AUTHOR'S NOTE: It's me, back to revive this ridiculously old fandom with yet another fic. Some quick notes: Book of the Harvest is a follow-up to Book of the Winds, and there have been some significant changes to canon since then. Wouldn't recommend diving in without reading that first. Both are also available to read on AO3. Because edits on AO3 are much easier, the chapters there will likely be edited over time, and will be a bit cleaner than the ones here. You'll occasionally see footnotes with quick commentary on details or changes to the series. In terms of updates: Harvest's backlog of chapters isn't as large as Wind's when it was initially published, so it'll take a minute to find my rhythm. But hoping to post a chapter every couple weeks or so.

On that note, beloveds, thanks for reading. It feels good to be back.

A New Start

The Countess D

Even in sleep, the hunter's gun was kept warm by a trembling hand. Hubb wasn't sure he felt safer for it. He'd become accustomed to Quent's smell since the start of their unlikely trek—alcohol, the sweat that follows it, and camphor, oddly enough—but the hunter's paranoia was another thing altogether. Even in the best of Quent's moods, it lay between them, ready to catch at the tiniest spark. A tap against the car. A shadow on the roadside. Obviously, any mention of moons and dogs.

A couple nights ago, after a particularly brutal bump in the road, it had taken a fraction of a second for Quent to wake and swing his gun to the car roof. Hubb had nearly killed them both at the sound of a bullet punching a new hole above the passenger seat, swerving as if that might have saved him from Quent's bad aim. He took it as a win that the windshield and his hearing escaped unscathed.

Now, Quent didn't have the energy to cause trouble. One might've assumed that it was Cher who tamed him, but by the twitching of his fingers and the scent of his sweat—sour, now that it had been some time since their last bar—Hubb's guess was that he'd run out of fuel.

Assuming the maps were right, he'd have to make do. They wouldn't be coming upon another town for a long while.

Hubb was still wrapping his head around the last one, where Cher had emerged before him like an apparition from the mist. "I'm going to Lord Darcia's Keep," she'd said later, above a glass of shitty whiskey, with an achingly familiar set to her jaw. Hubb had seen it plenty in the moments when she'd made up her mind. We're having fish for dinner, or there's no future for us, or I'm taking the job. He saw it frequently until he didn't, that staunch look that preceded decisions both big and small.

How had he acquiesced to her back then? Lamely, like a child being led to school, he assumes. It was one of those things she'd held against him when their marriage went south, how Hubb went along with her whims without any investment on his part. It made her sick to see it, she'd said, going along with her only to check off a box.

So he'd never forget the look on her face when he finally matched her determination with his own. "I'm going with you," Hubb declared.

So westward they'd gone.

He glanced at Cher for what must have been the millionth time that hour. She shifted in the passenger seat, that lonely bullet hole lighting a dim circle on the crown of her head. He knew what she would say before she said it, the exact tone with which she murmured, "Yes?"

Hubb dipped his chin in an attempt to hide his smile. "I still can't believe you're here."

Cher peered out her window. "There have been stranger things."

Quent snoring away in the backseat was proof enough that that was true, never mind the pagan book Hubb was lugging around. He'd told Cher that it seemed like something insane was about to happen, and even that seemed like a poor approximation of the foreboding that had set upon him since he'd been called to interrogate a drunk in Freeze City, raving about wolves.

Hubb shook off the thought to focus on the woman beside him, digging deep for the old wellspring of his charm. "I'm glad we could be one of them."

There was no mistaking the blush on her cheeks, or that smirk on her face. Hubb found it familiar too, the memories it surfaced far warmer, revisited on many a lonely night. But when it seemed that Cher had found her reply, Hubb was overcome by a sudden yawn.

The smirk faded, their tentative dance forgotten. "Want me to drive a bit?"

Hubb brushed a knuckle against the teary corner of his eye. "No, I'm fine."

"Hubb."

"Cher, trust me. I can power through. We'll be there in a couple of hours—" He was quieted by a touch on his forearm, so light he thought he'd bumped against the gear shift. But no, it was just Cher, reaching for him and frowning as if this were just another road trip.

"Let me," she said, "You've been driving all day."

As Hubb stopped the car, Quent didn't stir one inch. The night was cool, the stars winking. He blinked back at them as she opened the car door, her heels soft on the dirt.

