Hi there! So... okay, wow. Here goes another one that got completely out of hand, length-wise.

16. Missing

"...Hey."

One day, Blake might get the hang of opening these sorts of conversations.

Weiss raised an eyebrow at her. "Yes?"

"How are you doing?"

Today was not that day.

Weiss took a moment to answer. She stared off into the woods to their right—the Emerald forest was coming into full bloom, with new leaves rustling in a cool breeze and flowers poking out from between thick brambles in the underbrush. Then, "I'm honestly not sure."

Blake nodded, wracking her brain for some way to respond to that. The conversation was made even more awkward by the fact that she was riding on Pit's back while Weiss walked, so they had to crane their necks to look at one another. No way around it, though. Crutches and gnarled tree roots did not mix well.

"I'm relieved, obviously." Weiss was still staring off to the side of the path, and it occurred to Blake that she might prefer not making eye-contact for this. "I'd thought... well. But now..."

"I don't think Ilia would lie. Not about that."

"No, she has no motive. She'd only confuse negotiations, make it impossible for them to get what they want out of the ransom." A pause. "Unless—"

"I believe her."

"So do I." Weiss gave her an odd look. "How exactly do you know her, anyway? You were in the White Fang together, but it seems a bit more... personal than that."

"She was a friend." Now it was Blake's turn to study the scenery. "I thought about asking her to come with me when I left, but I just... I couldn't do it. She was close with him, too, and I thought she might... not to hurt me, or anything like that. But she might have thought she could talk him around."

"The important thing is that the two of you got out." Weiss smiled and patted Pit's neck. "Besides, this might be your second chance, if she keeps coming around to see Brand." The smile faded. "Though, if she saw me..."

"She'll come back for Brand." Ilia had helped her clean him up after raids, sometimes. She always apologized every time the alcohol wipes stung him and he flinched. "And I... I'd like to think she'd want to know why I left."

"Would she hurt you?"

"No. She might yell at me, but I probably deserve it."

"Nonsense."

She cracked a small smile at that. "Agree to disagree." Then her eyes narrowed. "And you changed the subject."

"...Perhaps."

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. I just hope you'll tell someone, because... let's just say I know from experience that being an island to your own doesn't turn out well."

"It's fine. And I am relieved. Just... not completely. Maybe I'm not giving him enough credit, he's not stupid, but... he's never been away from the manor alone before."

"He has Glacier with him."

"Yes." Weiss put a hand on Specter's shoulder. "But it's not..." She stopped, frustrated. "It's like if you were stranded in the wilderness with Brand. No... more like if Sun was stranded in the wilderness with Brand."

"But... he's your father's dragon. He knows Whitley."

"I'm not so sure he does. He's seen him a few times, they do live in the same manor, but as far as I know Whitley doesn't visit him." She ran a hand through her hair. "And even if he did... I used to sneak into the barn to see Glacier, and it's just... he can be temperamental, that's all." Her mouth twisted into a scowl. "He's not being taken care of properly. I didn't realize before I came to Beacon, but... he isn't around people enough."

"Oh."

"Hence, partly relieved." Weiss folded her arms and shrugged, though Blake could see the tension in her shoulders. "Still better than before, at least."

"Have you talked to anyone about it? Your sister?"

"I'm trying to figure out how. If I blurt out the full story she's going to guess that I know someone with ties to the White Fang."

Blake grimaced. "Avoiding that would be good."

"Right now I'm leaning towards telling her my source is classified." Weiss grinned a little at that. "For her reaction, if nothing else."

The cave entrance came into view in front of them. Blake slid off Pit's back, with both him and Weiss helping her keep her balance. Then, when they were properly face to face again, "I just want you to know... I'm around if you need to talk."

Weiss rolled her eyes. "This is now the ninth version of that speech I've heard."

"Oh."

"Two of them from you."

"Right. Sorry."

"Don't be. I appreciate it, even if taking people up on it is... still a work in progress."

