― dust remaining

+| Chapter 8

George had been awfully quiet since they last spoke.

Dream got to wondering whether it was his fault, maybe he had said something he shouldn't have. It was likely, he tended to do that a lot.

It could have been a byproduct of their incident during training or the events that followed afterwards, but he didn't have the heart to delve into it.

Sometimes, people needed alone time.

George had been introverted his entire life, and had no reason to be any different now. Dream respected that, and minded his boundaries.

The next town, a tiny place by the name of Neville, was far more welcoming than Dream had anticipated for multiple reasons.

As soon as they passed by the first house, people dashed into the street, all hailing the prince like some sort of war hero.

It had been instantaneous.

"The prince has arrived to save us!"

"Oh my goodness, is that him?"

"All hail Prince George!"

They circled both companions, providing no way out. Dream tried to urge his horse onwards, but it whinnied and shook its head as if saying 'no, absolutely not.' With no other option presenting itself, he slid off the horse's back and got a firm grip on the reins and started making way for him and his mount.

Dream waded, steed and all, through the crowd and was quick to tie the stallion down, scanning the houses for a possible way out. George was too busy offering small waves and greeting the people that one day he would rule.

Never did either of them consider they would be swarmed to this degree.

Dream caught sight of a fluffy haired brunette, who was frantically waving them over and drawing attention to himself. His first instinct was to keep looking, maybe hide behind a fence or worst case scenario run out of town and restock their supplies in the next, but something reminded him of a certain someone in this perky individual. There was a certain sense of familiarity when he met their gazes.

The boy squeezed through the crowd and rested a hand on Dream's forearm, his eyes alight with urgency. "I can help you, I promise. I know someone who knows you," his voice low and straight to the point. Dream had a boding sensation it was a trap, but with no other plan, he signaled to George with a curt nod.

The prince clambered down from his horse, carelessly rattling on about how pleasant of a town this was, eyeing Dream with expectancy. As soon as his horse was successfully tied down, their savior of sorts booked it down the street and the signal flew, both knight and prince on his tail.

Through trails of dust and dirt, twists and turns, and nearly running straight into a dead end, the brunette swung into the back door of what seemed to be a pub, holding the door open so the panting companions could bundle inside.

They barely had a few moments to observe their surroundings- a wooden, rustic looking saloon with candles flickering around. It was empty for this time of night, seemingly evacuated once hearing of George's arrival.

A short boy set down a glass from where he stood clad in an apron at the bar, and upon realizing what was happening he led them upstairs in a few bounds and let them into one of the few hotel rooms the saloon had to offer.

With the fiasco nearly over, and George collapsing on the bed, Dream found it in him to demand answers, especially as the brunette made his way into the room. "Who are you guys?"

"My name's Karl," the brunette gestured. "And this is Alex."

"But call me Quackity."

Dream glanced between the two, before briefly checking that George was okay too- definitely not because concern was tugging at his heart but rather out of duty. Definitely not his own choice.