Apologies for the confusion! I accidentally posted this missing a HUGE chunk of the chapter at first! Lol. . . I hope no one gets too confused :P

In any case, this is the correct posting :)

Chapter 10 - Part 2
<<< PREV | FIRST | NEXT >>>

"Miss Shivah!"

I almost flinched when I heard the Otherwolf's familiar, friendly voice call out my 'name' from across the crowded street. Almost. But then I reminded myself that I needed to ease off a bit on the thorny exterior if I wanted to have any hope of being welcome amongst any people in the world other than Puck and Ransom. I wasn't even entirely certain I was welcome amongst them, sometimes. I suppose I could be a difficult person to be friends with.

Being less obviously loathsome and distrusting of every person around me would be essential if I wanted to travel in this new world. And who knows, if I gave the Otherwolves a chance, maybe one of these days I would even have a friend or two amongst them.

That was a goal, at least. A goal beyond killing someone. Puck might have been proud if he knew. Of course, the reason I had to make new friends was because he and Ransom were likely to disappear from my life soon. And that-

"Miss Shivah!" the man called out to me again, and this time I turned around, blowing out a breath.

". . . still sayin' this is a fool idea," Ransom half-growled from beside me. The coyote seemed more on-guard than even I was today, and that comforted me, for some reason. Probably because if it came down to it, I knew he wouldn't hesitate to help me kill these men. And the fact that that fact comforted me. . . said a lot about the person I'd been just a few months ago, versus the woman I'd become.

"If it is," I said lowly to the coyote, "I'll take full responsibility. With my bow."

The canine gave a dangerous chuckle and we both shut our muzzles as the distant figure of the husky closed in on us. He was mounted atop a horse, making his way through the crowded, dusty street towards where we stood underneath the overhang of the butcher's shop. Ransom and I had both thought the location best for this meeting when we'd planned it three days ago, since it was fairly centrally located in the town and if our new acquaintances were bent on making trouble, they'd be less apt to do so in a crowded, public place.

This Otherwolf 'Grant', as he'd called himself, looked if possible even more jaw-dropping in the afternoon sun, his form-fitting clothing sharp and less-weathered than what he'd been wearing in the tavern three days prior. His white and rust-colored fur was clearly recently groomed and cleaned, his blue eyes nearly the same color as the bright sky above us. He'd probably cleaned up from that night's tussle. . . and why was I now imagining him bathing?

Good gods! I wasn't this shallow. Admiration of physical beauty was only supposed to matter to men and it certainly shouldn't be my priority regardless of what I'd been raised to believe. It shouldn't matter to me whether or not the man was a damned peacock. I was too smart to let my baser instincts affect me.

Maybe he did it on purpose. Maybe this really was all a manipulation to frame us for what Rourke had done, and he was relying upon his looks to lead me astray, so that I'd be unprepared the moment he pounced.

Or. . . maybe I was just trying to validate the embarassing fact that I found him distractingly attractive. . . .

The beautiful beast he was riding most certainly had something to do with that. The horse looked like one of the dappled plains animals I'd seen the coyotes ride in on during the few occasions their tribes had come through the area. It was primarily a deep brown, with white flanks and flecked spotting along its rear and other white patches spattered here and there, like someone with great flare had painted its hide. The coyotes would often actually paint their horses for battle, but this animal needed no further decoration.

Even Ransom whistled quietly, muttering, "Gorgeous."

I arched an eyebrow at him, which he missed for the few moments he continued staring. When he noticed it, he gave me a glare. "I meant the horse, smartass."

"Uh-huh," I smirked.

"Don't you say a damned thing about none o'that," the coyote snapped quietly in reminder.

"I won't," I promised, and I meant it.

It was at that point my attention was focused back on Grant, although for once, not specifically on him. He'd broken through the crowd gathered outside the tavern and it was now becoming obvious some of the men who were moving along the road with him were actually flanking him, traveling as a group. Most notably, another canine mounted on a brown horse and a wolf mounted atop another speckled horse. The other canine, whose fur was almost entirely white, save the hint of a few black spots along his muzzle, had an unusually pushed-in, wide face, draping ears, and short fur. He was a thick-bodied man with a no-nonsense expression firmly set into his furrowded features, and the rifle slung by a strap over his shoulder only furthered the intimidating air about him.

In contrast, while the wolf was easily the largest man amongst the three canines, he didn't strike me as terribly intimidating. He looked far older, for one, his earth-toned fur gone gray along his muzzle, beneath his eyes and scattered throughout his coat. His eyes were deep-set and gave him the impression of appearing tired, and likely older than he actually was, judging by his remaining muscle-tone. He wore no Otherwolf clothing at all, dressing instead similar to how Puck still chose to, with a breech cloth and leggings.

There was a small group walking behind the three mounted men who formed up in a loose mob on either side of the horses when Grant pulled his gelding to a stop. Discomfort set in when I realized just how many of them there were. . . and noted that every single man was armed. Most of them with firearms. They were also mostly comprised of Otherwolves of varying shapes, colors and sizes, except for a rat and a mink.

The husky swung a leg and dismounted his horse, striding confidently towards us with a broad smile.

"Miss Shivah. Apologies if we're late. I wanted to gather as many of the men as I could before we came to meet you today. . . make introductions. I'm afraid we're still missing about a third of our number, but many of my men were simply too far-flung to get in easy contact with so soon."

"It's fine," I said defensively, looking past him to the group of. . . it looked like eight total, right now.

Grant seemed to notice, and put a hand out. "Oh, please don't be concerned. We aren't here to intimidate or interrogate you. You have my word. In fact, if we're making you uncomfortable, you're welcome to leave at any time."

I glanced back at Ransom. The coyote only shrugged. So I gave a sigh, turning back to the husky, who appeared so hopeful for a favorable response, I honestly would have felt bad if I'd walked away from him in that moment.

It might have been worth it just for amusement's sake. But I was on a mission, here.

"No, I. . . we. . . want to talk," I confirmed. "And we'd like to meet your men."

"Excellent!" Grant beamed, his tail swaying. I took note of the odd, puppy-like gesture almost immediately, but he seemed to realize and stilled his tail with noticable effort. He followed up by clearing his throat and gesturing past him to his gathered men. "Come, then. I'll introduce you."

I followed him towards his men, Ransom following like a warden in my wake. When we neared the odd assortment of mixed men, several of them, including the rat, removed something they'd been wearing on their heads. . . some kind of covering that kept the sun from their eyes, it seemed. They were a fascinating shape, and I wondered at how they'd been made.

I didn't really know what to make of the gesture, but it seemed like some kind of honorific, so I reminded myself to be polite. Or at least try.

