I've spent such a large proportion of my time out in the world within the grasp of these mountains that it feels somewhat right to be fully embraced within their midst once more. They are bruised, battered hands that cradle me in the cup of an uneven palm, their rocky protrusions the ridges of scars far more natural than my own, their faces gnarled and weather-beaten. My mind wanders to Ligari's home, buried deep within them; to Katamen at the base of a slope far away; to the bushland paths that I trod with Fiesi, in a time when flame still spilled freely from my skin and my goal was a trap rather than a release.

Each memory is tainted in its own way, whether by the rusty scent of regret or blood or the sourness of betrayal, yet a smile rises to my lips regardless. So much happened here, for good or bad. Sometimes it's a little pleasant to think of the tale I might tell someday, when I've strung together its end and learned to recount stories as well as Sarielle. Although it might fit my voice better. Mine would be a dark tale, darker than I would wish to be painted by the beauty of her words.

At my sides, my fists curl. I need to survive long enough to tell it first.

"You must be thinking some very deep thoughts."

Snapped abruptly from my own head, I twist around towards Edita's voice. Before I can catch hold of the sight of her face, my left foot skids too fast ahead of me, riding a tide of loose stones back down the incline we ascend, and I lose my balance. The mountains tip. The air jolts from my lungs as my back hits the ground, wrenching away my yelp.

She comes to a slow halt beside me, peering down with a frown carved into her features. It soon lifts with her laugh. "That must be the twentieth time you have tripped this afternoon."

I draw my brows down to glower at her. "You keep startling me." My gaze slips to the side, and in doing so, my attention lands upon our setting once again. Our elevation allows an expansive view of the mountains ahead, despite the dense fog clinging to the valley below. Ice and frost clambers up the mountainsides in lazy, winding patterns that resemble rivers, swallowed higher up by glistening sheets of snow. Tiny bubbles of delight pop in my stomach, floating upwards until I feel strangely giddy. I'm grinning when I turn back to Edita. "Perhaps I enjoy life a little more down here."

She hums doubtfully. "You best hope you can crawl faster than you walk, then." Her pale hand stretches out in offering.

I take it, letting her pull me to my feet. The ground's slant forces me to curl my toes in some vain attempt to keep myself steady. "That might well be true," I admit, examining the path ahead. It's getting steeper. In our effort to avoid the main mountain path -- a method to both dodge any of Harlow's chasing soldiers and the possibility of friends that might drag me from this risk-fuelled opportunity -- we've had to spend much of the day climbing a track not worn down by the frequent tread of boots, and my weakened muscles are hardly devoid of protests. It's becoming more difficult to ignore the ache in my calves or the dirty scratches accumulating on the soles of my feet.

Still, I square my shoulders, dig for the steady stream of determination driving me onward, and press on. My heavy exhale plumes out as mist. The breath after it carries an icy bite that nips at my lungs. My gaze trails to the sky, acknowledging the fading light. The sun must be hidden behind a mountaintop. I've only caught faint glimpses of tonight's orange-stained sunset.

A pang echoes hollowly through my chest. Sarielle would be disappointed.

A shiver cuts the thought short, the wind raking over the exposed section of my arms and seeping in waves through the thin barrier of my tunic. Edita seizes my wrist. "This might be a fitting moment to stop for the night."

I'm shaking my head before I've even thought about it, tugging on her grip as I stumble over the lip of a ledge. "I can keep going. I'm fine."

"You must be a practised liar for the ease you speak that particular one." She yanks back, jerking me to a stop. I glance back to catch her fanged smile. "We have made good progress. I think we are both due a rest."

I hesitate, a stone lodged in my throat that I struggle to swallow. The faster we travel, the sooner we'll reach her proclaimed destination. The sooner I'll be able to steal back my life from the waiting fingers of the stars hidden beneath thick cloud above. And yet I find myself nodding anyway, gritting my teeth against the guilt of giving in. "If you're sure."

Satisfied, she releases me and seats herself upon a smoother section of rock. Her head is cocked. "You would really keep walking to the point of collapse, would you not?"

Scraping away a portion of little rocks yields a small patch of dry, hard earth. I perch upon it, scratching at the back of my neck. "Probably."

