Tend Towards

[W] Journey Onwards #40

"Heroes, huh," Tarin says, idly swinging her sword at a rock. "Vicarious wouldn't have liked that."

Hershell lifted his face from the cooked bird he was devouring. "You're still upset about Vic? I thought we were over that by now."

Tarin kicked her tower shield down, next to the fire. It fell with a metallic clang that lifted a few faces from the soldiers still sat around the circle. When she turned to face her companion, her face was half-lit by the flames, an eerie sight for Hershell who usually loved all things fire-lit.

"She was our friend," Tarin said coolly, the steely look in her gaze chilling Hershell to the core. "We abandoned somebody who has saved our lives, whose life we've saved. That kind of bond doesn't just fade away within a couple of weeks."

Hershell narrowed his eyes at her. "This is war, Tarin. There isn't any place for this female empathy. This is a problem that won't be solved by talking nicely or saying prayers. It's better this way - Vicarious wasn't ready for this, and she's safer far away from here."

Tarin sighed and leaned back against the log. "You're right, of course. I do, however, resent the blatant sexism."

Hershell barked out a laugh. "But we're heroes now! We have risen beyond gender roles!"

Tarin couldn't help but smile. "At least, I'm pretty sure, Ndawapeka and Ever would've like that."

***

"I can't believe we went through hell for a rock," Vicarious spat as she trudged through the river. "A rock of all things. It's a heavy rock, granted, but I might as well be throwing leaves for all the good it'll do against the probably magical armour the Dark Knight wears as pajamas."

Locus slipped on a patch of moss and flailed his hands out for purchase, grabbing onto Vicarious' backpack and dragging them both down into the stream.

"I'm so sorry!" Locus spluttered as he resurfaced, finding it hard to catch his breath in the cold water. "There was moss and -"

Vicarious burst out in laughter. Seeing her in such a peculiar position, with her wet hair clung to her face and the water dripping from her chin, Locus could only imagine what he looked like, smeared with mud and moss. Her laughter was infectious.

Just when the laughter started dying down, a splash of cool water hit his face, and Vicarious started giggling again. He returned the favour, and before they realised, they were in a fully fledged water-fight.

Locus managed to crawl up the bank of the stream, being careful not to crush any insects. Vicarious struggled for a minute before she pulled the big rock from her backpack and flung it up onto the dry ground, after which she quickly scrambled up.

Exhausted and cold, they lay there, breathing heavily. The silence between them was filled with the noises of the forest night. Bugs were chirruping, the stream was babbling and the leaves were whispering in the wind.

"I've had fun," Vicarious said eventually. "We've come so far, and we're still going strong."

"Yeah," Locus said, stretching his hands out above him and digging his heels into the mud. "We've escaped death like, what? A million times?"

He could peripherally see Vicarious nodding her head. "Asha must really be looking after us. Look at how those stars shine."

Locus rolled onto his side and stared at her. Her eyes were wide, staring up at the sky. "We've survived by the skin of our butts against some the deadliest monsters out here, and here we are, foiled by a little river."

"And cold," Vicarious said, her face hardening. "I wish Hershell was here."

"Huh," Locus breathed, then fell back down on his back. "I wonder what everybody's doing right now."

"Me too," Vicarious whispered, before sitting up and shoving the glorious rock back into her backpack.

***

"I mean, we're pretty good," Ndawapeka said, wiping the mud from her face. She glanced over at Ever who was busy picking clots of dead leaves and dirt from his skull.

"How so?" he asked.

Ndawapeka smiled. "Who else could honestly say they've been through what we've been through - "

"Lot's of people, I have it in these books."

Ndawapeka cleared her throat. "I wasn't finished. Who else can say they've been through all that and still have a lute in perfect condition like this," she raised her instrument to him to see, "or have their books as fresh as the day they were made?" she motioned to his bag.

Ever stopped picking the dirt from his skull and gazed at her. "Huh," he conceeded eventually. "You're absolutely right. We are pretty good."