"This fine young lady here is Shivah, of the Anukshen," Grant stated, looking briefly to me with a gentle smile. Then he looked back to his men, and in a far more authorative tone said, "You're all to treat her with respect and act like goddamn gentlemen in her presence. . . is that understood? Don't disgrace the badge."

"Ain't a rat with a badge already a walkin' disgrace?" One of the tan-colored Otherwolf men asked, giving the rodent a toothy grin.

"Bite me, Edgar," the rat replied, sounding too good-natured for the offense to have been taken seriously.

"Don't do it Ed. . . you'll catch somethin'," the man standing beside him muttered.

There was a ripple of laughter throughout the men at that and Grant gave a sigh from beside me, putting up a hand to speak again, before a gruff bark from the canine who'd been riding the brown horse quieted the men.

"Enough," the man growled. "Edgar, one day's rations."

The man 'Ed's face immediately went indignant and he opened his muzzle as if to say something, but a glare from the squat, stocky white canine silenced him before he got anything out.

"That goes for any of you who find it amusing to defy your CO's orders," the thick-jowled white canine stated in a no-nonsense tone, sweeping his eyes across the group of men. "Especially if you do so not three seconds after he gave them. I'm not fooling."

I glanced up at Grant, who was simply watching the scene with a mildly bemused expression on his face. At length, he cleared his throat again, and addressed his men once more.

"Heed the Paymaster, boys," he said with a nod, then glanced down at me, gesturing to the white canine. "I'm sorry, miss Shivah. . . Paymaster Connall Prendergast, my second. Connall-"

"You told me," the man said with a curt nod, extending a paw to shake mine in a firm grip. "Good to finally meet you, miss. My CO's not been able to stop talking about you for the last three days, so I need no further introductions. Sounds like our interests might be aligned."

Grant's ears tipped back beside me as I turned to glare at him, and he put his forefinger up as if to make a point, "I needed to brief my men about. . . it's not as though anything uncomplimentary was said-"

"Even if you two're hunting the same man, it don't mean we gotta have nothin' to do with one another," Ransom spoke up from behind me for the first time, catching the white canine's attention. And consequently breaking up the awkward moment.

This man 'Connall', whose squat white muzzle still perplexed me, turned his dark eyes on the coyote, who was still standing a short distance behind me, arms crossed, one clawed finger toying at the edge of his rifle strap. I'd been traveling with Ransom so long, it was easy to forget how imposing and threatening he was to someone who didn't know him.

Truth be told, he was in reality no less dangerous than he appeared, now that I knew him better.

"And who are you, exactly?" Connall asked, one corner of his muzzle twitching.

"Ransom is my traveling companion," I replied for the coyote, hoping this wouldn't turn antagonistic. I hardly knew this 'Connall', but I had a feeling he and Ransom would collide like oil and water, given the right provocation. And that might not need be much. Ransom had been aggitated lately, dealing with his injury, his bickering with Puck and gods knew what else.

Connall's dark eyes flicked back to Grant's. "I thought she was going to be traveling with us."

"Well, we hadn't exactly hashed out-"

"Damn straight we didn't hash nothin' out!" Ransom growled, interjecting. "We ain't goin' nowhere with you and your thugs here, we're only here as a courtesy 'cause this one insisted on it," he said as he gestured towards me.

"Our boys aren't thugs," Connall said with an irate snuff, very obviously resting a hand on his own rifle strap. "I'll thank you to be as civil towards us as we've shown you, we don't know you from Canid-"

"Both of you need to just calm down. . . ." Grant said insistently, putting a hand on his friend's shoulder, "I think we just got off on the wrong foot here, and that's precisely what I was hoping to avoid."

"Well apparently you're tellin' your men you're takin' our woman without ever askin' us whether we'd allow'at!" Ransom said with a snarl.

"I never said anything about taking her-"

"Tell that man to get his paw away from his rifle, and then I'll bloody calm down," Connall snapped.

"Would you both please just-"

"STOP FIGHTING!" I exclaimed, raising my voice to be heard over the clamor.

Everyone went silent, even the group of men collected behind us, who'd grown to look restless as things between Ransom and their 'Paymaster' had grown heated. When I was absolutely certain I had every man's attention, I took a deep, steadying breath and said, "I don't belong to any of you, and it isn't anyone's choice but my own whom I travel with. I am going over the mountain regardless. I don't care who thinks they're working together, or who thinks I'm traveling with them. As far as I'm concerned, from this point on, I'm traveling alone. If we happen to share similar interests, we can work together towards those goals. That's it."

Connall remained silent, although the way he shifted back on his feet suggested he was composing himself. Ransom still looked annoyed, but even he dropped his paw away from his rifle strap. And Grant. . . .

I had to resist the urge to roll my eyes. The husky was just staring at me, wearing the most blatant expression of what I surmised had to be admiration, or just outright adoration. . . it hardly mattered which, because either way he looked a fool. I was embarrassed for him. Did he realize the faces he made, sometimes?

At length, he blinked and seemed to realize I was staring back at him, then stammered, "Yes. . . well said, miss Shivah. The lady here is right," he said to the other two still irate canines. "There's no reason to squabble over whom is traveling with whom, we both have the same goals for the moment. Why not work together? Share information, travel in a convoy, perhaps keep in contact once we're over the mountain. . . etcetera. That's all I intended."

"I ain't lookin' for Rourke," Ransom said, jabbing a thumb into his chest. "And it don't matter to me who Shivah shacks up with-"

"I don't think that particular vernacular is appropriate. . . ." Grant murmured.

" 'Camps with', then," Ransom growled, "Whatever. Mah point is, Shivah can and will do whatever th'hell she wants to. I learned awhile ago not t'get in her way," I didn't miss him rubbing his paw over his thigh at that. "But she's my friend, damnit. I just don't want t'see you boys take advantage o'her or hurt her in any damned way." He looked back to me at that. "I ain't sayin' you can't take care o'yourself, Shivah. And I'm sure you'd give mosta' these men hell, but you're one person. . . in a place you don't know nothin' about. There's a difference between bein' strong and knowin' your way around the world. I'm just worried y'ain't got the knowledge to go it alone and I don't trust these boys to be the ones guidin' and protectin' you."

A few moments of silence passed between us, but I was honestly too stunned to give a response. I'd been shocked since he'd called me a 'friend', it wasn't often Ransom made admissions like that, and the rest had just been. . . .

Endearing? It was hard to associate that word with Ransom. Ever. But that's what it felt like.

