Cheshire, Alice, Hubble, White Rabbit, and the rest of the cards sat in quiet rest. White was shivering, jerking nervously in some worried horror that the two assassins would come roaring after them any moment.

But Cheshire and the others were convinced not.

Nibbling on a piece of brown, nutty bread, Cheshire smiled widely at White, "Stop worrying! Eat something! We can't have you fainting on us!"

White scowled, "Eat? How can you even suggest that?"

Digging through a pocket hidden under his armor, Hubble held out a yellow wrapped candy, "Want a buttermallow?"

"No!"

Alice glanced at the ribboned sweet, "What's a buttermallow?"

Smiling and bright, Hubble tossed it over. As Alice unwrapped the candy and popped it into her mouth, he cheerfully replied, "You'll like it. Sweet, isn't it?"

Alice coughed as pure sugar invaded her tongue, stuffed into the texture and size of a marshmallow. A faint aftertaste of sweet butter spread across her mouth. Grimacing, she swallowed it and sniffed dryly, "Too sweet."

Hubble handed her a piece of white bread and a canteen of water, "Here. Buttermallows are for really depressed people like White Rabbit here."

"I'm not depressed!"
Cheshire chortled, an odd mewling sound, "Okay, okay, you two! I think we'll camp here for the night, don't you think, Hubble?"

"Sure."

White was depressed, curling up in the nook of a tree moodily.

Jabberwock had left, leaving March and Hatter a half of a regiment…

And a freshly dug mass grave.

Scuffing at the ground morosely, March grumbled, "Can we just dig one up? I'm hungry…"

The cards chatting at the other end of the clearing paused and slowly gazed over, faces grotesque in semi-hidden disgust.

Hatter hefted a shovel, pondering the question. Sighing, he threw it down and snarled, "He said to leave them alone! And that was kind of a direct order…" Glaring at the cards, he hissed, "What are you looking at?"

The cards jerked their heads away, scared.

March sniffed, crossing his arms in disappointment, "And we can't have on of them…" Motioning to the cards, who stiffened, he paused, then continued, sullen, "We have to wait."

The two assassins gazed at each other, glum, then Hatter sighed, "Want to play a game?"

"Shouldn't we make a sort of plan for tomorrow?"

"Why should we? They're going to be heading through the woods still, either to the Crystal Coast or the Neverending Gardens…"

"But which one?"

"They'll leave some sign…"

They stared at each other for a moment, then both of them nodded quietly. Striding over to the campfire, they sat down, much to the surprise and terror of the black cards lounging there. Hastily scooting to the opposite side, the cards glared at the two killers, all conversation dieing.

March regarded the distrusting card soldiers and sighed, "Ah c'mon. We're not to eat you!"

Trembling, a five of spades twirled his thumbs together, "You are a bit scary though, sirs."

Piping up, a little ace stammered, "I second that!"

Hatter's yellow fetid eye rolled in its socket to stare at the boy, noting the long, silver flute-fife in the sheath instead of a sword. Smirking, he turned his whole head towards the ace and smiled, "And how old are you?"

"Th-thirteen years, sirs…"

Smiling gently, Hatter tipped his top hat in mock respect, "Mind if I request a song, fifer?"

March straightened his lopsided gray ears with a cheer, "A song! A song!"

The other cards joined in the call for a tune as the ace blushed. He fiddled with his silver pipe, red in the face, "A song? Which one?"

Hatter clapped his hands together after a moment of quiet thought, "What about 'March of Wonders'? Haven't heard that for a while."

" 'March of Wonders'?... Fine… okay…" The ace placed his mouth parallel to the fife's and started to play.

Sweet notes issued forth, floating through the clearing and wrapping around the suddenly still figures of the Hatter, the March Hare, and the rest of the regiment. The notes rose to a crescendo of beautiful medley, then fell to a sighing lavish moan. It was beautiful.

A few minutes later, the music died down, and the regiment clapped enthusiastically, March and Hatter gazing at the boy quietly.

The thirteen year old fifer fidgeted as the clapping died down, "Did-did I do okay?"

Hatter nodded, eye narrowed and dancing with hidden emotion, "That was fine."

Cocking his head, March itched at some dried blood on his breastplate, the tips of his metal glove scratching off flakes of brown. He peered curiously at the boy, "And you're a…?"

"Not a private yet, sir. Can't be till I'm fourteen."

Hatter whistled in disbelief, earning flinches from the cards, "Thirteen years and in the army? Before the Jabber, it was –what?- you had to be at least sixteen to be a drummer!" He paused, the added, "Or a fifer…"

"I just joined a few days ago. This is…"

"Your first job?"
Nod.

March gripped his cleaver, smirking at the others, "And you're supposed to keep him alive?"

Frowning at the Hare's sarcastic voice, a ten card officer muttered, "He's to train a year with us."