Blake smiled. "Progress is good."

"It goes both ways, too. If you want to talk about anything."

"Right. Thank you."

She limped towards the cave, eager to move on from the moment. As she passed through the entrance, she relaxed slightly. No Hazel. He was always polite whenever they crossed paths, so much so that it was a little unnerving, but she still preferred to—

Hazel was inside the cave. Not just inside but at the back, sitting right next to Brand. The chain was coiled in his lap. He'd trapped one link between his fingers, and the scrape of a file made her ears pin back against her head. There was a small notch in the metal.

"Evening," he said, not looking up.

Weiss glanced at Blake. "Is this...?"

"Yes."

She didn't want to try her luck walking as close to Brand as Hazel was sitting—not with Weiss, and not when they'd all be crowding him. Instead she picked a spot by the wall, closer than they usually were but not by all that much. He eyed her as she moved, then snorted approval.

"Don't move your head, please," Hazel said, as the chain slipped from between his hands. Brand huffed and lay down so that the man had to lean forward at an uncomfortable angle to keep working.

They all sat in silence for a while. This time it was Blake who broke it. "You work with the White Fang."

Hazel shot her a wary look. "Yes."

"I saw someone yesterday. Ilia. Is she—"

"Let's get something straight." He shifted so that the chain was propped up on one of his knees and kept filing. "This is neutral ground. Not somewhere you can dig for information."

"That's not what I meant."

"Maybe not. But I'd rather we didn't talk shop, if that's all the same to you." He slipped the file into his pocket and stood up. "I should be going, anyway."

Brand made an unhappy noise and snapped at his heels. Hazel didn't flinch. He just bent down and touched the dragon's brow lightly with two fingers, then left the cave.

There was a long silence. Finally, Blake couldn't take it anymore and asked, "Have you seen Ilia since...?"

Brand lifted a wing to glare at her. "Nno."

"Oh." She fiddled with her hands in her lap. "I hope she... I've been wanting to talk to her."

His wings flared. Blake jumped, startled, and climbed gingerly to her feet with one hand on the wall for balance. "No!" he roared. "Nno 'awk!" Behind her, Weiss grabbed her forearm.

"Okay," she said carefully. "Okay. Why don't you want me to talk to her?"

He hissed, rearing up so that his horns scraped the roof of the cave.

"Talk to me, Brand. Help me understand."

"Wuh... want Lah. Suh-tay."

"You... want Ilia to stay." Blake glanced at Weiss, but she just shrugged helplessly. "Why does that mean you don't want me to talk to her?"

"Truh... ay... turr."

It took several tries to swallow. "Brand... I'd never want to keep her away from you."

"Lake go 'way. Tuh... tell Lah..."

"No. Even if she'd left the White Fang, that's not the same as leaving you. I still come to see you, don't I?"

Brand hissed. "Truh—truh—!"

"Brand, I had to go. I couldn't do it anymore..."

He let out a loud, haunting cry that pinned her ears to her skull. "Ad... Lone!"

"I know."

"Wuh... Wuh..."

"...Why?"

His eyes bore into her, unblinking.

"Because what he was doing was hurting people. It was hurting dragons. And... it was hurting me and you."

"No!" He roared again, and this time there was smoke. "Lie! Lie!" His tail cracked against the wall of the cave, and a shower of broken rock cascaded down from the impact.

"Blake?" Weiss touched her shoulder. "Maybe you should—"

"Look at the chain!" What kind of—"

"No!" Fire washed over the floor of the cave. She tried to jump back, landed on her bad leg, and ended up sprawled on the ground. He didn't attack her—instead he twisted around and grabbed the chain in his jaws, spitting great gouts of flame as he tried to tear it from the wall. As he struggled his tail whipped behind him, passing dangerously close over Weiss' head.

Pit and Specter both squeezed in through the main entrance where they'd been waiting, whistling and rumbling in alarm. But Brand soon burned himself out—his struggles with the chain turned to dull, repetitive tugs until he finally sat back on his haunches, breathing hard. Exhausted.