"It's beautiful isn't it?" He drew in a deep breath. The air was still stale out here, but there was something novel to it, the breeze unfiltered by a dome. "I never thought I'd see a sky like this."

"You were never really interested, as far as I remember."

"Nah. You were always the adventurous one."

"And you held down the fort."

They looked at each other above their squat, trash heap of a car. Cher turned from Hubb's smile. "Listen. This doesn't mean—"

"I know." He chuckled at the predictability of it all. Her caution against his ease. It felt freeing to mean it when he said, "I know, Cher. It doesn't have to mean a thing."

Her breath clouded between them. "Come on. You should get some sleep."

They walked towards each other then past, crossing paths to swap seats. As Hubb gripped the top of the passenger door, the metal cold against his palm, there was a rumbling in the distance. He froze in place, looking once more to Cher. "Did you—"

"I did." She was already peering down the road, her expression wrought with a worry that made his own heart race.

Unnerved by her stare, Hubb said, "You don't think—"

A crash. Hubb turned in time to see the sky alight, the pure intensity of the blast blotting out the stars. There was another flash, another explosion before the night had a chance to go dark.

As a battle began to unfold before their eyes, Quent jolted awake. He clambered to his window, poking his head out and hoarsely shouting against the battle's roar. "What the hell is going on?"

"The castle," Cher said. "They're attacking the castle."

"Orkham is?" Hubb asked, remembering the grim faces he'd seen hovering above news of the Nobleman's assassination.

She shook her head. "Jaguara."

"Jaguara?" Quent said, but the name was swallowed whole by the storm of fire raining on the distant keep.

They'd heard of the fury of the Nobles. It struck Hubb that only Cher, perhaps, had witnessed it first hand. One day, he might ask how it compared to the show they had now, with the sky flashing colors Hubb had no name for besides alien, heavenly, or hellish. Before long, a pitch pierced their ears and the lights steadied, assaulting their eyes with false daybreak.

By good sense or by instinct, they lifted their forearms to shield themselves as a wave of heat swept through them, the ground trembling beneath their feet.

They were slow to remember themselves. Hubb pressed his forehead against his sleeve, dabbing at his sweat and confirming the continued existence of his brow. There was nothing but their motley crew and the dead of night waiting for him when he finally opened his eyes.

They stared ahead, knowing the wreckage without seeing it. Out of their element, all of them—useless husband, raving hunter, runaway wife—their plans gone up in smoke.

"What now?" Quent said.

Hubb turned to Cher and watched her piece it all together. Without replying, she slid into the driver's seat and turned the key.

Hubb climbed into the car as the engine roared to life. Quent leaned forward between their seats, his breath rank. "You gonna answer me or what?"

"We're tailing her ships," Cher replied, guiding the car into a three-point turn on the narrow road.

"The ships?"

Hubb leaned back in his seat and watched Cher as she leaned forward, her gaze rising to the top of the windshield as the shadows went soaring past. He smiled and closed his eyes.

That's Cher for you, he thought. A whole battle lost, and she didn't miss a beat.

It was appropriate that the town they'd wandered to appeared to be on its last legs. It seemed to match what they felt, their limbs leaden after the long journey and their hearts even heavier. Kuri surveyed the empty streets, the drawn and sun-weathered faces. It was a place accustomed to serving as a way station for the aimless and lonely. The residents barely glanced at them as they passed by.

"This place doesn't look like much," she said. "Are we really stopping here?"

Tsume frowned. Together, they watched Kiba lead them through the streets, their unspoken leader always marching a few steps ahead.

Kiba was even quieter than usual as of late. He kept to himself when they weren't moving, spoke only when absolutely necessary ever since they'd woken in the marsh to lick their wounds. They went east, having few other paths to choose from, emerging from the wetlands and traveling past other towns. But for whatever reason, this morning Kiba had stood before them with a renewed spark in his eye and a determined interest in this one.

"Guess we needed to stop and get some intel eventually," Tsume finally said.

"S'pose so," Kuri murmured. At his mention of intel, she fought the urge to glance at Hige beside them.

Toboe was less tactful. He turned to Hige only to cover his interest with a clumsy smile."It's not like we're all healed up either. I bet Hige wouldn't mind more rest, right?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

It was one of those rare instances where even Kiba stopped in his tracks. Hige hadn't snapped exactly, but Kuri wondered whether they would have preferred that he did. Instead his tone was soft, so cold as to be jarring. Even as they turned to look at him, Hige walked a few more steps forward, staring ahead in an effort to spare Toboe from his scowl.