She chuckles, more to herself than for my benefit. "No wonder you are dying if your survival instincts are this poor."

Perhaps the giddiness lingers, for a wry smile snares my lips. "You already died. I'm not sure you have the right to lecture me."

She cackles, a burst of laughter that sends her rocking back, eyes gleaming as darkly bright as the shifting sky above. Some buried part of me tenses at the sound, but this once I allow myself to laugh with her. She's right about one thing. If we're going to be travelling together, I might as well enjoy her company, and that feat is turning out to be far easier to achieve than I thought.

She wags a finger at me. "Quite right. Perhaps we will have to lecture one another to even things out." Her laughter trails out into a hum as she cups her chin in her hand. Dirty, ragged locks trail over her shoulder blades. She truly does look as if she teeters on the edge of death, and yet there is a lively glow that surrounds her even despite the ashen dimness of the evening, a bounce to her smile that remains alight with a drifting kind of joy. Perhaps it's the result of brushing so close to death and yet rising again. I imagine there to be a glee to it, a fresh appreciation of all of life's wonders.

In some ways, the feeling is contagious. Restless, I lie back against the rock, then shift onto my stomach, dust and stone digging into my ribs as I wrap my fingers around the ledge's overhang. The ground below tumbles at a sharp, rugged angle, enough to steal my breath. The world is so vast, so complex. I've been forgetting to appreciate that of late.

I fold my arms over the stone and rest my chin on them. Beyond the slopes, the snow-capped peaks catch my eye again. "Do you think we'll get to experience any snow?"

"It is likely," Edita replies from behind. "Snow frequents these parts in the winter. It often spills into the valleys." She huffs an exhale. "It can get unbearably cold this far inland. I must say, I did prefer living by the sea in that aspect."

Curiosity tugs a frown to my face. I push myself up enough to toss a glance over my shoulder. "You speak as if you lived here. Aren't you from Neyaibet?"

"Not originally." She leaps to her feet, strolling lazily over and taking a seat beside me. Her legs dangle into the drop below, the dried mud caking her boots turned dark by the evening light. "I grew up in a little town in the north of the range. Katamen, if you happen to have heard of it."

I jolt. "Katamen?"

Amusement quirks her smile. "Right, of course you know it." She lets out a long, wandering sigh, leaning into the curve of her hand as she studies the obscured horizon. "You are the reason we left," she adds, softer, musing.

A sourness coats my tongue. Swallowing hard, I drag my fingertips through the loose rock, their rough edges scraping over my glove's leather. "What do you mean by that?" I'm almost afraid to ask. My chest feels squeezed by some great fist.

"Ah. It was a common story, back then." Her feet swing, gliding to and fro. "We all lived beneath the shadow of the so-called monster in the woods. Some thought their bravado was a beacon bright enough to cast the dread away. My father was one of those unfortunate people."

A deepened ache squirms outward from my core, wrapping my heart. "He died?"

She waves an almost dismissive hand. "Oh, they all did. Glory-hunting simpletons, every one of them." She hums, her gaze distant. "After he passed, our mother whisked us away to a bigger town, a different kingdom, in the hopes of a fresh start. It worked, I suppose, although she was never quite the same. Oswin and I learned to look out for one another."

The tale unravels in perfect clarity before me, a sidelined track spilling outward from the one I stand on. The blackened scars of my footprints trample its entrance. Elbows propped on the ledge, I tear my hands through my hair, an awful numbed itch crawling over my skin. Any joy is gone at once. I bite down on the inside of my cheek, sending hatred in its wake.

The story I previously painted in such a fond, foolish light is now dark in my mind. For it isn't simply my story. My path has tangled with so many others, and each crawls away wounded, tainted for all the rest of its continuation, while mine winds on.

"What am I doing?" I murmur.

I can feel Edita peering at me from the side. "Thinking too much again, by the looks of it."

Frustration wrenches out my sigh. The coppery tang of blood seeps into my mouth, and it takes me a second to remember that it comes from the portion of my cheek caught between my teeth. It rakes my throat as I swallow it. "I'm sorry." My gaze dares to dart to her, though she's partially obscured by the black curls tugged in front of my eyes. "I... I really did strip you of everything." My voice sounds choked.

