied herself without falling over for a second time, despite his best efforts.

  "I like her," commented Inla. "Good movement and instincts. Strong spirit. She would be a good study."

  "A new student for Master Inla?" teased Fox.

  "I don't want to be a Master. I still like to teach though," he reminded her. It had been years since he’d taught his mind and technique to any of the novitiate. He didn't have a good reason not to, but his heart wasn't in it as he drew further and further within himself.

  "I hope she tries for the Sisters."

  "I would be very surprised if she didn't."

  Fox groaned. "Here comes Blackstone. All smiles as usual."

  Previously hidden from view by the crowd of trainees and equipment, Blackstone stepped forward into the pit at a leisurely pace, combing his thin, white hair to one side as he went. At almost two heads shorter than Hawk and more compact than most of the men of Amona, the aged veteran wasn't a physically imposing man by any means, but still dominated the attentions of all present.

  "All smiles," repeated Inla absent-mindedly, readying himself to leave before his rising bitterness spoiled what remained of the morning. He loathed the theatre of the training interruption, all in service of the man's smug ego. His lip curled as he watched the withered bureaucrat slowly parade around the pit like a peacock, playing to a new generation of impressionable novitiates. He'd endured the social machinations of the self-styled leader for a lifetime, but where others were charmed, he only saw a bully and a fraud.

  Blackstone bent down to retrieve and examine the girl’s spear. His movements were exaggerated and flamboyant, in an effort to work the crowd. He made a show of squinting at it, measuring its stunted length with his own finger, and holding it up alongside Hawk's head for comparison; until eventually, he was satisfied that he'd exhausted his comedy routine. "I believe you lost your toothpick young lady," he announced for his punchline, smiling broadly to himself at his own performance.

  The training group erupted into laughter, and the girl blushed red to match her hair. She quickly scurried forward to retrieve her spear, snatching it from Blackstone and awkwardly jolting his arm in the process. She showed no fear or shame.

  Surprise and irritation took Blackstone at her brazen disrespect, before settling back into a controlled, wolfish smile.

  Hawk started towards the girl to strike her, but stopped short at Blackstone's signal.

  "It's okay, drillmaster. I was young once, too. Never underestimate a spirited lady. My wife had the fire in her too, and she accomplished much. Go on now," he said, dismissing the girl with poorly masked condescension before continuing. "In Haligern, where I was seeded from, women only serve. Here, where the need is great, you enjoy the freedoms seldom afforded to the mothers, daughters, wives, and sisters of Erdgard. You have much to be thankful for. Now, back to it. The Sinti wait for no man… or woman."

  "The girl's strong. She didn't let her embarrassment define her. She'll go far," said Inla, scraping the barrel of his mind for a positive thought.

  Fox wretched. "What a pretentious, old goat."

  He’s never been good at hiding his beliefs," he confirmed. There was much he didn't understand about Blackstone, but the man's prejudices were the least of what kept Inla awake at night.

  "Who put him in charge anyway," she asked, referring to the looseness of the hierarchy of Amona.

  "He is old and experienced, which is enough to make you a Master on the Circle in most cases. Tactical has always been insular and conservative," he offered, knowing that it was only a small piece of a larger picture.

  Blackstone, in his time, had no great battle achievements, no particular skills of note, and had never walked the Void. Instead, the quiet authority and respect he enjoyed was part curated through confidence and charm, and part affiliation through his marriage to the Nodin coordinator. The majority of Amona were happy with his projected competency and standing, and those that weren't, were indifferent or resigned to the illusion. As such, he’d incrementally elevated himself above his station where he would likely remain until his passing.

  "He's spotted us," grumbled Fox.

  Inla's eyes narrowed as Blackstone froze in place across the field from them. "Time to go."

  ○

  They enjoyed the songbirds and the gentle breeze together for the better part of an hour as they made their way further from town. Tilled fields gave way to wild pasture, and the trail below their feet became unpaved and uneven.

  His duties and lifestyle didn’t often bring him to that side of the valley anymore, but the lower elevation of the east naturally collected more moisture, resulting in much denser greenery than his camp on the upper, western slopes. It was a beautiful landscape against a backdrop of dark mountains, but even the vibrant life around him couldn't help erase the lingering images of a bedridden, broken body burned into his memory.

  "He definitely doesn't like me," suddenly blurted out Fox.

  Inla smiled to himself. Blackstone also had a habit of staining his mind for a time after exposure, and he was glad he wasn't alone in that. "You're right about that. He never did, even back then."

  "But why?"

  "He never said. He never states anything conclusively. You have to be in his company for long enough and piece it together like a puzzle. He's calculating, but also weak. He understands he can't contain his prejudice so he releases it piecemeal, like a form of control, I suppose," he stated with conviction, having long made his conclusions on the matter.

  "Because I'm a woman?" Fox's face twisted into disgust.

  "That's part of it. You know his beliefs and what he holds onto. He said you lack ambition, once."

  "Judgemental, old goat. I'd beat his carcass up and down the valley—"

  "—and he didn't approve of your relations with the boys in the barracks." He took a small satisfaction in relaying that particular piece of information.

