Van sat on Wendy's front porch. He wasn't sure which direction he was heading when he left Evergreen. He didn't even know why he'd come back this way, he'd been deliberately avoiding the place. He knew Wendy had been looking at him as more than just her travel companion the longer they travelled together and he didn't want her to have any expectations of him that he didn't think he could fulfill.

The sun was sinking below the horizon, beginning to disguise everything in shadows. He wondered what time Wendy finished work. She had rushed off after breakfast with a hurried apology, and he had been left to amuse himself for the rest of the day.

He had considered summoning Dann, just to reconnect with his armour. He hadn't summoned him in over a week, and it felt odd, he could feel himself starting to get sicker from the lack of contact. But he had decided against it eventually. The people of Evergreen were nervous of strangers, and armour they didn't recognise flying down would panic even the steadiest of residents.

A figure approached Wendy's house, and Van tensed. It wasn't Wendy; he could see that from a distance. This person was taller than Wendy, and, as far as he could tell, male. He tilted his hat, studying the stranger as he approached.

The man was relatively tall, probably up to almost Van's chin. He was more solidly built, with tan skin and dark hair and eyes, dressed in well-worn workman's clothes. He watched the other man's eyes narrow warily.

"What are you doing here?" The stranger demanded as soon as he was within speaking range. "And who are you?"

"I'm Van." He stared at the other man, ignoring the first question. He didn't know the answer either.

"Van who?" He was aggressive. Van stiffened, before forcing himself to relax. If this person was a friend of Wendy's, she would not be happy if he hit him, and might stop cooking for him. Wendy was a fantastic cook.

"Just Van," he shrugged, watching the man warily from under the brim of his hat. He toyed unconsciously with the ring hanging on the right hand side of his head, resisting the urge to squash the man with Dann of Thursday. He forced himself to ease back onto the chair, one hand hovering unobtrusively near the handle of his sword.

Another figure approached from the direction of the town. Van squinted, he hoped it was Wendy; he could really go some food. He was starving.

"Van," even though she sounded startled, Wendy's smile was radiant. "I wasn't sure if you'd have left already or not."

"You had a point last night." He admitted, "I'm not in a rush anywhere anymore, I can spend a few days if you really don't mind having me. It might be nice to have an actual bed for a couple of nights." He gave her a small grin, before flicking his eyes quickly to the man standing in the shadows of her porch.

She still recognised the unspoken cue, as if only a couple of days ago they had still been travelling together. "Mick, what are you doing here?" She sounded angry, and Van's hand grasped the handle of his sword, ready to react at a moment's notice.

"I hiked all this way out of town to discover my girlfriend was shacking up with some random stranger." He raised a hand at her, and Van reacted. You didn't hit a woman, regardless of what she had done. And Wendy had done nothing here, that he could see.

Before the fool could blink, Van was crouched in front of him, the tip of his sword resting lightly at the base of his throat. "Take one more step." His voice was low and threatening, eyes narrowed dangerously.

Wendy grabbed his arm, "Van, stop it. You're not getting arrested for him. Let's just go inside." She tugged on his arm, trying to get him to relax, and move away. Van allowed himself to be pulled away, wrapping his sword back around his hips.

"That's right, you cheap whore," The idiot was still talking, but Van had stopped listening as soon as the name left his lips. He didn't even bother with his sword. Van's fist connected with the other man's nose. It made a satisfying crunch under his knuckles.

He staggered back, blood dripping down his face. "What the hell?" He yelled.

"You don't talk about women like that." He had returned to his usual languid way of speaking, like the last minutes had never happened. Inside he was still fuming. You especially didn't talk about Wendy like that.

"Come on Van," Wendy sighed, "Let's have dinner."