Toboe stammered, his hands lifting in a show of surrender. "I just meant—Rafe really did a number on you back there… so…"

A bitter scoff. "Yeah, well, Kiba and Tsume got the brunt of it."

"But you got hurt too!"

"Toboe's trying to be nice," Kuri cut in. "We're all recovering. He's just including you. That's all."

There was a long wait before Hige flashed a stiff smile. With a shrug, he said, "Whatever. Guess I need some rest after all."

"We passed a park down that way," Tsume said, jabbing a thumb towards a street behind them. Park was a generous term. Any greenery was long gone now, the space marked only by a dried up fountain and desert dust. "Small, but it'll do."

"No."

Tsume looked to Kiba and raised a brow. "No?"

Kiba looked aside. "There should be a warehouse around here or something… Something to get us out of the sun."

"Didn't know you were so picky."

Kiba dismissed him with a turn of the heel. "Come on."

Kuri stared at his back as he pushed on. Not long after, Tsume sighed and followed, with Toboe quickly following suit. Before she could do the same, Hige said, "Same old Kiba, huh?"

She watched him run a hand through his hair with a guarded smile. "Guess so."

"Feels good." He dragged a foot across the dust and stared at the path it carved. "After everything that's happened, it's nice to know some things never change."

Kuri stared. Hige was the eldest of them, she knew. But with his throat bare and yellowed with a healing bruise, he looked so young.

It had been a battle in itself to tell him the truth. They'd only mustered up the courage after starting their travel. Not long after they left the wetlands, Hige was rendered immobile by a stabbing ache behind his eyes. They found him in the morning, curled onto his side, his skin dewed with sweat.

He was still joking then, a shade closer to the Hige they'd always known. "Don't suppose you got any herbs to fix a headache, huh, runt?" He'd said, his attempt at a grin soured to a grimace.

"I could look for some," Toboe offered, his hands floundering at his sides. "I just… I don't know if they'd work for… for something like this."

"Something like what?" In their silence, Hige's face fell. "You think I got a concussion?"

The rest of them exchanged a glance, waiting for someone, anyone, to be the first to speak. Finally, Tsume said, "Not exactly."

Hige had been trembling since waking, but suddenly, he froze. "Then what?"

"He means—" Kuri hesitated, sorting through all the possible words. "Have you seen anything since they started? Like… things from before you joined the pack? Memories? Dreams?"

She could have gone a lifetime without seeing Hige's horrified stare.

Kuri forgave herself for stumbling through the explanation. The deal Atra made, the world shared by Nobles and wolves that Rafe described—neither were easy to explain. Hige was silent through it all, stunned still. When he finally managed to make a sound, it was another half-hearted laugh.

"You've gotta be kidding me. You're crazy…" He sat up, the movement pained and slow. "You're saying that I'm—You really believe that?"

"All we know is that Rafe really is working with the Nobles. Atra saw it with her own eyes." Kuri paused, before adding, "I guess we all did."

"So he has plenty of reason to lie!" Hige looked to the others, searching for an ally. He fixed on Kiba, his voice threatening to lift into a frantic pitch. "At the end of the day, we don't even know where Atra came from. You dug her up, we ran around a bit, and she picked a side. I mean—you really don't think it's suspicious that this is all coming out after she left?"

There was a twitch in Kiba's expression, the slightest wrinkle in his brow. Beside him, Toboe shook his head. "But if Atra's on their side, you're saying Kuri is, too."

"Maybe I am!"

Kuri was still stammering around a response when Tsume snapped beside her. "Kuri's loyal." He hesitated, glancing at her with uncharacteristic bashfulness before adding, "Throwing more accusations around doesn't change the fact that Rafe made a point of chasing after you."

Hige fell quiet, settling on glaring at Tsume in lieu of a reply.

"I'm not saying those questions aren't worth asking," Kuri began, "But if it's all just a lie, where did you get your collar, Hige?"

They struggled to decipher the look on his face. They kept watching, waiting for an answer to come. No surprise that it was Toboe to break the silence, announcing that he'd go looking for those herbs after all. Silence followed in his wake, and without a final word, they moved on.