"I. . . wouldn't mind continuing to travel with you and Puck, Ransom," I said at length, "but. . . after we travel over the mountain, I don't know how much farther we could go together. I'm going to pursue Rourke, and I know you want no part of that."

"I thought we had more time t'figure this out," Ransom admitted, scratching his chin and looking aside, "and t'be honest, I didn't think there'd be. . . ." his eyes flicked over to Grant, ". . . competition, so soon. Figured maybe we'd have time to talk you outta this blasted idea you got in yer head. Honestly, I'm with Puck on it. I get why you want t'do it, but it's a damned fool idea-"

"So is your 'wraith lion'," I said insistently.

"And I'm a damned fool!" the coyote replied without a trace of shame. "And not t'put too fine a point on it, but, I got a plan and a life aside from tha' ONE goal. This's literally all you got right now. It's sorta'. . . ."

I glared at him as I saw him consider what he was going to say, knowing what it would be. But he dared my anger all the same.

". . . crazy, alright? It's bleedin' crazy. Puck and I was both sort of hopin' you'd jes let it go by now. I didn'a actually think you'd find someone else crazy enough to help ya."

"I have to concur with him on at least one point," Grant spoke up, and for once I was glad the husky was talking. "Chasing after Rourke's raiders on your own is suicide, miss Shivah," he continued. "Many bounty hunters have tried, and failed. That's why we removed the bounty several years ago. It was costing far too many lives. . . too much of a lure for inexperienced hunters and professionals alike. Rourke is an enemy of the State. He needs to be handled by the State."

"Ain't that you?" Ransom retorted. "Why're you involvin' her at all at this point? You got your information. She wasn't even there for th'attack."

"Well for one, because she seems dead set on doing this herself regardless of whether or not she has help," Grant pointed out.

"She's involved until we bring him down, regardless," the white canine suddenly spoke up, his thick arms crossed over his chest.

Grant sighed, "I was getting to that."

"Getting to what?" I asked, arching an eyebrow.

"You never told her?" Connall asked the husky. "She needs to know."

"I didn't want to terrify the woman, Connall."

"What?" I demanded. Ransom's ears perked and his brow lowered as well, and I saw that defensive stance return to him. This time I did nothing to dissuade him.

Grant looked at me uncertainly for a few moments, before murming aside to Connall in the Otherwolf language. I narrowed my eyes, strode forward and grabbed the canine by the collar of his shirt, jerking him out of whatever it was he was saying and apparently startling him, because he blinked those big blue eyes down at me in shock.

"Don't you speak over my head!" I said authoratively. "What have you been keeping from me?!"

"Get your hands off him, miss," Connall threatened. "Or I'll need to detain you."

"I'm hardly grievously injured, Connall." Grant attempted to insist, his paws in the air between the two of us. "Let's not escalate this again. No one's getting detained."

"You just try it!" Ransom snapped from behind me.

"You're a target, woman," Connall suddenly said, quieting all of us. He gave his statement a few moments to settle in, ensured he had all of our attention, then continued. "Rourke doesn't like survivors. Any. Survivors. His men have been known to hunt down anyone who escapes the towns they wipe out. Women, children. . . it doesn't matter. If he finds out any of the Anukshen still live, he'll make it his business to hunt you. You hardly even need to look for him, if that is indeed your goal. He'll find you."

Even Ransom seemed at a loss as to how to respond to that. Grant just sighed, tipping his muzzle down.

I didn't know what to say for a time. But eventually, I looked to Connall and demanded, "Are you certain?"

"Dead certain," Grant replied, seriously. He put a paw to mine, to where I was still gripping his collar, and eased my hand free, although he was slow to release it once I had. He looked me in the eyes, saying, "That's why we were in such a rush to find survivors. . . and why we're even considering bringing you along with us."

"To use her as bait?!" Ransom exclaimed.

"No!" Grant insisted, his ears tipping back. "To protect her!"

Ransom went mute again, staring the husky down, but there was no ire left in him. Now he just seemed concerned, his eyes flitting to me every few moments.

"Even if you've seen this man's handiwork," Connall said, "you don't know what he's really capable of until you've seen the things we've seen. The Anukshen village was clean, for him. Almost civil. When he settles in. . . when he really takes his time, he does unspeakable things to the people he intends to slay before he inevitably gives them the mercy of death. We've found people. . . taken apart. . . gutted, like game animals. Skinned, flayed, burned. . . ." he looked to me at that. "If you're lucky, miss. . . you'll just be found by his assassin, and shot before you even know he's there. And that's if your lucky."

"Shadow," Ransom muttered.

"You know of him?" Connall's eyes fell on Ransom again.

Ransom shook his head. "Not personally. Just had th'misfortune of runnin' across him once. I promise you, we didn't chew the fat. I just got the hell outta there."

"If you survived an encounter with Shadow," Connall muttered, "you're either a damned lucky bastard, or you're more competent than you look."

"Well I ain't lucky," Ransom replied, spitting on the ground.

"I can't stop you from going your own way, miss Shivah," Grant spoke up, his hand still lingering on mine. I glanced down at it, my mind compelling me to pull away, but all my hand managed was a twitch, as though it had grown too lazy to move. "And I still wish you'd heed my warning and not pursue this man. . . but. . . as Connall's said. . . if he has any reason to suspect you're alive, he may send his men after you anyway. So regardless of whom you travel with from this point on, you shouldn't be alone."

"Why, though?" I asked, looking him in the eyes, as distracting as it was. "Why does he bother hunting down survivors? Isn't the purpose to loot the villages? Why should he care if I survived?"

"We don't know," Grant said with a frustrated sigh. "It's one of many things we don't know. We determined long ago he has some kind of pattern and likely some kind of reasoning behind his attacks, but we can't determine what it is. It's certainly more than just random looting. In fact, he leaves many things of value behind. . . textiles, furs and leathers, most especially. We thought for some time he was taking the clothing, at least, but then we found bonfires on the fringes of many of the villages he attacked, where his men had burnt massive piles of clothing, blankets, anything worn, really. Save jewelry and beads. Those he takes."

"That's what he did to my village," I nodded, solemnly. "I missed the bonfires, but. . . ."

"It looks like he was in a hurry at your village," Connall murmured. "Likely trying to outrun the winter. Generally he encamps, cleans out the village entirely, and does. . . things. . . to the people he chooses to keep alive the longest. Of course, we don't know precisely what, since he kills every bloody soul there."

"You're the first we've found alive in time," Grant said with a softly pleading look. "He may not even know you survived, considering you were away from your village during the attack. You actually have a chance to just move on with your life if you-"

"No," I said firmly.