"And does he have a name?"

The boy piped up, "My name's Sylvantes."

"Odd name."

"Not as odd as March - What is your last name?"

March's ears twitched, "Hasen."

Sylvantes turned to Hatter, "And yours?"

"Krank."

"A weird name als-"

Hatter glared at him, yellow-slitted eye narrowing, and interrupted him, "And Sylvantes? Does that even mean anything?"

Blushing furiously, Sylvantes growled, "No… but yours doesn't…"

"Yes, they do."

"Then-"

"We're not going to explain our names."

"But-"

Hubble paused and glanced up at Alice on Cheshire's back, eyes furrowed in sudden thought. Biting his lip, he fidgeted with the helmet under his arm, "Umm… Ches? Should we get Alice some regular clothes?"

Cheshire stopped, and Alice glanced down at her stone-washed jeans and grayish designer shirt, "What's wrong with my clothes?"

"They're noticeable. And different. People will know you the minute they see you."

Pondering this with a weary little grin, Cheshire stretched his claws ahead of him, "Well… we could do a little detour…"

Alice gripped the short purple on the cat's back as she slid down, "What kind of clothes are you talking about?"

Hubble regarded her jeans with disdain and sneered, "A dress would be nice."

"A dress?" Pursing her lips, Alice frowned, "Dresses are for girly-girls."

"Dresses are for girls here, Alice

They stood in front of a small cottage now, nestled away in the roving trees of the forest, the trembling bushes, and the whispering flowers.

Alice glowered at the front door, a white ornamented rectangle of plain wood, "And who lives here?"

Padding up to the front door, Cheshire knocked, "You'll see."

There was a pause, and then a cracked raspy voice from behind the door, "Who's there?"

"You know who it is, Black. It's Cheshire."

"And…"

Rolling his eyes, Cheshire smiled grimly as he snorted, "Baa, baa, black sheep… Have you any wool?"

The door opened, and a midnight sheep glared out from under spectacles and an old nanny hat, "No, sir. No, sir. You're a fool."

Laughing, Cheshire held up a paw in greeting, "No, I'm not, Black."

"Neither do I have wool."

"Well… clothes are clothes, and-"

The Black Sheep had spotted Alice. Pushing past Cheshire, she clipped up to the surprised girl and appraised her with a black eye. Suddenly, she broke into a toothy white smile, "The Alice child! Oh!" She squeaked in excitement, "You want clothes? Clothesibaa…" Her voice trailed off into a lamb's bleat."

Alice forced a shy smile, "Well… yes... Cheshire said I needed new clothes…"

"I dare say so!" The sheep had regained her voice, and now she barked angrily, "Those clothes aren't befitting for a gnat! Who put you up with that garbage?"

"Umm…"

Grinning widely, Cheshire nudged Alice forward, "Don't be afraid. Blackie here and Marm inside are nice. They won't bite."

Black glared at Cheshire, "I'm a grass-eater, unlike someone." She pushed Alice through the door with oddly-splayed hooves.

The house was awfully beautiful, decorated in a lovely old England style. Ornamented walls housed aged grandfather clocks, various portraits of animals and people and things in between, and drawers displayed fine china. Alice was a bit surprised she didn't see a…

Oh, and there it was: a steaming tea pot situated on a small ornate coffee table lounging in front of 17th century style English couches.

Black waved a hoof and muttered, "Sit down! Sit down!"

Taking a seat, the card regiment shrugged off their helmets and gauntlets. Hubble glanced up at Alice with gentle blue eyes, "You're going to have tea, Alice?"

"Okay…" Alice slumped down next to the card captain, and he poured tea for her as she mumbled, "So… this is a clothes shop?"

Baaing in agitation, Black slid a tray of buttermallows onto the table, "No, no, girl! We were a general shop before the Jabber came from the Shadowlands. Pratically wiped out business when he declared tea illegal!"

Alice stared at the light brown liquid as she accepted her cup from Hubble, "This is illegal?"

Crouching down to the floor like a sphinx, Cheshire began licking his paws, purring, "Only question is where she hides it. But, yes, it's illegal. As are poems, large public parties, unless, of course," he sneered, "if endorsed by the Jabberwock himself."

"Ahh! Is it the Alice child, Black?" A small elderly White Sheep peered in, old gravelly lady voice creaking through the tea room.

Hubble stood up with a small salute, "Hello, Marm! Yes, it's Alice."

"Well… more like her granddaughter or such." Peering closely at Alice, Marm nodded gently, white wool slipping to cover her black watery eyes, "Does your grandmother still remember the egg I sold her? Such a beauty…"

Silence settled as Marm sighed as she recollected her thoughts, then motioned to Alice, "Come hither, dear. We can find a dress for you. A nice… pretty… dress…" She trotted out of the room.

Alice sighed and followed the woolly white sheep.