Disclaimer: If I owned Claymore, Jean would still be alive. Also, I was inspired to write this fanfiction by another story called Snakehead. I'll leave a link to it in the author's note down below. My advice would be to check it out; it's pretty amazing.

It is early as Mattias trudges through the marshy land of the south. Despite this, the air is hot and humid already, and the young man's mood is dark. He scowls as his foot gets stuck in a bog. Yanking it harshly, he grimaces at the feeling of mud sloshing in his boots. His sword hangs at his side, and long, nimble fingers drum along its hilt in a steady, rhythmic pattern.

Mattias pauses his march long enough to take a swig of three day old water from his flask. He winces at the taste, but accepts it nonetheless. The young black cloak resumes his swift pace, aware of the consequences if he does not arrive to his summons on time. He's in no rush to be sent to be sent to the crueler lands of the continent.

To his relief, he comes by the small town of Krate around noon. The sun is harsh unyeilding, and he wants to get a horse to reach the Organization's headquarters by next week. He is also painfully low on supplies. His lips thin as he makes his way to the town's gates. He is not ignorant to the fearful, hate filled looks thrown his way. The town's people recognize him as one of the Organization's men. He may not be a Claymore, but he is guilty by association, and their rejection is still enough to sting. Mattias shakes his head; he is in a bad enough mood as it is. There's no need to get riled up over the opinions of fools. Still, he can't stop his hands from clenching at his sides.

The young man heads to the town square, people giving him a wide berth. He feels in his pants pocket and when he finds what he's looking for, a small smile makes its way to his lips. Mattias pulls out a deerskin pouch, heavy with bera, the material rough beneath his fingers. He stops where a fruit merchant has set up shop and the older man glares at him through half lidded eyes.

"What's your business here, black cloak?" he growls. Anger flares up in Mattias at the merchant's words.

"I'm only here to restock on food. Nothing more."

The merchant looks relieved.

"No yoma around these parts then? No silver eyed witch trailing behind you?"

"No." Mattias is proud that his voice is level. "Now, I have money to spend, and you have food to sell. Let me buy your damned products and I'll be on my way."

Well, so much for keeping a cool head. People begin to crowd around the two of them, whispering in hushed voices and Mattias can feel his skin growing hot. The merchant's face flushes with anger, and he takes a step forward before remembering he is dealing with a man in black. He spits at the raven haired man's feet and snarls furiously but backs down. A few minutes later, Mattias has a variety of fruits in a large bag he bought just last month. Slinging it over his shoulder, he sighs at how worn it already is.

There's no chance of buying a horse in this town now, not after its people have perceived the row he got into as a direct threat. The animosity in the air is so heavy Mattias can almost taste it. He leaves Krate as quickly as his legs can carry him, brows knit together in an angry frown. He is used to being shunned by now, it comes as no surprise. What is surprising however, is how swiftly he snapped. The young man has never been the most patient or mellow person, but it is certainly unlike him to be so volatile. He blames it on the poor travelling conditions.

Night comes soon enough, bringing a merciful break from the onslaught of heat. The air is still humid, but Mattias has made good time and his spirits have risen slightly at the notion. He sets up camp, setting down his bedroll, and eats some of the fruit he purchased earlier. The black cloak washes up in a nearby stream and lays his clothes out to dry on the grass. Chances are they'll still be damp come morning, but he doesn't particularly care at the moment. As he lays on his back, staring up at the stars, he wonders why the Organization has called upon him. It's a thought that has been puzzling him since Rubel, the sly bastard, informed him of the summons.

A part of him misses Eliza, the warrior he'd previously been handling. By tradition, he isn't a social creature, but her presence was comforting all the same. They had only spent about half a year together, but in that time, he'd come to see her as a friend, maybe even a good one. Against his will, his heart aches as he remembers the day she gave him her black card, telling him to send it to her comrade, Myra.

Good spirits effectively doused, he closes his eyes, but behind their lids he can only see Eliza's smirking face, a sure sign of the sarcastic comment dripping from her lips. She was the first warrior he oversaw, and he knows she won't be the last. Actually, that's probably the reason the Organization has reached out to him. To reassign him. His mouth twists unpleasantly at the thought, but then he shakes his head. He is a man in black, it is not his place to grow attached to warriors. He ought to remember it before it bites him in the ass.

But as Mattias falls asleep, there is still pain in his chest and his throat feels suspiciously tight. He was a damned fool when he allowed himself to care for Eliza. The same mistake will not be repeated.

Author's Note:

As promised, Snakehead's link (written by shelter): s/4138860/1/Snakehead

So, if anyone's actually reading this, I need some tips. I know that my writing is, by no means, perfect, and that there's a lot of room for improvement. If anyone would be kind enough to leave some feedback in the reviews section, it would be much appreciated. Don't be afraid of hurting my feelings either! With that, I bid you good night (or good afternoon/morning/evening) because I'll edit this tomorrow and right now I really need to go to sleep.