“Do you really believe what you said back there?” asked Hunter once they were alone. “I mean, what’s killing the folken… Is it really because they’ve strayed from the good path and all?”

  “Of course not,” Fawkes scoffed. “But if that’s what they want to believe, then fine – it’ll give them all the more reason to start fixing what’s broken. Not that they’re going the right way about that, mind you. But still.”

  Nobody was in the mood to stay around the fire after the heated exchange between the two Elders. One by one, they drifted to their tents. Hunter – and Fyodor, of course – followed Fawkes to hers. There were things he wanted to discuss with her in private.

  “Good work with the Aether marble, by the way. You worked it down to a nub. Which reminds me.” She reached into her pocket, pulled the velvet pouch with the marbles, and tossed it at him. “Catch.”

  The inside of the tent was dark, but his Low-Light Vision helped. He snatched the pouch out of the air, looking confused.

  “Well, they’re no use to me,” she shrugged. “Might as well let you absorb the rest.”

  “Uh… thanks?”

  “You’re welcome. Just don’t let the others see that you have them. I’d rather not give Wroth or the alderman’s son any reason to nag. Well, any more reason than they already have.”

  Hunter nodded and pocketed the marbles. He wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

  “So what now?” he asked.

  “Now we get to fixing your hand. But to do that, I’ll need you here for a full day, dawn to dawn. Maybe longer. So I thought you should first spend a couple of days on your side of things, get some rest. You’ll need it.”

  “Alright. But I’ll still drop in a couple times per day to check on you and the mutt, if that’s alright with you,” Hunter said. “I don’t like the way things have turned between you and Wroth.”

  “Oh, bless your heart!” Fawkes, half-startled. “You’re actually worried about me? Don’t be. He’s all bark and no bite, the old dog. And I can take care of myself, besides.”

  “I know.”

  He settled on the ground beside Fyodor as Fawkes kicked off her boots and shrugged off her jacket, getting ready for bed. The direwolf laid his big head on Hunter’s lap, eager for attention, and Hunter obliged.

  “Inago told me about your spat with Wroth the other night,” he said as he scratched Fyodor behind the ears.

  “Spat? Hardly. Just a conversation that got a bit too candid.”

  “And today’s thing? What was that all about?”

  “Traditions?” Fawkes shrugged, playing coy.

  “Don’t give me that. You’re itching for a fight.”

  It wasn’t a question, nor was it an accusation; it was just the truth. Apparently, it was enough to make Fawkes drop her paper-thin act. She sighed and folded her jacket with surprising care, as if the old leather wasn’t scarred and marred by who-knew-how-many-years on the road.

  “How can I not?”

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  Therapy, Hunter thought. That’s how.

  “Look, I get it,” he told her. “They’re idiots. But that’s their problem. It has nothing to do with you. Just… ignore them.”

  Fawkes frowned at the thought. Her brow furrowed, her eyes hardened, and her lips twisted into a knife wound, a thin, sharp line. She suddenly looked older. Old. Hunter didn’t like that.

  “You know what boils my piss, lad? Outlander, woman, witch, crone – I’ve heard all of those and worse a thousand times over. I pay no attention to it. It’s how they mistreat you that has me itching for a fight. How they look down on you.”

  It was Hunter’s turn to frown. He placed a hand – his good hand – on her shoulder.

  “It’s the same for me, you know. People have mistreated and looked down on me a thousand times over, too. Fuck them. They’re just noise.”

  She covered his hand with her own, squeezed it.

  “It’s not just them. The whole world’s got me bitter and tired, Hunter. See, I know full well who I am, what I am. A sack of shite. A waste of skin.”

  “You’re not –”

  “I am. I fall leagues short of what a half-decent person should be. And yet…”

  Fawkes paused, gritted her teeth, squeezed Hunter’s hand harder.

  “And yet, wherever I go, people still manage to fall even shorter. However much I tell myself I’ve gotten used to it, they still manage to disappoint even me.”

  Hunter felt his stomach clench. That had struck a chord.

  “We can just go,” he said quietly.

  “Go where? Everywhere’s the same. Grimnir’s beard, you hopped to a whole other world, only to find this one’s shite, too.”

  Hunter hesitated for a heartbeat, then pulled Fawkes into a tight hug. It was awkward at first; she stiffened, her instinct to pull back immediate and strong. But he didn’t let go, just held her firmly. He hadn’t felt the urge to hold anyone like that in quite a while, in this world or his own.

  For a moment, she seemed on the verge of snapping at him. Then, slowly, she softened, the fight draining out of her. Her hands clutched at his back as she leaned in, burying her face against his shoulder. He felt her shudder, and then the quiet, broken sound of her muffled crying.

  Hunter said nothing. What was there to be said? He just held on as minutes went by, offering to shoulder some of the weight she’d been carrying – the weight of years, of loss, of a hard life.

  For once, he could be the strong one.

  Fyodor nudged closer too, pressing his warm, furry body against Fawkes’s side, as if offering comfort of his own.

  They stayed like that, the three of them, wrapped in silence and darkness, until her sobs finally stilled.

  “Oh, look at me, going all soft and mushy on you,” she said, gently pushing Hunter away and wiping her eyes. “If you ever breathe a word of this, I’ll stab you in the kidney. Then help you regrow it, then stab you again for good measure.”

  “Who cares, that’s why I got two.”

  That coaxed a smirk out of her.

  “You’re pushing your luck.”

  “Alright, alright, your soft and mushy secret’s safe with me. Scout’s honor.”

  She lay down on her bedroll and wrapped herself with a woolen blanket – an old-looking, threadbare thing. Fyodor, still stuck to her side, let his big head rest on her chest.

  “Hunter?”

  “Yes?”

  “Thank you.”

  He shrugged.

  “Anytime. That’s what I’m here for.”

  For some reason, that brought a sad smile to her face.

  “Would it be too much to ask you to stay here for a bit? Just till I fall asleep.”

  “Not at all. Get some rest. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  She nodded.

  “Goodnight, Hunter.”

  “Goodnight, Fawkes.”

  Exhausted, she closed her eyes, her breathing slowly evening out as the tension left her body. Her face softened in a rare moment of peace, one hand resting gently on Fyodor’s fur. The direwolf, half-asleep already, snuggled even closer to her.

  It wasn’t until long after she’d drifted off that Hunter finally rose to his feet, leaving her side to return to his own world – and to his stiff, aching body.

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