"Go 'way," he said, hiding behind one wing.

"Brand..." He curled in on himself, his back to her. "I know you loved him." A shiver, running from the tip of his tail up the curve of his spine. "So... so did I. But that doesn't make what he did okay."

A small, thin whine. Then nothing.

She dragged herself closer and, for the first time since before she'd run away, placed a hand on his back. Blake was sure he'd shrug her off and tell her to leave. He just curled up tighter, like he was trying to fold himself up until he disappeared. She moved her hand in soothing circles.

There was a shuffling from behind her as Weiss knelt down on one side. Wisely, she didn't try to touch Brand. Instead she started to hum softly. Blake had never heard the tune before—a flood of notes that rolled out like a waterfall.

"I'm sorry." She was starting to think he was right about her—coward, traitor. Adam and the White Fang hadn't deserved her loyalty... but she'd failed just about everyone who had.

Brand whined again, shivering under her hand. She patted his flank and shook her head. Maybe she hadn't done everything right... but she'd saved Pit. And it wasn't over, either—there had always been wrongs she wanted to set right. The only difference was that now, some of them were her own.

If I were an infant dragon, thought Ilia, where would I go?

Searching was difficult. For one thing, they didn't even have a name to call out. For another... she was bonded to Sienna. Ilia couldn't help but think there must have been a person involved. One of the Fang who thought they deserved a dragon more? A human, trying to disrupt their operations? Hazel, taking their latest success for his boss?

Too many possibilities.

They spread out. The laboratory was left with only a skeleton crew, with everyone else either combing the woods or searching the camp. Ilia skirted around Sienna's tent, hoping she could find some sign... but there was nothing.

Think. If it had been another member of the White Fang... what would be the point? They couldn't possibly hide her for long. A human, then, or at least an outsider. Someone who knew where the camp was.

Hazel.

She curled both hands into fists. That didn't make much sense either, he would have to know they'd catch him. But she made a beeline for the tent he stayed in when he was around, signaling for Justice to be quiet. He hunched over as he walked—was he trying to be stealthy? They needed to work on that at some point.

Ilia glanced around. No one. She peeled back the flap to his tent and slipped inside, pausing only to whisper an order to Justice to stay outside and warn her if Hazel came back. The inside of the tent was dim and sparsely furnished. The only decoration she could see was an ink drawing of a dragon that had been left on his desk.

"Hatchling?" she whispered. "It's me. Ilia. Make noise if you're there."

No response, but that didn't surprise her. She doubted the hatchling would have understood any of that, and he could easily have muzzled her somehow. Still, she couldn't see any boxes big enough to hide a—

Somewhere outside, she heard a thump.

"Justice?" Ilia ran back outside. "Are you okay?"

He was staring off in the direction the sound had come from, his head tilted to one side. "Gud," he said. "Luh... Low-duh."

Ilia followed his gaze, trying to think of where it might have come from—there. A storage tent, pitched right next to Hazel's. Had he hidden her in there, so that if someone found her he wouldn't be blamed? No, that didn't make any sense, surely he would have known someone would find her if... if...

Actually... had anyone checked in there? Probably a cursory look, but if she was locked in a crate...

Ilia circled around to the back of the tent. The flap was closed. She ripped it open and stepped inside, her heart hammering. Would he be in here? She hadn't seen him go out with the search party, what if he—

She froze. So did the dragonet—a strip of jerky was hanging halfway out of her mouth. They stared at one another. Slowly, the hatchling started to chew.

"You..." Ilia couldn't get the words out. She just stared, incredulous, at the destruction the tiny devil had wrought. The thump she'd heard had probably been the heap of crates—once neatly stacked, now scattered across the floor. Three had broken, their contents strewn everywhere. Every sack or box that had been within easy reach was also torn or pried open. Fruits and vegetables, bits of salted meat, grain... all dried out until they wrinkled, cracked, or crumbled. The rabbit Perry had caught in a trap that morning was nothing but bones and scraps of paper-dry skin.