"I been beatin' this horse fer months," Ransom said dryly from behind me, "it's dead. Trust me."

"But at my village, he took on some of the Anukshen warriors," I said pointedly. "Doesn't that go against type for him? They would have been 'survivors', wouldn't they?"

"That is unusual for him," Grant murmured, "although we've never really found out how he recruits. It's possible he's taken on others from previous villages, and we just never knew."

"Or it's possible he's killed them by now," Connall stated gruffly.

My eyes widened. I. . . wasn't even certain how to feel about that. It would most certainly serve Methoa right, for all he'd done, to be betrayed by the men he'd sold our village to. But. . . he was my kill. . . .

Grant gave me a sympathetic look. "I'm sure this must all be very difficult for you to sort out, miss Shivah, but the important thing is, you are still alive. That's what matters. Now, if you're absolutely set on pursuing this man, I cannot stand in your way. Nor can I deputize you."

"Then what the hell do you want her for?" Ransom demanded.

"We don't intend to take 'ownership' of her, sir," Grant said. "We never did. I just wanted to meet once more to determine when she might be setting out on her own journey over the mountain. . . when all of you would be doing that, seeing as you're traveling together. . . so that we might travel near to one another. At least for a time."

Ransom scratched his chin thoughtfully, still looking wary. "That's all, eh?"

"That's all," Grant said with a nod. "I'll ensure my men aren't atop you and that you're given however much space you demand. We'd just like to keep her in sight for a time. . . in case. . . ."

"You can't follow 'er forever."

"We're heading back over the pass regardless. We've good reason to believe Rourke hasn't come back this way," Grant said. "My men have spoken to every trader along the river, and several tribesman. Rourke would have been spotted if he was back in the Valley. I'm certain he's heading down-river towards the east coast. Which means for the moment, our paths are intertwined. Why not enjoy a bit of added safety? Just for now."

I sensed nothing patronizing in his voice, and the more I listened to him, the more everything he said began to sound reasonable. I was momentarily ashamed at myself for having expected something terrible to come out of this. But then I reminded myself it was Ransom who'd put those ideas in my head.

If nothing else, I could at least say that I believed Grant was being truthful with us. There was honesty in all his features, and he struck me as the sort of man who wouldn't be able to cover it if he were lying. Whether or not I could tolerate traveling with the man and his group was another thing entirely, but I earnestly felt at this point that he wished me no harm. And by the look of it, even Ransom was beginning to feel the same.

"So then there ain't really much we gotta work out, here," Ransom said, letting his arms drop back down to his sides. "You jes. . . want to keep up a dialogue?"

"That's all," Grant agreed, putting his hands out. "We're headed for the Crossroads, and Fort Amurguard. You?"

"The Crossroads, o'course. Where else would we be goin?" Ransom snorted. "I got wares to unload."

"If you wouldn't mind staying in contact once we arrive. . . for however long you might be staying there, that's all I'd ask for now," Grant asked.

Ransom shrugged. "I don't rightly know how long the fox and I are gonna stay. Long enough at least to get all my wares sold and put mah feet up for a bit. But whatever she does is up to her. Like I said, I ain't got her on a leash."

Grant looked to me expectantly.

"I. . .I'm not yet entirely certain. . . where I'm going," I admitted. "I was just hoping to catch Rourke's trail."

Connall arched an eyebrow. "Did you have a plan beyond that, miss? Because we've been trailing that man and his butchers for two years, and even with our posse, I'm hesitant to say we're prepared to do our job if we ever find him."

"We don't need to do it alone," Grant stated, firmly. "I can deputize a small militia if need be, which is why we prefer to encamp at forts and wayposts. I assure you, miss. . . if you're looking to repay this man for what he did to your family, you'll have no better chance than with my men. This is our job. Even your warriors don't go into battle alone, do they?"

"No. . ." I agreed hesitantly.

"You ought not to encourage the woman," Connall grumbled to the husky with a sigh. "I don't feel right takin' the young miss into a firefight."

"You didn't see her in the last one," Grant muttered.

"So we're done, then?" Ransom spoke up, crossing his arms over his chest. "Lady does what she wants, you keep off our back, and I'll tolerate you followin' us along th'pass. . . if you're scared t'go it alone." He gave a toothy grin on the last sentiment.

Connall gave a snort, but Grant interrupted him before he could say anything.

"That sounds like an amicable arrangement to me," he smiled, then dropped his gaze back on mine again. "If the lady agrees?"

"It's fine," I said, wrapping my arms around my midsection beneath my Dyre hide cloak. A thousand things were going through my head at the moment. . . the last thing I needed to be rumenating on was how much more I was beginning to trust that smile. I averted my eyes from his.

"Fantastic," Grant said, turning and whistling once at his horse. The beast ambled towards him, and just as Connall turned to go retrieve his own animal, Ransom spoke up again.

"Hold on, now," the coyote said, pointing a finger at the husky. "You don't travel with me fer free. You don't get my information fer free, neither. If you ever want a 'dialogue' with me again, you pay for it. . . got it? And I expect t'be covered for watchin' your asses on our trip over the pass."

I looked at him disbelievingly, as did Connall, although his expression was closer to anger. Grant, however, once again spoke up before something new ignited.

"That seems reasonable to me."

"We don't need his damned 'protection' over the pass, or anywhere else," Connall spat.

"An extra gun is never a bad idea," Grant replied, while he busied himself with something in one of his saddlebags. After a further few moments of searching, he produced some kind of small leather-bound satchel and tossed it to Ransom. "Consider it a down-payment," he said with a smile at the coyote.

Ransom caught the satchel easily, then looked at it a moment, reaching down and unscrewing what looked to be a metal cap atop it. He leaned down and sniffed it, then glanced back up at the husky. And after a moment of silence, he cracked a grin.

"Barrel-aged. Private stock. I'll thank you not to waste it all in one night," the husky smirked. "That would be a tragedy."

Ransom screwed the cap back on the flask and shoved it into his pack, nodding his muzzle towards the Marshal. "Alright, boy," he said, "I can't hate a man with good taste in whiskey. You kin tag along. Just tell yer boys to watch themselves. I don't like folk sniffin' around my life."

"My men have their noses to the ground for an entirely different quarry, I promise you," Grant assured him. "And the last time your other companion and I parted ways, I got the distinct impression he was none too fond of me, either. I won't be giving either of you any trouble."

"Fine. You save all your 'trouble' for the lady. She ain't fond of you either, but she's the only one here who wants your help," Ransom said, his broad, calloused palm mussing my head fur. I batted at his arm, annoyed.

