I don't like Morgarath; he reminds me too much of Ferris. Not next in line for power, but scheming to give himself an advantage over the one who is. It's not fair to him, I try to convince myself. I've never met the man, and I shouldn't judge him until I know him.

I'm quiet for the rest of the Gathering, completing my tasks to the best of my ability. Even Crowley can't draw me into conversation. I've encountered reality yet again, and I only now realize that I had been making a futile attempt to run from it.

My gloomy thoughts persist into the last night of the Gathering, when Aron finally takes me aside and insists that I have fun for one night. With the Genovesans gone, he says, it's the least I deserve.

Quinton eventually joins me at our campfire, where I'm doing my best not to show my discomfort with large groups of people. He dumps something in my lap: a bronze oakleaf on a chain. "In a normal year, you would have been below the necessary standards to pass. But I need all the trained Rangers I can get," he says gloomily. "The bronze oakleaf, as you'll see, currently holds more weight within the Corps than a lone silver one. I'm marking you as more valuable than half the Rangers here, Halt, because you deserve it. And sadly, because it's true."

I nod my thanks and appreciation, yet I still don't feel quite up to talking.

Quinton understands anyway. "You're welcome, Halt. Let me know if you need anything, alright?"

Again, I just nod, this time in agreement. Quinton leaves me to my thoughts and joins some of the older Rangers around the central campfire.

Now that I've learned of the sorry state the Corps is in, I find it quite simple to distinguish the trained Rangers from those whose fathers bought their silver oakleaves. The main difference, gathered around a celebratory campfire, is the choice of drink. Of all the old Rangers, not a single one drinks anything other than coffee. The few younger Rangers that they've trained do the same. The useless ones favor drinks that make them grow rowdy—ale, whiskey, and the like.

Aron finally sits beside me. "Halt, if you really don't want to talk, I understand. But I would like to know what has you so frustrated, if you'd be willing to share it with me."

The unassuming nature of this question, especially coming from my mentor, ensures that I feel obligated to answer. "I left Hibernia when things got...politically interesting," I say carefully, in case others are listening. "It seems like Araluen is falling into a similar situation, and again I'm helpless to stop it. I've never done anything but run from problems, and I can't help but worry that I'll do it again and disappoint everyone here. Gods know I caused enough trouble that way back at D—in Hibernia."

"Halt, I know that you don't like to fail. If you see running from Araluen as failure, I'd bet anything you won't seriously consider it."

My lips twist into a faint smile at Aron's confidence in me. "Thanks," I say quietly.

Quite a short chapter here, and I'm sorry. I didn't do any of the work I hoped to get done over vacation, and this week has been insanely crazy. So at least you've got a chapter, right? I promise the next one will be longer.

Review please. It encourages me to write faster :)