Chapter 3. Probably one more chapter after this one.

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Kent was asleep for only a couple hours, and it was filled with disturbing images of what had occurred. He woke up feeling worse than he had before. His head ached, his now crusty shoulder throbbed, and he felt incredibly thirsty. This part of the camp was quiet, as evening was approaching, and the eerie calm seemed to mimic how Kent felt. He looked around, but there was no sign of the healers-no sign of anyone, except for the sound of someone-probably Karel-sharpening a blade. He supposed it wasn't as odd as it appeared; no one liked to hang around the healing tent anyway. It symbolized failure, and Kent certainly felt that was true. He had failed, and now Sain was there.

He stood, then leaned heavily against the tent as a wave of dizziness washed over him. He ignored it though, and what it may implicate, as he checked the area once more. If none of the healers were here, they couldn't stop him from seeing Sain, and it wasn't like he could hurt anything by doing so. He smiled bitterly and slipped inside the tent.

The inside was dark, and Kent had to squint to see his friend lying on the other side. The tent was large, but it was only erected during battles, in case of incidences like the one today. Another wave of guilt washed over him, and for a moment Kent felt like crying out. He was almost drowning in it, and he felt that he had to talk to Sain in order to free himself.

Kent knelt next to Sain's still form. He was, of course, asleep. Or unconscious, Kent thought, and his throat thickened when he saw the pale, haggard state of his friend. Priscilla had said he would be alright, but what if she was wrong? Sain lay motionless, not even snoring, which was rare for him.

And what of the wound? Kent looked for signs of blood on the blanket that covered his companion, but saw none. Priscilla had cleaned it, of course, but had she been able to close it?

With shaking hands, Kent lowered the blanket, exposing Sain's shoulders and chest where he had stabbed him. There was nothing there, though he supposed a scar or two could be hidden in the dark. Kent suddenly felt incredibly relieved, and a slow flush crept over the redhead's face at what he was doing. That, of course, only made him feel worse again. He had stabbed this man only hours before, and now he was......? Kent quickly fixed the blanket, disgusted with himself. His shoulder twinged suddenly, painfully, as if to reprimand him, and Kent gasped, quickly covering the injury with his hand. Moving his arm as he had moved the blanket had reopened the jagged cut, and he felt more wet blood on top of the dried crust on his shoulder and shirt. For a moment, he thought the moan was his.

Then he looked down and saw Sain looking around the room, his eyes unfocused and hazy with sleep. Kent immediately forgot his own pain.

"Sain?" Kent's voice was strained with emotion. The object of his fears and desires looked around for the source, and finally his eyes seemed to clear. When he caught hold of Kent's face, however, his features changed- into fear.

"No, Kent!" Sain's voice was dry and high pitched, and Kent felt his world crash down around him, quickly backing away from his friend to avoid upsetting him further. Of course Sain was afraid, he had nearly killed him! There could be no reconciliation after something like that. Kent felt the now familiar emotional shroud envelope him again, schooling himself against any reactions Sain might have. It might as well be over.

Sain's breathing was fast and erratic, almost hyperventilation, and the sight was torture. Kent wanted to comfort him, but what could he do? "Sain...it's okay, please..." Kent's mask slipped, and his voice cracked with tears.

Sain looked at him again, squinting through the dark. His breathing seemed to slow, or perhaps it was Kent's imagination. "Kent? Are you...okay?" Sain sounded almost pleading.

"I'm fine, Sain." Kent tried to sound reassuring, but got no closer to his friend. He wished it weren't so dark so he could see more clearly. He did not know whether Sain meant if he was still insane, or if Sain had meant something else, but it didn't matter.

"Good." Sain said simply, and Kent could almost sense his sudden calm. Sain was obviously too weak to keep up such fear for very long, and Kent approached slowly. Sain did not react, simply looked at him and smiled weakly. Kent did not allow himself to feel hope.