Grant only smiled. "Well. . . I'm hopeful we'll grow more fond of one another as time goes on, miss Shivah."

I gave him a long look, staring down those blue eyes until even he seemed uncomfortable. Then, just when he looked as though he meant to say something, I responded in a flat tone, "Don't get your hopes too high."

And I turned and began to head off, Ransom's laughter echoing in the clearing for a few moments before he jogged to catch up with me.

"Damn, woman. . . you're cold," the coyote stated, still chuckling as he moved up to keep pace with me.

"He still smiling?" I asked.

"Oh, no. Just. . . crestfallen. Y'should see it. It's goddamn funny."

"Good," I muttered. "I'm sick of that smile."



"He bribed Ransom with whiskey?" Puquanah asked with a disgusted sigh. He shook his head, "I wish I could say I was surprised that's all it took."

"It wasn't. . . just the whiskey," I said carefully, as I marched up over the rocky trail. We were in the first leg of the journey, what Ransom called 'The Elevation', a portion of the trail that was the most steep. I was glad at least we were getting this bit out of the way first. It was difficult, the rocky terrain requiring careful footing and constant strain on my thighs, but I was still well-rested from the time we'd spent encamped outside the trade post and I was managing it.

"Honestly, it's just a reasonable idea to travel together, Puck," I insisted, "and he was reasonable with his expectations. I think Ransom saw that."

"I didn't want these men in our lives, Shivah," the fox stated, stubbornly. "I hope their association proves worthwhile to you."

"I won't let them bother you, Puck," I promised.

"You don't understand. . . ." the fox muttered, mostly to himself. I looked back at him inquisitively, then was ready to let it go, when the vulpine knocked his stick between two boulders and stumbled, nearly falling. I reached down and caught his arm before he took a tumble, and he thanked me quietly.

I helped him up slowly and gave him a few moments to dust himself off, before I looked up and heard the approaching noises of the Marshals behind us. Grant had kept to his word and given us some space on the trail, he and his men never entirely out of earshot, but for the most part, I'd seen little of them. We were only one day into the trip, though. . . over time, I'd been hoping we might travel a bit closer together. It just seemed silly to keep such distance.

But as I looked down at Puck in that instant, I saw real discomfort and nervousness flicker over his features. He pushed himself entirely to his feet and started up the trail again, faster even than before. I leapt a few rocks to catch up. Ransom was too far ahead to be seen and likely even out of earshot. . . he preferred to scout ahead and lead the mule. So it was just Puck and I, for now.

All the same, I dropped my voice when I spoke to the fox.

"Puck," I said gently, "please. . . talk to me. What's bothering you? I know you're not entirely fond of Otherwolves, but. . . I'd thought you'd be more willing to work with them than Ransom, at the very least. You said yourself you've worked with them before."

"It's not that," Puck muttered. "It doesn't matter."

"How you feel matters to me, Puck," I insisted quietly.

The fox actually turned to regard me for a moment, probably only seeing my silhouette, but it felt good to look him in the eyes every now and then.

"Honestly?" He said. "I was hoping to have a little more time. . . with Ransom."

"But, he's-"

"Not himself, when he's around other men," Puck stated. "Given time, he'll probably get on just fine with the Marshal and his men. I heard him talking to the husky earlier about his horse and his guitar. Ransom doesn't have any problems fitting in with men like that, if they don't take issue with his personality."

". . . what's a 'guitar'?" was all I could ask.

"An instrument," Puck sighed, "common on the trails."

"Isn't it better if he's not causing problems with them? For all of us?" I said pointedly.

"I'm permitted to be selfish every now and then," the fox said quietly. "I don't begrudge him his time with others, but. . . I thought we at least had until we made it to the Crossroads."

"For what?" I asked, confused.

"For him to start acting like I don't exist," the fox responded, so quietly I almost missed it.

Before I could say any more, Puck doubled his pace, hopping up over a boulder ahead of us and leaving me behind. I could have caught up with him, but it was obvious he wanted to be alone right now. And I honestly didn't know what to say to him.

It was easy to say the fox was being melodramatic. . . he'd certainly proven himself to be prone to drastic mood-shifts and emotional excess in the past, (although I'd heard that was something foxes were known for, so perhaps it was natural?), but on the other hand. . . Ransom was an ass. So he might not have been exaggerating.

I only realized when I heard horses that I'd been standing in place the whole time I'd been thinking and Grant's men had caught up to me. I turned to see him leading the pack, the wolf following just slightly behind on his own painted horse. He'd yet to introduce himself to me, but I'd also yet to hear him speak, so it was possible he simply couldn't speak the local dialect.

Grant pulled his horse up alongside me, leaning back in his saddle and giving me an inquisitive look.

"How fare you, miss-"

"Shivah. Just. . . Shivah. Please," I said with a sigh.

That seemed to please him, for some reason. He replied with a smile, "Shivah, then. I don't see your companions. Is all well?" He asked, looking forward into the distance.

"I was just resting my legs," I lied.

"Oh. . . lord, how rude of me," the man chuckled. "I never even thought. . . would you like to borrow a horse for a bit? I'll even lend you mine. This part of the trail is rather taxing."

A few of his men walked by us as we spoke, one of the canines speaking quietly to the Mink in the Otherwolf tongue, glancing briefly at me. They laughed about something to themselves.

I looked back to Grant. "Thank you but no thank you. I can't ride, in any case."

The husky offered a hand down to me. "Then ride with me for a bit. Just long enough to rest your legs. You don't want to fall behind."

"I'm fine," I insisted, defiantly.

"No one's questioning your endurance," Grant said, more quietly. "You're carrying twice the gear my men have on their backs and you've a shorter stride than everyone here. No one will think less of you. For heaven's sake, I've been riding the whole while."

I gave a soft sigh. My legs actually were tired, and neither of my companions was apt to travel with me at the moment. What could accepting one bit of kindness really hurt? The saddle looked more than big enough for two, especially someone of my frame.

And for some reason, I was extremely warm at the moment. Uncomfortably so. Perhaps I'd walked too long in the sun today. A rest might be in order. It would certainly be more embarrassing to fall behind than to accept help.

I begrudgingly took the man's hand, and he kicked his foot out of the stirrup on my side, pushing it my way so that I could step on it and climb up.

I realized the moment I swung my leg over and landed in the saddle that I may have made an error in judgment. I'd been thinking this would be no different than the few times I'd ridden a horse before, , but that had been when I was younger, and with one of my own family.

