A leader can't lead until he knows where he's going, Roxton. And you've gotten us lost again."

Why Marguerite, how very philosophic of you." Roxton replied while spinning around to confront the irate woman. "What happened to just following the lovely path laid out before us."

Damn it John, the last time we did this we had Malone to run interference with quick sand. It's not like we have a fail safe here."

We've also got someone to come home to."

They exchanged weary nods and decided the best course of action.

The explorers had taken their route from the appearing path that had been so nicely laid out before them. Unfortunately, as in most of these situations, the path had diverged into a fork. Not knowing which way, and unwilling to separate, Roxton and Marguerite were at an impasse. And impasses led to arguments, which led to making up, which led to sleeping to the right of the path and waiting for morning. They bed down, weary and trail worn, but content and together, wrapped up in each other and their bedding. In her sleep, while under the hunter's protective gaze, Marguerite dreamt of all things good, of Willie and London, and of all things bad. With the bad came memories, both past and future, and she became lost to the memories. As she twitched in her sleep, disturbed by images and thoughts, Roxton enhanced his hold and brought her into his embrace tightly. As she wept in her sleep, the hunter wrapped himself around her, and she seemed to quiet down some. She didn't twitch away painfully when he kissed the tears on her cheek or drew his hand around her back. She kept breathing in his scent, and felt comforted by his strong hold. She would return, night after night, to the same startling dream. To running into that damn clearing, of seeing her lover's body cold and alone, of attempting to shake him awake, and of being unsuccessful. In her dreams, Roxton had not woke up. A few times, her situation would shift years in advance, she would be alone out in the real world, raising the son of an English Lord, and unable to prove his legitimacy. Her beautiful child, her lovely funny child, would be labeled a bastard in the outside world. He came from love, and he would subjected to her old life. He came from a love so strong that they couldn't resist, married or not, her child was not illegitimate. Her life of rumors and taunts, and unable to prove her worth in a society that deemed family as above all in importance.

In the morning, she wouldn't fully remember her troubling thoughts, or she pretended that she didn't. Roxton too would keep up the facade, and would never mention it.

While they were eating a scant breakfast of nuts and berries, Marguerite abruptly turned conversation from food to family.

"I miss him."

I'd never take you for a worrier, Marguerite. We left him with a genius, a female hunter, and a newspaper man. What exactly could happen?"

What if he's learned what I've learned, John?" Marguerite countered in a small and weak voice. It was barely audible but the hunter heard it loud and clear. She was afraid for her child, afraid of herself, and afraid of what their little ruse had caused.

I highly doubt the little man has even noticed. Probably reading Shakespeare in latin, and playing with your jewels. Veronica will keep him entertained. Hell last time we weren't even gone for a moment."

Marguerite managed a weak and watery smile, and thanked him silently for his distraction. But she could tell in his eyes that he too was worried. They had cheated death, once again, in order to unlock untold powers. She had been told that in order to achieve her desires, she must lose her soul mate. She just didn't know how much it would hurt, or whether Willie would be affected. She still bore the scars, thick and aching, within her body and on her mind. On the outside she was the strong and unaffected Marguerite of the past, but in reality and her hunter's eyes, she was the frightened lover and mother, who had almost lost everything. He saw the brief quiver under her mouth, and the tears that would not fall unless in solitude. The sheer determination in her jaw was displayed, and the hard steel resolve set in her eye that was her determination to get home safe. Their mission must be accomplished, and there was no alternative. So they ate in friendly silence, exchanged pleasantries and a passionate kiss, packed up and chose their route.

"You're awfully quiet, any thoughts on the choice Marguerite?"

"Why, there's left, and unforeseen doom, or we could choose right and be presented with more unforeseen doom. Such choices, Lord Roxton." Marguerite said dryly.

I shall never get tired of your wit, my dear. And I never will tire of seeing so much of you." Roxton chuckled while extravagantly eyeing the usually modest Englishwoman's scant attire.

Just be glad they actually gave us weapons. I have a feeling that these –"Marguerite said while gesturing towards her palms and hands, "would be our only option."

And here I thought complete faith was hard to come by."

Apparently not. And your attire, Lord Roxton, is quite becoming of an English Lord. Wouldn't you say?" Marguerite uttered quietly and full of desire as she lightly drew her finger over the broad chest of the hunter.

You keep doing that and we will never leave." Roxton said while surreptitiously drawing his hand over her bare midriff and flowing skirt.

After a brief meeting, the softest of kisses, and combined grunt of frustration, Marguerite and Roxton parted and chose the left side of the path.

They walked for roughly a mile before the path abruptly ended.

"Uh, it is just me or have we run out of walking room?" Marguerite said as she turned and eyed her favourite who was too quiet, and didn't respond to her.

Roxton was stalk straight, staring into the forest with a stern resolve in his eyes. Marguerite visibly startled, and took in a sharp breath, when tears threatened to fall from his eyes. She grasped his hands, both in her one, and turned to see the unspeakable terror that rendered her hunter speechless.

She turned on her heel, and the breath was taken out of her. Her eyes watered as she took in the blood trail, the feasting raptors, the circling vultures, and the dead body.

Before she could crumple to the ground, before she could pass out from the pain, before anything, Marguerite let out a small pained utterance.

Oh, William."