Her exhale is almost tangled with amusement. She reaches down to sweep back my hair, gentle. "I already told you that all is forgiven. You did nothing." The blank, dark shine of her eyes sweeps over me in study. "The way I see it, you were a lost, scared little boy surviving in the only way he knew how. That is not how I saw it then, but... well, like I say. Perspectives change."

Shaking my head, I pull away from her, swinging my legs around as I sit half-upright. "That's not what I..." My fingers curl into the dirt. There's a sickened, leaden lump sunk into the middle of my chest, dragging at every breath, weighing on my voice. "How many lives have I destroyed? How many people have I haunted?"

"Does it matter?"

"Of course it matters." A snarl scrapes my tongue as I glare up at her. I hate it, yet the fury is abrasive, coiled inward and clawing at my heart. "How can I convince myself I have the right to seek out my own life when I'm responsible for the ruin of so many others?"

My heel drags roughly through the dirt. The ground abruptly gives way beneath it, and I feel my feet skid, the sound of tiny stones bouncing into the long drop below shoving in a stiff, unwanted fear. Edita grabs my arm to stop me from following them in descent. "Careful," she murmurs, bent close enough that her voice seems to rub up against my eardrum. "You may slip."

"So what if I slip?" It begins as a blind hiss, yet crumbles halfway through, hitching at the end. I bow my head. "I'm sorry."

A tight silence filters in, broken only by the distant tap of falling stones, gently fading into the depths of the valley. Edita drops to her knees at my side, her hand still lingering on my shoulder. Her gaze is fierce, narrowed. "This is not the sound of you giving up, is it?"

My throat feels dry, but I muster a response somehow. "No." I give my head a firm shake if only to convince myself. "No, I won't give up. I'm just..."

Just what? Feeling the same pointless, unfulfillable guilt I always do? Treading the same circular path of thought I can't seem to escape? I clench my jaw, looking off to the side. "Sometimes I don't know what the right thing is," I admit. "If I die, it will hurt people I love. Sarielle. Fiesi. I'm on this quest for them." Tears ache behind my eyes, and I blink hard to force them back. "But my life is tainted with the hurt of so many others, people like you, and... and maybe you deserve your vengeance, whether you want it anymore or not."

Thought flickers behind Edita's expression, though I can read none of it. Her grip shifts down my arm to my hand. She squeezes it. "Would you like my thoughts on the matter?"

Her touch is so soft, careful to avoid the bind as her fingers lace with mine. It's a tiny droplet of warmth despite the numb cold of her hands. I nod.

"I believe you are sensitive and caring and selfless. Admirable qualities, yet in holding onto them so tightly, you lose sight of the most important thing of all." Leaning forward, she taps at my chin with a decisive finger. "What do you want, Noli?"

"I--" My eyes flick down to the finger, the rest of me oddly frozen by the simple question. The answer is already on the tip of my tongue, though it takes time to find it. "I don't want to hurt any--"

Her finger moves to press my lips, sealing in the rest of the sentence. She tilts her head in some kind of warning. "Not what you want for others. Just for the moment, forget about them, alright?" This time, she pokes at a spot over my heart. "What do you want for yourself?"

My thoughts become insects, scurrying away from that question and hiding in the nooks and crannies of my mind as if afraid. The seconds tick by in their absence. I blurt out the first thing I can scoop up. "I want it to snow."

She laughs. I clamp my mouth shut, though there's no mockery in the sound; if anything, it's quite the opposite. Her eyes are rippling black waters that reflect the moonlight. "You know what?" She taps my chest again, shifting close enough that I feel the edge of her chilled breath on my face. "I think it will snow tomorrow. And I think you will enjoy it."

For once, her fangs don't unnerve me. I find myself returning the grin they flash, small and shaky as mine is. "I will enjoy it a lot."

"There is the spirit I want to see." She takes my other hand, clutching them both as she shifts on her knees, suddenly very close. "Life is not about this broad picture of right and wrong, Noli, this wide world that you must somehow influence in only the correct way. You will drive yourself mad if you think like that. Life is about the here and now, and what you want, in this moment, and how you will get it."