There was less room on the saddle than I'd perceived, due primarily to an odd, jutting bit in the front of it that I had to sit back to avoid, and even with the husky leaning back in his saddle as he did (unlike the way Connall sat in his, I noted) my position brought me in close contact with the Otherwolf man. Closer contact than I'd ever been with him before, and consequently with any man for quite some time now, excluding when I'd carried Ransom away from the river.

Before I could so much as process the moment though, Grant gave his gelding a tap of his ankles and it started up the trail once more. We were a ways behind the rest of his men now, save the few stragglers with their two mules and the wagon pulling their supplies behind us, but he seemed in no hurry to catch up.

In fact, as rigid and uncomfortable as I had just become, the husky seemed all ease and comfort behind me. And I knew this because I was practically pressed to him and was beginning to take stock of certain aspects of his person I never would have cared to notice, before.

His chest felt firm against my back, but the fur jutting out from around his collar, on the few occasions it brushed against the back of my neck, was almost too soft to belong to a man. It was softer than mine! Was it just the excessive ruff along his neck, or was all of his fur so. . . .

I shook my head, trying to focus on something else. Anything else. For one, he smelled nothing like a tribesman. And nothing like any other canine I'd ever known. Even Ransom, though garbed like the Otherwolves and from an Otherwolf upbringing, smelled more familiar to me, like most male tribesman. Like the woods, like his occupation. Like cedar, salt and dirt, always with the vaguest hint of blood from whatever kill he'd been working on. Even Puck, though his musk was entirely different, being a fox, felt more familiar.

But Grant smelled like. . . a place I'd never been. Like clean cotton and coffee, and his musk, if one could even call it that, was so subtle as to be almost unnoticable. His fur smelled like whatever soap he washed in. . . something with pine? If I had to put my finger on it, it was as though he was almost too clean. It wasn't exactly. . . unpleasant. . . but it was odd.

Puck had once told me, in one of our more interesting conversations over sorting kindling, that though Ransom's aversion to bathing was reprehensible, it made him easy to pick out amongst a crowd, which Puck liked for obvious reasons. He'd even said over time, he'd grown fond of the man's. . . very masculine, if nothing else. . . scent. I couldn't say I felt the same.

There might be something to be said for a man who was more fastidious with his hygiene. But it certainly wasn't what I was used to.

Domesticated. That's what Puck had said. Otherwolves had domesticated themselves. They didn't live in the world, they lived in little worlds they created. Houses and buildings like the tavern, except everywhere. In settlements and towns, and 'cities', Ransom had called them. Essentially enormous villages.

I had to admit a fair bit of curiosity on my part about them. I knew so little about these wolves who weren't wolves, about these men from another land, floating so far away across the sea, even canoes couldn't reach it. Their strange, smooth-tongued language and their fine clothing, their weapons that spouted thunder and their exotic hides and. . . eyes. . . .

I'd never seen someone with eyes the color of the sky before. Only gold, green, or brown. The colors of leaves. I hadn't even known someone could have eyes like his.

He was also warm. Extremely warm. Or I was. Why was I so warm?

I must have wiggled about in discomfort, because Grant glanced down over my shoulder at me and spoke from behind me, the man's deep, foreign voice breaking me from my reverie and prickling the fur along the back of my neck, his muzzle not a few inches away from my nape.

"Are you alright?" He asked, concerned. "I know it's not terribly roomy up here. . . I'm sitting back as far as I can. Is the horn bothering you?"

"Is that what this thing is?" I asked, noting the odd protrusion at the front of the saddle.

I felt him nod once. "Aye. Carvecian design. . . I'm not comfortable in an Amurescan saddle. It's not really conducive to sharing, but you're quite a bit smaller than me, so-"

"It's fine," I insisted. We weren't that crammed in, honestly. I had enough room to scooch backwards even more if I wished it, that just would have brought me flush to the Marshal's chest, and that was something I most certainly did not want right now.

"I'm just warm," I said after a few moments, unclasping my cloak and shrugging it back over my shoulders so that my arms at least were out from under it and it wasn't cloaking my chest. It actually did help.

"It's a warm day for this time of year, " Grant agreed, "but you'll be glad for that cloak when we get higher. Looks insulating. Is that Dyre hide?"

I gave the slightest hint of a smile. "You can tell?"

"The fur is unmistakable," the husky nodded. "Your people don't wear Dyre hide unless it was your kill, correct?"

"It's a right reserved to the hunter alone," I nodded. "I'm surprised you knew that."

"You met Laesom," Grant said, then quickly corrected himself. "I'm sorry. . . you saw Laesom, at the very least. He's our Eh'Kuwathan guide. He's not terribly social, so I don't suppose he's actually introduced himself yet."

"The wolf?" I felt him nod again, then glanced up along the trail to the distant painted horse and the graying wolf atop it. I was curious about him, to be sure, but like most wolves, he seemed distant and unapproachable. Most of Grant's men had introduced themselves to me by now, although some of them didn't speak the tribal tongue, and those that did were often ferociously bad at it. And in any case all of their names blended together. The only one that had stuck was the rat, a mottled black and white spotted creature with a friendly affect and a better grasp of my language than most of the others. He'd said to call him 'Magpie', which I'd remembered because it was a bird. His markings almost resembled one, so I could see where he'd gotten the nickname.

"Don't take offense," the husky said, "Laesom isn't an unfriendly sort, he's just. . . not good with people."

"Lone wolves generally aren't."

"Mnh," Grant nodded. "But a better local guide, you'll never find. He worked with me before I was appointed to Marshal, back when I was working as a Road Warden in these parts. He taught me the language, the customs. . . ."

"I was wondering how you knew everyone at the trade post," I pointed out.

"Oh, yes. . . that," Grant gave a long sigh. "Apologies again for that. Unfortunately, as many people as you're able to help with this job, there are folks who take issue with you. Pity it had to end as it did, but. . . ."

"I feel no pity for that man," I muttered. "He was trying to kill us."

"Rackham thought he was righting a wrong done to his kin," Grant said, the glint of humor gone from his tone. "If his case had been handled properly from the start, none of the rough-housing would have been necessary. But I was working with a different posse at the time and they weren't as. . . gentle. And his boy took part in a whole messy affair in which a girl was violated. It's hard to say how much of a role he played, but. . . ." He sighed, ". . . it was a real mess, the whole thing. But his son survived with little more than a broken nose, and that girl's life was ruined. I'd say he got off well. Most we can really do out here without real prisons or any real structure to the posts and towns is threaten, and the only thing some of these men listen to is violence, or hangings. I don't like either. But sometimes all you can do is as much as you can do. You know?"

"Not really," I replied, and he sighed again. "And I don't really understand why you're attempting to explain yourself. He tried to kill you. You responded in kind. It seems fairly straightforward to me."