  She looked like something was stuck in her throat and balled her fists in anger. "You're joking?!"

  "Sadly not. He thought it… unbecoming, or common, I suppose. Harlot may have been used once or twice at the kitchen table," said Inla with a degree of overdue satisfaction. Regardless of how he felt about her, and try as he might, he wasn't above the petty resentments in his heart for enduring her wants wandering everywhere else but to him. He knew it was unhealthy, but he allowed himself a small, rarely-felt offering of catharsis.

  "HARLOT?!"

  He enjoyed her rage for as long as he dared. "I think it's because you reminded him of her in her youth. Untameable and unyielding, and more importantly, not his, which I guess in his mind is deserving of shame," he lied, knowing full well that Blackstone would never have compared his wife to any woman, regardless of similarities.

  Fox huffed at him, and he let them slip into a mutual quiet while she worked through her outrage.

  She always provoked a war in him that the trials and wisdom of his life still hadn't provided an answer to. He wanted to tell her how he felt, and how her disregard of him hurt, but it felt futile. They may have grown up in tandem with similar stresses and strains, but as adults, they couldn't be further apart. Where he was simply surviving, she'd learned to leverage her bold personality and womanhood to free herself from the chronic underestimation that formerly plagued her youth. Where he’d leaned into his bittersweet isolation, she’d carved a place for herself among the soldiers of the barracks as one of them. Fox's confidence had blazed until she was blind to him, and despite knowing her success was tribute to her strength of character—a quality he admired about her— Inla couldn't deny that he had moments when he felt abandoned, or betrayed.

  His stomach painfully gurgled in response to his sliding thoughts, and he tried to balance himself with the reminder that he wasn't a failure. Few men had the grim will and tenacity to survive without support or encouragement as he had. He'd been forced to ruin, and rebuilt himself from the ashes into a man that knew himself above all, and there was a clear victory in that, even if he struggled to internalise its truth.

  ○

  At that end of the valley was the last remaining sawmill from the days of their founding. It had escaped the scrupulous eye of the Minahata ledgers for its lifetime by virtue of its usefulness should the need for significant foundational repair to their wooden homes arise, but otherwise was entirely unoccupied for most of the year. Beside the hollow that ordinarily stored logs for timber, hidden by copious amounts of wildflowers, was Master Elm's failure, and the poorest kept secret of Fox and Inla's generation.

  The quaint, hidden gazebo of poorly measured lumber, a leaky roof, and the occasional splinter was the result of Master Elm's brief hand at carpentry before he decided he was better suited to pummelling steel. Knowing his efforts would be dismantled and put to better use if made common knowledge, its location was only revealed to his closest confidants and the most mischievous of youths.

  Inla brushed off the bench, and they sat down.

  "Own your failures with pride! Don't bury them, or you'll bury yourself," imitated Fox in as deep a baritone as she could muster, pandering to an invisible audience. "Wear it like armour!"

  He smirked. "You'll have to grow a beard to pull that one off."

  "You had that stupid beard fluff when you left Tactical," she said frankly, grabbing his chin and squeezing hard until he pulled away. "This scruff is much better."

  "Blackstone hated beards. Thought it was the sign of laziness, somehow. So, I guess this is my compromise."

  "Inla the rebel. When will you tell me what happened with that crusty, old fart anyway?" she asked, eyes wide with hollow anticipation.

  He clenched his jaw. "Sorry. Another time."

  Fox shrugged in quick resignation. "My mystery man. Anyway, yuck, I hate beards."

  "Lies. You were with that guy from textile. The one with bones in his beard."

  "Ha!— I almost forgot about him," snorted Fox. "His da hated me, y'know the one that makes all the nice tunics."

  "Can't think why…"

  She gave him a sharp elbow. "Great with his hands though," she teased, staring off into the field of blues and yellows.

  Inla's heart sank, his stomach and face with it. "Why do you have to do that?!" he barked.

  "Do what?"

  "You know."

  She sighed as if the subject was beneath her. "So serious, Inla."

  "Yeah, I am," he snapped, feeling all his frustrations rally within himself. "You know it hurts me, but you do it anyway. It's not like it's an isolated case, is it?"

  "It's jus' a bit of fun. I try to enjoy myself. You should, too."

  "Don't dare tell me what I should do. You have NO idea," he warned, refusing to back down this time. He hated feeling so weak and confused. He felt like a fool. The morning was not going as he expected, and he wished he was still on the road.

  They fumed together in a deafening silence.

  After some time, Fox shifted closer to him so they were touching, grabbing his hand tightly in an iron grip and holding it prisoner. "Don't worry about it, Inla. You worry too much."

  He didn't react to her touch and said nothing. He knew he'd never get a straight answer from her unless pressed, and the moment he did, he'd lose her forever; but a part of him was beginning to accept that it might be for the best. Beyond the border fence of the overgrown field he could make out the familiar, ghostly frame of Ravensong watching them.

  "Oh INLA— no fun! Get out of that big dome," she chastised, leaning up and pecking him on the cheek to pull his attention back. "How about you tell me all the things you love about me."