Since then, Hige had trudged along aside all of them, a shade of himself. Though he kept things light when he spoke, his humor had become scarce. And though they were all burning to hear what this new Hige might have seen or known, they loved him too much to ask.

He'd forgiven Kuri, at least, for presenting him with the question and breaking the news. By the time the town had appeared on the horizon, the cloud of accusations had cleared. They were amicable again. Friends.

As the others walked forward, Kuri took a step towards Hige to loop an arm through his. "We should get going. You want the best spot to nap, don't you?"

A dry chuckle. Not a real laugh, but something close. Hige nodded, pulling her closer as if in thanks. "Yeah. I do."

The warehouse was as Kiba said—large enough to house their measly pack and then some, with a roof that shielded them from the desert sun. He lingered at the center of the room as his companions sprawled across the wreckage of machinery. It was an abandoned part of town, largely deserted. Enough so that even Tsume didn't worry about the gaping entrance to their shelter, a wide maw flanked by metal doors.

"You gonna lie down or what?"

It was Tsume who'd spoken, frowning at him from the curve of a metal archway at the center of the room. Kiba shook his head, unsurprised by the groans that followed the gesture.

"But you got hurt the worst," Toboe reminded him. "And you haven't even let yourself rest."

Of course he hadn't. How could he? It was one thing to heal, another to rest when there was so much to do, and scarcely any time.

"It's fine." Kiba turned back towards the open door. It had taken them longer than he'd expected to find this place. The sun was falling towards the horizon, the light going gold.

The town was a shabby one, but its residents weren't so forlorn as to forego the indulgences of a bar. They'd passed it on their way here, a neon sign dim in the window. He wondered how far gone a drunk would be at this hour; whether it would be prudent for him to do a sweep.

"Kiba." This time it was Kuri studying him from across the room. "You'd tell us if you needed help, right?"

Hige snorted. "Fat chance."

Kiba narrowed his eyes. Without answering, he moved towards the exit.

"Where are you going now?" Toboe exclaimed.

He looked at them over his shoulder, pretending not to see Kuri's frown. "Quick scan of downtown. I'll be back soon."

Sit in the corner, eavesdrop on the customers. The strategy was easy enough, but at this drinking hour and bereft of a partner, Kiba couldn't find the heart to deploy it. Lucky for him, the bar offered simpler alternatives. He slipped into the alley beside the building, quickly identifying a spot just out of reach of the pungent refuse seeping out of the nearby dumpster. He sank onto the ground and tipped his head against the brick. He perked his ears to catch the voices inside.

"You call this piss whiskey? The fuck am I paying for?"

"If you think you can find anything better within five miles of here, leave. Be my guest."

There was a window, small and thin, overhead. Enough for Kiba to hear the clinking of glass, the low conversations that would turn raucous, and the occasional belch. He closed his eyes, relaxing his limbs and letting them splay to give off the appearance of a weary traveler for the sober or a stray for the drunken, settled down for a nap.

It wasn't entirely a lie. Kiba was weary. His wounds, at least, were healing. But even moonlight couldn't soothe the deeper ailment of being worn and sapped and drained and all the other words that approximated the exhaustion in his bones.

Cheza, gone. Atra, bleeding and gone. That woman, Hamona, swept away by the wind, taking the vivid detail of visions along with her.

Kiba could never claim to be patient, but he was hopeful, at least, when they'd set out from the marsh. A way to change course, information to help us, memories gone dormant. All pretty ways to describe what Atra had sold herself for. And at the very least, after all their bad luck and with Hige's collar gone, Kiba thought maybe, just maybe, it wouldn't be long before those memories began to rise.

He waited a day, then two. The moon swelled overhead, lighting their path. But still, Hige said nothing, and they continued to be oblivious to what lay ahead. No memories, no info. From where things stood now, it was unclear whether removing his collar had awoken anything in Hige at all. Perhaps a renewed loyalty to Lady Jaguara at worst, an identity crisis at best. But with each passing day it was becoming patently clear that they'd gambled and lost.

In their doubt, the absence of Kiba's own memories pricked at him, giving him the sense that they were finally, truly, running blind. Not since Darcia's ship had he heard that awful ringing in his ears.

Until last night.

"You hear about those old geezers?"

"The ones with the van? Can't say I understand 'em, running off like that."

"Say what you will about this place, but it's got its priorities straight. She'll run out of people before she runs out of booze."