Grant chuckled, leaning down over my shoulder as he maneuvered his horse around a particularly rocky patch of the trail, his arm practically around my midsection while he moved the reins.

"There's something to be said for a simpler perspective on things," he agreed. "I suppose I get caught up in overthinking the morality of the job sometimes. What seems so complex can often just be boiled down to basic instinct to survive. Really, though, in a civilized society. . . that shouldn't be the case."

My muzzle twitched. "I don't see what's so wrong with living by your instincts. It's the rule of nature. Every other beast follows it."

"We should be above nature by now. We're not animals."

I turned at that, staring up at him and clearly surprising him somewhat, because he blanched back. My voice was low and firm when we spoke. "That's the problem with your kind. You think you're better than the rest of the world. The spirits and the gods loathe such arrogance. We are not above the world, we are part of it. You cannot rise above the very world you live in any more than you can conquer the rain."

"That's. . . why we build roofs. . . ."

"But a storm can still kill," I stated. "And until the day that is no longer the case, you are not above nature. Storms, fires, floods. . . they are the spirits' and the gods' way of reminding us that we are at their whim. And to be obedient and mindful of the gifts they give, and the right we have inherited to live in their world. Whether or not you realize or accept it, you are their servant. We all are. Professing to be above or not a part of the forces around us is self-delusion."

"Alright, alright," Grant said, giving a mild chuckle. "I didn't mean. . . well it hardly matters. Apologies if I offended you. That wasn't my intent. I simply was attempting to say that. . . people should be more decent to one another and balance the morality of their decisions more carefully than an animal would. Seeing as we're intelligent enough to do so. Like, a man putting his wife and child before him, when escaping a fire, or not shooting a man when he's down. That's all I meant."

I couldn't help thinking of Jack, lying bleeding out on the floor of his cabin. How appalled and shocked I'd been when Ransom had shot him dead without a moment's thought. At the time, Puck had said the coyote had been so brutal precisely because he lived by instinct, because he'd been hardened, and lacked the compassion most people had for one another. I'd seen since then that Ransom could be compassionate. . . it was just rare.

But Ransom was also a strong man who'd survived what had to have been a difficult life. And as abhorrant as I'd found his behavior, now in retrospect, I had to admit to myself that we likely wouldn't have survived the winter without Jack's supplies, let alone if we'd been trying to care for the ailing cougar.

So had it actually been the right thing to do?

It had been right for us, no question. If we'd been animals, as Grant was saying, there would be no question. But there was something to the notion that we should balance our decisions based on something more than just the need for survival. Our people had many tales and laws that were meant to dictate morality. . . but what was a code amongst people to govern how we acted if not. . . domestication?

Going against one's instincts purely because of compassion and the desire to not act like animals, in any society tribal or no, was a law. A rule enforced by man. Even the tribes had those. Some were inspired by the spirits and the gods, some were simply written by society. And many. . . it was not certain.

The law that stated a man's honor, once lost by a wife who had disobeyed him, could only be returned to him and his entire village by burying and stoning the woman to death was said to be a law of the gods. I didn't believe for a moment that it was. I doubted any law that gave men power over women. Perhaps I was biased, but. . . I couldn't bring myself to honestly believe that the gods and the spirits thought of me as a lesser simply because I wasn't born male. There were female spirits, female gods, even! They would never abide by such a decision.

How hard would it have been for a male priest, or a shaman, to have declared at some point in our history that the gods had told him he was better by birth than his wife, simply because he wished to be? How hard would it have been for the council of elders, who were almost always entirely male, to agree with him? How hard would it have been for this decision to then become law? Holy law, if he were to be believed?

That, I suppose, was why I disliked the notion of men creating their own society, their own rules and laws. There was a law of the land, and even if it wasn't compassionate, it was equal. The spirits and the gods knew it, the animals knew it, and we all knew it.

As with all things in life, the solution likely lay somewhere balanced precariously in the middle. . . in a world where society. . . any society, Otherwolf or tribal, didn't dictate how we lived our lives with laws and dogma created by men, but everyone respected one another enough to not act like animals.

"Let us agree to disagree," I said at length to the husky, who seemed to relax when my response wasn't aggressive. "The spirits and the gods have given us the freedom to make decisions on our own, precisely because they wished to see us thrive and grow as a people, in our own way. I think most good people understand compassion. . . even the ones who've gone far from it. . . and it is something worth making a part of our lives."

"The law doesn't require you be compassionate to those around you," Grant said. "Only respectful of their rights. And I see no harm in being respectful."

"Agreed."

"I've gotten quite a stern talking-to by many a priest in my life before," Grant said, leaning over my shoulder with a smile, "although usually over indulgences in 'sinful behavior', not philosophy on the morality of law. I have to say, I've much preferred being lectured at by you. I feel as though I may have actually learned something, for once."

"I'm not a priest," I said, flicking my eyes away from his before they became a distraction.

Grant leaned back. "You're clearly a very righteous woman, miss Shivah. And I mean that in the very best of ways. You've a passion for your own kind of justice, to be pursuing this man who has done such wrong to your family. And clearly, a lot of your own. . . very strong. . . opinions on the world."

"Does that bother you?" I asked bluntly.

"Quite the opposite, I assure you," he responded without hesitation.

"I would think most men would be intimidated by a woman with strong convictions and opinions," I replied, stoicly.

"Maybe I like being intimidated," the Otherwolf rumbled quietly.

I tried not to visibly shudder at his words, and that about did it for me. The frustration I'd been dealing with since I'd met the man and endured every interraction with him shifted the final degree towards outright irritation, and I turned, looking up at the canine.

"Alright, what is your game?" I pressed. "I can ignore the glances, the posturing and the flattering comments you direct my way on their own, but all together, it's clear you're trying for something here, and I want to know what."

The husky just looked bemused. "No game, mi. . . Shivah," he said after a momentary pause, with that same satisfied smile from earlier, like he'd accomplished something already. It would have bothered me that he felt that way, except little did he know, being informal with my false name meant little to me. If he'd known my real name, that would have been different.

He looked me in the eyes and I mustered the conviction not to look away, for once. "No game," he promised. "I'm fond of you. You've impressed me since I first met you. I'd. . . like to get to know you. As well as you'll allow me."

"I wouldn't have thought I made a good first impression," I said at length, thinking back on our first meeting.

"The milk?" He chuckled. "That was cute."

"I-no, that's not what I meant," I insisted, but it took only one look to know he was teasing me. I gave an annoyed growl. "I meant the firefight."