The instant she spoke, everything unfroze. The dragonet shoved the rest of the jerky into her mouth and bolted for the exit—which happened to be behind Ilia.

"No you don't!" She made a grab for the hatchling, but she just slipped between Ilia's legs—only to come to a skidding halt when Justice's head filled the tent's entrance. She squeaked, turned on a dime, and dove into a heap of sacks. In her panic she punctured two of them. Clouds of flour filled the air.

Ilia darted around to the other side just as the hatchling was wriggling free. She just barely managed to snatch her up by the tail. There was an indignant squeal as the dragonet twisted in her grip, latching onto her hand with tiny, needle-sharp claws. Ilia swore and tried to grab for her head, but it was much too late for that. Teeth sank into her wrist, and she could feel her skin cracking wherever the little gremlin touched her.

Justice roared and tried to force his way into the tent. "No!" Ilia said hurriedly—he would definitely bring the whole thing down on their heads. "Get Sienna! Find—ah!" The hatchling scratched the webbing between her thumb and forefinger, startling her so badly she let go of her tail. Just like that she was gone, shooting between two crates.

"Damn it!" Ilia pressed her face to the opening, trying to see where she'd gone.

It didn't take long to realize that had been a bad idea. She jerked back, swearing and holding a hand over her eyes. By the time she blinked a little moisture back, and then wiped away the tears so that she could finally see again, she had no idea where the hatchling was. She pushed the crates apart, but there was nothing between them now.

More crates. All of them were shoved aside, one of them upending and sending cans of soup rolling across the floor. Ilia noticed for the first time that almost everything the dragonet had gotten into had been close to fresh—nothing canned, only a few grains, as if she'd started by poking holes in sacks at random and then learned to hunt through them by smell.

Great, she thought. We created a really excellent thief.

Eventually, Ilia made her way to the last pair of crates. "I know you're there," she growled. "Come out. Now."

Nothing.

She heaved one out of the way and stood poised to make another grab. There was no dragonet—only a small hole torn in the canvas wall.

Ilia stared at it for a moment. Then she tore out of the tent, skidding to a stop as she looked around. There—no, that was a squirrel. Yellow, yellow, she just needed to see a flash of yellow... but there was nothing.

Sienna found her standing outside their food stores, turning in slow circles, still unwilling to accept that the hatchling had gone.

"What happened? Justice was howling."

Ilia swallowed. "Well... I found her." She held up her hand. "It... doesn't look like she wants to come back."

Sienna didn't speak for a long moment. She walked towards the storage tent, peered inside. Assessed the damage. Turned back to Ilia.

"Get that bandaged."

"Sienna—"

"Go. Now. I will deal with this... mess."

With that she strode into the tent. No one bothered her until she came back out. If anyone besides Ilia noticed that they both had red and slightly puffy eyes, they didn't dare mention it.

"...think you'll really like this street, they set it up so all the shops are dragon friendly and there's this park where we could bring Jade and Storm—I mean, we'd have to do it later since they're back at Beacon right now, but we could! And I know it's probably super different from Haven, or I guess I don't know, I was only there for the Festival and most of that was right around the school, so..."

Ruby paused for breath, then grinned nervously. "Um... you can just bop me on the head if you want me to stop. It's what Yang does."

"Why would I do that? It's cute."

Emerald watched in mild amusement as Ruby flapped her hands a few times before stuffing them into her pockets. Weird, to be saying all these things and actually feeling them.

A little bit. She was fun to fluster, and maybe the babbling was kind of endearing. Just a small, manageable thing. Emerald wouldn't let it get in the way.

They turned a corner. Supposedly they were here because Emerald had never been to Vale before, but she suspected Yang probably had ulterior motives for suggesting it. Mercury definitely had ulterior motives for supporting the idea.