"You know...I always..." Sain trailed off, closing his eyes slowly as exhaustion stole over him. Kent thought that that might be the reason Priscilla had forbid anyone to see him, and he suddenly felt like an idiot. "I'm so...tired." Sain closed his eyes, and this time they stayed closed as his breathing regulated.

Kent felt like he was in a hole, and that Sain was what he was digging for and yet also what he was hiding from. It was a strange duality that Kent didn't know how to deal with. He wanted more than anything to stay with Sain, to comfort him and to convince him that what happened had been an accident, nothing more. And yet, how could he do that when his own guilt and shame continually convinced him that what happened had been his own fault? The fact that he felt that way proved to him that something was wrong, wrong with him. His throbbing shoulder only seemed to verify this. He couldn't get Sain to forgive him if he couldn't even forgive himself, and he saw no reason to do so.

Sain's peaceful sleep after his sudden bout of fear seemed to mock him, and Kent left, leaving Sain to his rehabilitative tranquility. The sudden light of the setting sun hit his eyes like a hammer, and he groaned, suddenly remembering his headache, the pain of which seemed to throb in time with his shoulder. He leaned against the tent with his good shoulder, trying to ignore the sensation of blood from the reopened wound running down his arm. He didn't know what to do with himself while Sain slept, and he blinked his eyes to get his bearings. He felt unusually thirsty, so that was something. He should probably swap the bloody shirt for another one, as well-for the second time that day. He wanted as little attention from the other members of camp as possible, and he couldn't manage that with a bloody shirt.

It did not take him long to change, though the process was painful, for the blood had dried and crusted on the shirt and around the injury, and thus the old shirt was almost stuck to it. Kent knew that he should wrap the wound to prevent it from happening again-even now, it oozed blood-but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He didn't deserve it.

Kent did not want to stay alone in the tent, so he meandered around camp, trying to ignore the sensation of his teammate's eyes on him. It wouldn't pay to be introspective, though, for that would just open the door to more guilt-something Kent didn't feel he could handle right now. Despite his hyperawareness, though, he managed to bump into Wil, who looked at him askance before piping up bubbly.

"Hi! You know, you should eat some of the meat Lowen's cooking, it's good! It was like, steak or something and stuff. Where were you at dinner, there may not be much left." Wil paused, wondering if he should end the last sentence questioningly or not, and Kent managed to push past him. Wil seemed to hang around Rath a lot; he should get a clue from the close mouthed nomad. Kent figured that Wil may only be talking to him in order to cheer him up, though, and somehow that thought made him feel worse. Did he really look so pathetic? He hoped the tactician didn't say anything, she might decide to keep him out of the next battle. If that happened, he would have no way to vent his numerous frustrations.

Kent strode on through the camp, with no real destination in mind. Finally, he flopped down next a large tree, massaging his shoulder gently. It hurt like hell. That was good, though.

Suddenly, he was cloaked in shadow, and he looked up to see the sun eclipsed by a dark, flowing robe. His heart nearly stopped, and he was filled with adrenaline, leaping to his feet and drawing...nothing. He had left his weapons in the tent. That turned out to be for the best, though, when Canas noticed him jumping up and fell backwards, dropping the book he had been reading.

The adrenaline draining out of him, Kent felt like an idiot for the second time that day. It was only Canas, not...what? What had he been afraid of? "Sorry," Kent said, a little shakily. Great. Now Canas probably thought he was insane.

If he did, the monocled Druid didn't show it. He simply picked up his book and smiled at Kent, a trifle sadly. For a moment he seemed to peer intently at him, and Kent felt exposed-but only for a moment. Then the normal, slightly out of it expression returned to Canas's face. His words smoothly contradicted his appearance, however, when he cocked his head and asked "Why do you feel so guilty?"

Kent's mouth dropped open. How did he know? Then, of course, he thought that word of what he had done must have spread about camp, and Canas was simply drawing obvious conclusions...but still.