"What about that wouldn't have impressed me?" He asked with a bemused smile. "You were incredible. I was worried about protecting you, and. . . you made me look a fool. Your shots were what decided that fight, I was barely. . . backup."

"That's precisely my point," I insisted. "Most men would feel. . . ."

"Intimidated?" He offered the word he'd used earlier.

". . . I was actually going to say emasculated," I responded after a few moments, not certain he'd even know the Katuk word for what I was trying to say.

Grant outright laughed. "'Less of a man'? Ah. . . no. I assure you, miss. . . you could never make me feel thusly."

"I don't know," I muttered, blowing out a breath, "I've managed it in the past, even without intending to do so."

"Then the men in your past were lacking," Grant replied easily. "A man with enough confidence in himself doesn't need a woman to puff him up like a sail."

"You're certainly not lacking in that," I muttered.

"Confidence? No." Grant replied, completely unashamedly. "I try to keep pride in good moderation, but confidence. . . I see no reason to doubt myself unless given reason to."

"Isn't going into that bar alone what got you in so much trouble?" I pointed out. "The first thing you did was curse that you didn't have backup. What was that, if not overconfidence?"

Grant chuckled again. "Yes, that was foolish. I honestly didn't think Rackham was still in these parts, though, and I had no reason to believe anyone else might be out for my head. But still, you're right. Connall gave me quite a fierce talking-to as well. That day would have ended quite poorly for me. . . were it not for you, Shivah. You have my gratitude."

"And apparently a fair bit more," I said dryly.

"Only if you wish it, " the canine murmured over my shoulder, in that same deep rumble from earlier. I couldn't even admonish him for being indecent, he was, as always, keeping a respectful distance between us. . . or as respectful as one could get, sharing a saddle. And I could hardly admit to him that when he spoke in that tone, with that accent, in just that way, so close to me, that. . . .

That what? What madness was taking hold of me, these last few days? I'd never in my life allowed myself to become so distracted by a man. Let alone a foreigner I knew next to nothing about. I wasn't even fond of his personality. To be honest, I found the perpetually friendly air about him, the placating demeanor and the apparent disinterest he had in arguing a point. . . contrary to what I expected a man to be. To be certain, I hadn't liked the overwhelming, demeaning, suffocating presence of my husband, either. But it just seemed like there ought to be some middle-ground. I would have almost felt more comfortable with the canine if he didn't concede a point from time to time, or took offense to something I said or did. I don't know why.

I didn't understand myself, sometimes.

In any case, it didn't matter, because, "I'm not looking to court," I stated outright to the Otherwolf, "if that's your implication. So please don't waste your time."

"I'm hardly asking you to marry me," Grant replied, evenly. "I'd just like to get to know you better. Perhaps buy you a drink sometime?"

I made a confused face, although he probably missed it. "If. . . you wish. My trade is limited, I won't turn down supplies. I hardly see what that has to do with any of this, though."

"No, I meant. . . ." Grant's confident tone floundered a moment, ". . . I-I meant at a bar, or a tavern. We could talk. Share a meal even, perhaps?"

"Why at a tavern?" I asked, perplexed. "It would make more sense to resupply at a merchant, when we get to this 'Crossroads' of yours. I don't intend to stay in town, in any case. You can share a meal with us at our campsite, if you wish."

"Shivah, you won't. . . you won't be able to encamp anywhere near the Crossroads," Grant stated.

"What? Why?" I asked, confused.

"Because all the land there is settled. Owned," the canine attempted to explain. "It won't be like in the Valley. It's a Territory. People will take offense to you encamping or hunting on their land. They'd be within their rights to fire on you, in fact."

"Where am I to live if not in the forest?" I demanded, trying to make sense of what he was saying. How could people own all of the land?

"Well, you'll. . . have to stay in town. I could get you put up in the Fort, if you'd prefer, but-"

"I can't sleep in one of your towns!" I insisted, thinking back on the crowded buildings, the dirty road, the smell of dozens of different people everywhere, surrounding me. . . and that had only been at the Trading Post. Ransom and Puck had both said this 'Crossroads' was far larger, even. How could anyone bed down in a place like that?!

"I've. . . done it my whole life," Grant said, in a calming tone, "it's really not so bad, once you get used to it. You'll be far warmer, there are beds-"

"I'm not an Otherwolf!" I declared. "I cannot live in your. . . world."

I shifted at that point, and struggled to find some footing, so that I could dismount. But the man's feet were in the stirrups and the most I could manage was to grip the 'horn' on the saddle and attempt to swing a leg around the girth of the animal, which was awkward at best.

It was only when I nearly slipped and tumbled down that I felt Grant's arms close around my midsection, saving me from a rather embarassing fall. The canine sighed from behind me, and murmured, "Hold a moment. I'll help you down."

He pulled his horse to a stop and eased his foot out of the stirrup, pushing it towards my own footpaw, gently. I took a moment to steady myself in it, then swung my leg carefully over the saddle, him holding me the whole while. But once I was over, it was as simple as taking the long step down, and then I was off and his paws released me. Thank the gods.

I was overly warm again. Although at least this time, I could somewhat attribute it to embarassment.

"Are you alright?" He asked, as I straightened my tunic and cloak.

"Fine," I murmured. "But my legs are rested. I can continue on foot."

"I'm sorry if I upset you," he murmured.

"Stop. Apologizing!" I said in a frustrated tone. "You don't have to be so. . . placating."

"I'm-" he began, but one more glare from me, and he halted the apology before he made it again.

It occurred to me as I began walking ahead of him, giving him no more time to speak, that I was treating the man somewhat. . . abhorrantly. Moreso certainly than he deserved. He'd been nothing but kind to me since we'd met.

For some reason, though, he infuriated me. It was hard enough to keep my frustration in check at this level.

It was hardly surprising when his horse began to eclipse me on the trail, and I moved to the side of the trail to let him pass, trying not to look up as he did. But as he passed me, he spoke once more.

"Miss Shivah," he said, glancing briefly my way as he passed, being formal with my name yet again, which only annoyed me further.

"What?" I demanded.

"You'll need to be traveling through our lands in order to hunt Rourke," he stated, flatly. "And whether or not you can tolerate it. . . that will mean you'll have to make yourself a part of our world. Otherwise, you'll not be able to continue this quest of yours."

I glanced up, seeing in fact that he was quite serious. He gave me one more long look, then clucked at his horse, spurring it to a faster pace to catch up with his men. I was left behind, quite literally in the dust.

Well. Telling me something I didn't want to hear. . . that was almost like refusing to concede a point.

I sighed, picking up the pace so that I could eventually catch up with Puquanah, and trudge alongside an equally gloomy companion.