It was nice enough. The weather had improved over the past week or so, which meant they were walking through streets that were clean of snow, with shafts of sunlight reflecting off store windows full of dragon-friendly products. This was the kind of clean, friendly neighborhood that always had a way of making Emerald feel like an impostor.

"Ooh!" Ruby pointed through one window, where a selection of knitted scarves long enough to abseil with were displayed. "I bet those are on clearance!"

A small smile crooked at the corner of Emerald's mouth. Unwelcome. "What's Storm going to do with a winter scarf in spring?"

"I was thinking maybe I could get one for her and one for Pit, and give it to them next year. I'd have to find something for Fang and Specter, too. Um..." Ruby glanced around the street. "I guess there's always chew toys for Fang, and Specter really likes flavored ice."

"You're already planning Yule presents for your team's dragons?"

"Well..." Ruby gestured wildly at the scarves. "They look cool!"

Emerald shrugged. "Suit yourself." She tilted her head back to scan the shop fronts. Remembered the way lights spilled from inside at night, pooling on the ground in neat squares, cutting up the shadows between streetlights. That wonderful, glowing world, always out of reach. Until a hand came down...

"I'm sorry."

She came back to herself with a small start. "What?"

"I mean, um... after your teammates... I shouldn't have talked about, um... and now I'm realizing bringing it up probably just makes it worse, and—"

"It's fine. We weren't that close, honestly."

"Oh."

There was a question she wanted to ask, lodged in her throat. She'd pushed too far, too fast with Rivers—and how could she even think of that now? How could she compare this to her failure at Haven, when Cinder didn't need this girl?

Cinder had saved her. The plan was what mattered, not whether or not she could turn one student. One irritating—

"Hey." Ruby poked her shoulder. "Are you, um..." She stopped, put a palm to her face. Started again, muffled this time, "Sorry. Yang's way better at this than me." Her hand dropped. "Do you want to talk about it, or go do something fun and distracting?"

Emerald steeled herself and asked, "Do you think they were right?"

"Huh?"

"My teammates."

"Oh." Ruby rubbed her arms, as if suddenly cold. "Um... I don't really know. The woman on the news seems... scary."

Emerald bit back a retort. "But?"

"The council are... not good. Really not good."

Hard not to laugh at that. Not the good kind of laughter, either.

"You think so?"

Ruby's brow furrowed. Emerald hoped she hadn't sounded as sarcastic as she felt. "What they did to Tornado was wrong. People keep telling us we should wait until we're older to do something about it, but I became a rider because I wanted to help people. I mean, there's all this bad stuff in the world that we can't fix. But... even if I can't fix everything, I want to be a rider so I can fix some things. Leave the world a little better than I found it."

"Is that a yes, then?"

Ruby winced.

Had Emerald put herself too much in the role of devil's advocate? She'd been hoping to goad Ruby into arguing her side for her, then cave and agree, but if she seemed upset by her teammates leaving then she might try to make her feel better, and—

"Kind of?" Ruby rubbed the back of her head. "I think I agree with them on what should happen, but... there are a lot of people that have good causes that I agree with on paper. And some of them just did something that really hurt someone I care about. So... I don't like the council. But I'm not sure I can trust someone who keeps stealing eggs, either."

Emerald nodded slowly, even as it felt like her stomach was boiling. "So you don't want things to change if that means violence." Won't get your hands dirty.

"That's not what I meant." Ruby frowned, and for a moment something twisted in Emerald's chest—always the same mistake, too far too fast—but she was only trying to articulate what she wanted to say. "I want... I want them to just stop. Build places where dragons that can't fight can retire, have scientists designing stuff to help them work around disabilities, that kind of thing."

It was impossible to suppress the derisive snort. "Whatever world you're living in sounds a lot nicer than the real one."

"I know it won't happen like that." Ruby crossed her arms. "But just because it's harder to change things without hurting people doesn't mean there's no point in trying. There are a lot of people who say that violence is necessary. And sometimes they don't mean, 'I've tried everything else, and thought about it a lot, and decided the harm I'm doing now is worth the change I can make happen later.' They just mean that it's easier."