Canas seemed to wait for an answer, though, and Kent didn't know what to say. Finally, the Druid sighed, as if giving up. "I'm sorry...I just thought I sensed some sort of darkness in you."

Kent was shocked, to say the least. "What?" He croaked. Am I truly evil?

Canas saw the shock on Kent's face and waved his hands, trying to clear up the confusion. "No, no, you see, darkness can be symbolized in emotion. Self-destructive emotions are darkness, really. I didn't mean you were evil!" Canas seemed to find this funny, smiling crookedly, and Kent stood wondering whether the man could read his mind. Then what Canas had said registered-Self destruction was darkness. Guilt was self destruction? Kent suddenly wanted to know more.

"What do you mean? What did you sense in me?" Kent didn't know if he was getting this right or not, but at least it distracted him from thoughts of Sain.

"Well," Canas began, and he seemed truly pleased to have found someone who would listen. "Any self destructive emotion is darkness. There is a bit in everyone, I suppose. Sadness isn't, but emotions like guilt, or low self esteem...anything that makes someone think they're lesser, is darkness. I'm trained to sense such things, because part of dark magic is using the darkness in everyone against them." Canas peered at Kent intently, looking almost worried. "There seems to be a lot of darkness in you, anyway. Did something happen?"

Kent sighed, not bothering to hide it anymore. If Canas didn't know, he would find out eventually. "I attacked Sain."

Canas merely blinked at him. "Why?"

Kent looked at him angrily. "I didn't mean to!" For a moment, he felt better; it was the first time he had defended himself since it had happened. "I was berserked."

"Oh..." Canas nodded his head sagely, as if that explained everything. "And now you feel guilty?"

Kent slumped against the tree. "Shouldn't I? I...I nearly killed him. And I...." Kent trailed off, not wanting to reveal to Canas-to anyone, for that matter-the depth of his feelings for Sain.

"Well...I can't tell how you to feel, but I can explain how a berserk staff works." Kent looked at the Druid pathetically, wondering how that would help anything, but Canas continued. "A staff like that is centered in darkness, even though you don't have to be a Shaman or Druid to use it. Any kind of magic can be used to activate it, really. Of course, it seems more effective in the hands of one who uses elder magic, but that's just my opinion. Anyway, that staff uses the darkness of the mind to make its target do something inherently self destructive-which is usually attacking their teammates, though I've seen targets do some strange things. Once I saw someone run off a cliff, laughing the whole way." Canas shuddered at the memory, and Kent wondered where Canas had seen such a thing. "The darkness in the staff is almost coherent. It will cause someone to attack the person that they care about most, or if there is no one, the person who is most likely to retaliate. Either way usually ends in the destruction of both the target and his closest comrades." Canas eyed Kent. "You got lucky."

Kent certainly didn't feel lucky. Canas smiled at him, sadly, as if sympathizing. "Don't worry, Kent. Not even the best Sage can always resist such a spell. Darkness is very..." Canas seemed to stare into nothingness, as if seeing something that Kent could not. "...Alluring." The Druid shook his head as if to clear it, and his smile returned. Kent wondered what Canas had seen, and decided it was best he not know.

Canas dusted off his book, trying to find the page he had been reading. "Good luck, Kent," he said, and then proceeded to get lost in the book, walking and reading at the same time. The depth Kent had seen was hidden again.

Kent wondered what the Druid had meant by that last remark. Canas's words, though, had made him feel somewhat less guilty. He had been the target of very advanced magic, which was what made him attack his friend. He remembered Canas saying "it will cause someone to attack the person that they care about most" and he smiled, bitterly. But then another thought occurred to him. Why had he enjoyed it? He had laughed...he remembered that, laughing while Sain slumped from his horse. Had it been the darkness that enjoyed it, laughing while ruining chances for a relationship? Would it have laughed while Kent killed himself? Kent shuddered, the pain in his shoulder throbbing in time.

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I've always liked Canas, he's an overlooked character with alot of depth. Anyway, please review.