I run the words over in my mind. It feels so strange that Sarielle has never said anything of the like; if anything, her beliefs seem to counter what Edita speaks of. Her dreams were always of bold, glittering right and the wrong that must be cast aside. She would insist that I belonged to the side of right, no matter how much the ache in my chest itched to differ. She would tell me that I was good, and that I deserved all that I got, and refused to listen to my protests.

I love her for that, for the unwavering faith that guides her every word and holds her with such light and confidence. And yet in this moment, I find myself stumbling upon a realisation I've danced over in passing so many times.

Perhaps Sarielle truly doesn't understand the way things are.

Perhaps, after all the time I've spent believing she was the solution to every one of my problems, she could never have healed this wound.

The thought is an uncomfortable press to my heart, and yet my grin rises against the weight. "I think I like that philosophy."

Brown hair dyed a near-black by the twilight dangles beyond Edita's face. She tosses it back over one shoulder as she sits back on her heels. "Of course you do," she says. "I came up with it." She frowns. "Not that I was ever particularly into philosophy. I suppose it is a natural wisdom of mine."

I snort a laugh before I can help myself. She shoots me a crooked smile, proud and teasing. Delight snakes through my insides, surprising in how pure it feels, looping my ribs and sprouting flowers that tickle out another laugh. "Thank you, Edita."

"You are welcome." Her wild grin settles into something softer. "Truth be told, I admire you for making it this far. I doubt there are many with a soul as fierce as yours."

The direct reference to my soul strikes an unexpected chord in my chest. I plant my palm against my ribs, a distant pride roaring up beneath it, lit like a flare in the night. "You think so?"

She gets to her feet, stepping carefully away from the edge. "I know so." She offers her hand, her gaze flicked upward in thought. She hums. "In that way, perhaps you remind me of Oswin."

I let her help me to my feet, shifting back onto the safer patch of land she urges me to. Her grip shifts to my wrist as if unwilling to let me go. I frown at her. "He... had a fierce soul too?"

A quiet little laugh drifts from her. "Oh, definitely. He simply did not have the smarts to use it right, unlike your thoughtful little brain." With her other hand, she flicks at my forehead. I flinch back, narrowing my eyes at her, although she's looking somewhere beyond my face. "He was a brazen idiot right to the last," she murmurs.

There's something sad in her tone. It's more than fitting, when I think about it, yet it's the first I've heard that solemn note rear its head. Despite all she said, regret churns in my stomach. I can't work out what to say.

"Even so," she adds, her gaze brightening again, "I have you now, do I not?" She nudges my shoulder with hers. "If I have lost my brother and you are stranded from your friends, I suppose we will have to look out for one another for the time being."

I give her a firm nod. If nothing else, if dreaming of repayment and righting wrongs is too great a task, I can do that. "Definitely." Realisation curls in the beginning of a smile. "I want to do that."

"Now that is very good to hear." Releasing my wrist, she takes a step back, swinging her arm in beckoning. "Come. We best find somewhere a little more stable to camp for the night."

I hurry to stick close to her side, wary of the gloom that has swept over the mountains in the time we talked. At least her grey-white skin allows the moonlight something to grasp onto. Even without that, the warmth of her words is a fire in my core, guiding me onward.

If I am to follow Edita's advice, this mission is not for Sarielle. It is for me. I walk onward because I want to survive, because I want an end to this journey, because I want to sit by a campfire years from now and describe every trail and track that led to that conclusion. I want a story to tell, and I want one that ends as well as it can. A darkness that did not last forever.

A bitter taste creeps into my mouth, yet I cling to the thought anyway. Perhaps, for just a short while, I am allowed to be a little selfish.

───── ⋆⋅♛⋅⋆ ─────

I honestly like this chapter a lot. Edita's views are interesting to me, and I always find it fun to let Nathan explore a new path of thinking. Especially one that might make him hate himself a tiny bit less!! Hooray!!!

And thus we begin the arc of me having too much fun finally letting these two properly interact. I hope you enjoy :D

- Pup