Emerald opened her mouth, but no response was forthcoming.

"So... I don't think your teammates did the wrong thing. A lot of students at Haven probably didn't have a choice, if their dragons would have been culled. I just... even if I'm never going to get that perfect fix, where the council stop what they're doing and change their ways... I need to know I at least tried. If that makes sense?"

Emerald closed her mouth.

"But... I feel like you were asking less about whether your teammates made the right choice, and more about what you should do. Which, um... I mean, I'm not the boss of you or anything." Ruby grinned nervously. "Just, if you wanted advice or anything, I think... there might be a lot wrong with what those people are doing. They kinda set my neighbor's broodery on fire."

Shit!

"But they haven't done anything that comes close to what the council did to Tornado, and... doing nothing feels like it's saying that the way things are now is okay, and it's not. I know it's scary, and it can feel like anything we do might just make things worse, but..." A small, lopsided grin. "I'd rather regret trying than giving up. Hopefully that helps?"

A pause. A horrified look slowly dawned on Ruby's face. "Wow I've been talking for a long time, I was serious when I said you could just tap me when I do that. And I—I'm really sorry, I didn't mean to—!"

"No, it's fine." Emerald blinked back to life. "Just... processing."

Ruby made a small, agonized noise.

Emerald forced herself to smile. "I think you're right. About trying instead of giving up."

"Oh." Ruby sagged with obvious relief. "That's good! I was starting to—" and she clapped a hand over her own mouth.

"What?"

"...Sorry. Again. I swear I'm not usually this bad, I just—"

"You really don't have to apologize." The smile wasn't forced, now. It had taken on a life of its own. "I'm the one who brought it up. Maybe we could go back to window-shopping for a bit, to lighten the mood?"

"Yes, please!"

Ruby got ahead of her in her excitement—or maybe nervousness. Emerald hung back a little, watching the red cape flapping at her heels, choking on a warm feeling that wasn't supposed to belong to someone like that. Someone so irritatingly naive and childish and...

...Someone else.

She squeezed her eyes shut and remembered the hand that had reached for her, remembered searing eyes, remembered what she needed to do here. There wasn't room for complications.

Ruby turned around and jumped up and down, pointing to something in a shop window.

Too late. Emerald jogged to catch up, keeping her smile in place as her heart sank. It didn't matter that it wasn't part of the plan. She needed to turn this one to their cause.

Whitley's toes scraped against the ground as he kicked and squirmed. Then they left it altogether, flailing uselessly in midair as he was hauled upwards by the hood of Rusty's jacket.

"Glacier! Stop it!"

The dragon ignored him. He must have understood that—Father had definitely taught him the stop command.

Whitley was eye-level with the first branches of the tree, now. It was massive, several feet around at the base of its trunk. He dared to look down and shouted, "No! Down!" The forest floor had slipped away, and his bare feet were dangling at least fifteen feet off the ground. Glacier had stretched his neck up as far as it would go. The tree's lowest branch was even with Whitley's stomach.

Slowly, carefully, Glacier draped him over the branch. He yelped, swore, and clawed at the bark trying to get a hold as the dragon let go. Driven by some panicked instinct, he hooked one leg over the branch so that he was straddling it.

"Glacier," he said, not daring to look at the ground. "Get me down. Now."

Footsteps.

"Glacier!" Whitley twisted around to look, then froze when he slipped slightly. A wave of nausea washed over him. He waited for it to pass, breathing hard, trying not to lose his... well. He wouldn't call it a lunch. Glacier had killed a deer and, obviously very pleased with himself, dropped one of its legs—completely raw—into Whitley's lap. He'd taken a bite, forced himself to swallow. Taken another, spat it out. After that, he'd given up.

When he finally recovered enough to look around, Glacier was gone.

"Useless lizard!"