He'd had the same old nightmare that had plagued him since the marsh. The entire world dark but for the pool at the center. Cheza standing at the heart of it, the tips of her toes balanced on the water's surface. She heard his approach, turning towards him, beckoning.

Kiba, she greeted. This one has been waiting. You're finally here.

He ran to her—he always would—only to sink, the pool turning vengeful with each step.

She was lost before he could reach her. What she became changed from time to time. Sometimes she dissolved into leaves, sometimes the floating puffs of seeds. It began at the toes, her fingertips. An unfelt breeze carrying the remnants of the maiden far from him.

Her smile was invariably the last to go.

In her absence, Kiba would feel a weight in his arms. If he dared to look: Atra wide-eyed, laying limp, her middle shredded and torn. If he didn't, he would see bodies at the edges of the water. Tsume, Hige, Toboe, Kuri, unconscious and gashed as they were on the forest floor.

In all iterations, it ended with him alone, standing waist-deep in a pool gone red.

"Duren, you piece of shit! Where've ya' been?"

"Nice to see you, too."

"Can I get you a drink?"

"Staying dry tonight. Can't have you assholes taking me for a ride."

Last night, Kiba had hurtled awake, his heart thundering. Tsume was kind enough to ignore him as he walked off to clear his mind, sparing Kiba from any questions and, better yet, his sympathy. They both knew by now Kiba's restlessness, his habit of soothing himself by seeking moonlight on higher ground.

Kiba walked to a nearby slope that offered him a decent view. From there, he could see the town, the silhouette of its small, square buildings cut into the dark.

The moon was just a sliver above him. He found himself staring at it, trying to slow his heartbeat with thoughts of kinder things. But he'd dared to look that night, had seen Atra eviscerated in his arms, and his conviction that these nightmares were fiction unlike the gift Hamona had given him—the Atra that had reached him against reason and odds, improbable but real—was getting weaker by the day.

He took a breath and focused his thoughts on naming the moon's shape. A crescent, an eyelash, a curve. A scythe, a wing, a raft. He gave it new form, letting his mind wander, circling and beginning to dip into sleep when an image flashed before his eyes.

Kiba sat up with a gasp. It was only an instant, but he'd seen it. Black fur. Two metal doors. His heart quickened once more as his eyes roved the landscape, seeking answers. Finally, he fixed his stare on that cutout of a town in the distance.

Mercifully, wondrously, his ears began to ring.

"You got a girl for me or what?"

A chuckle. "I got a girl for you."

"That city broad?" A pause. Another laugh. "Don't tell me she got away. That little thing?"

"Yeah, yeah, Wes had to get stitches because of that little thing. Bites like her bitch."

Kiba's eyes cracked open as the drunk inside replied, "Whaddya mean?"

"She kept a dog in that abandoned warehouse downtown. Ran while we were fighting it off. Mean, black thing." A shuffling. Ice tinkling. "We managed to take it down. At worst we sell it. But we figured, might as well keep it around a bit and see if she comes back."

Kiba frowned as another laugh rang out from inside. If he had convinced the passersby that he was asleep a minute ago, that subterfuge was long gone. He found himself sitting up against the brick as the story was spun, waiting for the next sentence with every muscle taut.

He half-entertained the thought of storming in to tell this man he was mistaken. Dog wasn't hers, he might say. But even now, after all that had happened, a knot pulled tight in his gut at the very thought of what would come next—telling this stranger, She's mine.

"She well-behaved? The dog."

A high-pitched hem. "Well enough, once we got 'er."

A grunt. A sloppy sound of a drink being drunk, teeth clacking on the glass. "Whichever one you end up with, I'll take her."

"Lil' greedy aren't we?"

Another laugh. "You gonna blame me? World as it is…" The man inside snorted, cloth rustling as he wiped his spittle or snot across his sleeve. "Dog or woman, could use either."

Kiba grimaced. He'd heard more than enough.

He would have to reorient himself to identify this Duren. Cross the street to another alley, where he could stake out the entrance of the bar. But as he shifted on the dirt, he realized there was another obstacle watching him in the alley, a scent cloaked by the dumpster's rot.

Even after their rocky start, he was sure that Kuri had never looked so upset with him, so eager to be unkind. Having been noticed, she walked closer, holding his gaze and crossing her arms.

When she stood over him, glaring down at him with all of her height, Kiba knew there was no hiding from her. He'd heard enough, and so had she.