He'd come back. Probably. The dragon had put him down before he went hunting for the deer, though that time he'd just dropped him in a clearing and wandered away. Whitley, not realizing what was going on, had tried to follow and gotten lost. Glacier eventually found him, blew a puff of cold air into his face, and returned him to his back.

Whitley sighed and leaned back against the tree trunk, squinting against the sun. At least it was getting warmer. He could almost feel his toes, now. That could change the moment it rained, though, and there was a cloud to the east that looked—

Not a cloud. Smoke.

He startled so badly he almost fell out of the tree. Bringing up a hand to shade his eyes, he could just make out a wisp of grey against the blue sky. Probably too small to be a forest fire... campers? No... there were others, smaller, fanning out behind the first. A town?!

Whitley looked at the ground, and had to cling to the tree through another wave of dizziness. Still very far away. He glanced towards the smoke. If it was a town... they would have scrolls. He could call Father and be back at the manor by nightfall.

If it wasn't a town... he could only think of one other reason there would be that many fires in one place. A large campsite. The kind the White Fang might have if they had chased him and Glacier into the woods.

He doubted he could convince Glacier to go that way. But if he made it home, he could tell people where the dragon was and have them collect him. It came down to the question of whether or not the people there were the sort who would help him.

Did it matter? He had no food, no shoes—they'd fallen off of Glacier while Whitley was sleeping. The first rainfall would kill him, if starvation didn't do the job first. This could be his only chance.

He looked down again. There was a bush growing near the foot of the tree. If he lowered himself down...

Whitley squeezed his eyes shut. Think, he told himself. At worst, you break an ankle. You could still get to the smoke. Fifteen feet, or close to it. Minus another seven or eight feet, if he hung from his hands. Seven feet. Plus he'd be landing on something soft. Ish.

"I hate this place." He swung his leg back over the branch. Gripped it hard in both hands. And slid.

There was a painful jerk in his shoulders. His hands were torn from the branch. For an instant he was frozen, suspended. Then he was on his back, his legs tangled in the bush, brambles digging into his bare feet, staring up at the sky.

"Hate," he mumbled, but he didn't have the energy to finish the sentence.

It took what felt like hours to reach the smoke. He limped the whole way—he didn't think he'd broken anything since he could still walk, but his knees were sore and he kept stepping wrong on tree roots and rocks. The closer he got, the more his hands shook. If they were the White Fang...

He kept to the thickest undergrowth as best he could, drawing closer at an angle, moving agonizingly slowly. Then, through a break in the trees, he saw buildings. A wave of relief. This was a permanent settlement, so surely—

A woman walked out of the building he was observing. There was a pair of rounded black ears poking out from under her hair. Whitley ducked behind the nearest tree and clung to it, his heart beating in his throat.

He chanced a peek. She was carrying a basket of flowers. No weapons.

Whitley glanced back towards the forest. He could just leave... and die of starvation or exposure. Gritting his teeth, he flipped Rusty's hood over his face. His hair, he was sure, was already a tangled mess, and possibly dirty enough that it didn't look white anymore. Enough, maybe, that they wouldn't recognize him if they weren't looking for him. And, as he watched, he could see that some of the villagers were human.

By some luck he would have called awful a week ago—though by this point it was pretty much standard—the first person who noticed him was a young man with a horse's tail. Flowers were braided into it, as well as his hair. He tilted his head to one side, obviously bewildered.

"Uh, can I help you?"

Whitley glanced at the forest, tugging his hood a little further over his head. Could the man see his hair? "I need to use your scroll."

Hesitation. "Um... look, kid, I'd be happy to, but I don't actually have one."

"What?"

"Old man Otto has one for emergencies, but he's out fishing."

"You have one scroll. In the entire town."

The man scowled. "Yeah. We live out here because we're not helpless without an umbilical cord to the big city like—"

Behind him, someone coughed pointedly. It was the woman from earlier, still holding the basket of flowers braced on one hip. "Colt. I think he's asking because he needs some help."

Colt blinked, then glanced at Whitley's bare feet. "Oh."

"Where are your parents, hon?"

Hon? Whitley grimaced, but otherwise let it slide without comment. "They live in Mantle," he lied.

Both faunus shared an incredulous look. "How did you even...?" Colt trailed off.

Whitley knew asking would make them even more suspicious, but he needed to know. "Where am I, exactly? What kingdom?"

Another glance between the two, even more alarmed.

"This is Vale, sweetie," the woman said slowly, like he was a frightened deer. "I'm guessing you got lost?"

"Yes." For a very warped definition of lost.

"Alright... It's going to be okay." She smiled and stuck out a hand. "I'm Basi."

Whitley didn't take it.

To her credit, she recovered well. "Otto should be back in a few hours. I don't think he'd mind if I broke in, but he keeps the scroll in a strongbox and I don't have the key."

Damn it. "I need it now." Whitley glanced towards the forest. He thought he saw a shadow moving and jumped, but there was nothing there.

Colt noticed. "Hey, kid, is somebody after you?"

"No." Too quick. Stupid. He was usually better at this.

"How about you stay in my living room while we wait?" Basi suggested.

"No." Whitley shook his head and backed up a step. A bead of sweat trickled down the back of his neck. He was sure he could see something moving in the woods, now. If the White Fang came he'd be caught between them and the village. He should have stayed in the tree, he should have stayed in the manor, everything kept going wrong...

"We can keep you safer—"

"No!"

And as he shouted, a furious shriek echoed him. A tree shook, cracked, and toppled. Glacier bounded out from behind it, his wings flared and his lips peeled back to show those dagger teeth.

Whitley remembered this. People with guns, confusion, shouting... then limp forms on the ground. Glacier licking his wounds.

"Stop!" He held out his hands. Glacier kept running, deep blue eyes narrowed, staring at the two villagers with murderous intent.

My fault, my fault, stupid stupid stupid—

Whitley jumped in the dragon's path, squeezed his eyes shut. Waited for an impact that didn't come.

When he dared peek, he found himself staring into one pupil—it was blown wide, dark and fathomless. Slowly, hardly daring to breathe, Whitley reached out... and gently laid a hand on the dragon's brow. Glacier's eyes slid halfway closed, though they were still trained on the two faunus behind him.

Whitley couldn't help marveling at what he'd just stopped. Several tons of muscle and hard scales and sharp spines. The kind of strength that had ripped through a fully grown tree without a second glance. And yet... Glacier had listened to him. A strange tingling went from his fingertips to the back of his neck, like being injected with static electricity. Powerful.

A noise from behind him. He half-turned his head. Colt had fallen on his rump and was gaping at them both. Basi's basket was on the ground, the flowers scattered, one hand curled against her chest as if to still her heart.

"You're..." she breathed. They hadn't recognized Whitley... but no one could mistake Glacier.

Well, he thought wryly, if the White Fang weren't on their way, they will be now.

"Boots," he said. "Socks, too. Camping gear... matches, water, a blanket. Things like that. Food, if you have anything nonperishable."

Colt was the first to catch on. "Uh... we, well..."

Whitley patted Glacier's head. "We wouldn't want this one to get out of hand, after all."

More villagers had noticed the commotion. Whitley repeated his demands, louder this time. Glacier tensed when some of them tried to approach, flared his wings again. They retreated. Colt scrambled away, crab-like, and hit his head on the wall of a nearby cottage.

"I need to use the scroll."

Basi paled. "We really can't get to it right now—"

"Fine." Whitley backed up a few steps. "Fine. I want to be gone soon." Judging by the looks on their faces, they couldn't agree more.

By the time Whitley left, a little more than half an hour later, Otto was still out fishing. He wondered with detached amusement what would happen when he got back. Would he would think the whole village was playing a joke on him?

Whitley hitched his new backpack over his shoulders and clambered up onto Glacier's back, his toes pleasantly warm in his new boots and thick woolen socks.