Shadows engulfed him, tying him down with invisible shackles onto night eternal, his body feeling paralyzed and stiff like a corpse. He pulled on the restraints, receiving a biting pain as a reply for his efforts, hazing into a world of nothing edged with loneliness. Deep within the void, he heard the faint whispers of a feminine voice, hushed with grief, loss, and a tiny flicker of hope.

It has been too long…

I missed you so much…

A powerful déjà vu sensation hit him with ferocity, that voice, he must have heard it a million times before, but he could not remember where, or when. He went limp on his seat of nothingness, wishing that oblivion would simply let him rest. Evanescently, the kindly brushing of a silky and fragile hand across his face stole away his pain, but only briefly, leaving him alone again in the dark.

I searched for you everywhere, dearest, and now I have finally found you…

Clive…

Clive…

He strained against the shackles once more, fighting the intense urge to cry out in desperation for the benevolent person he had felt only momentarily, but whose presence had burnt a mark into his mind. Swallowing his pride, he called out for Catherine, Virginia, Gallows, Jet, anybody…

All he heard were the pitiful echoes of his own voice, his heart sinking.

Clive…

Come back…

Come back, my love…

"No!" Clive jerked up without warning, tearing himself away from the dream world and the voice that inhabited it, shocking Virginia and Gallows who had been tending to the drifter's wounds whilst he had lain unconscious. He sat bolt upright, eyes wild with fear, suddenly alert despite the comatose state he emerged from. Vertigo took him, and Clive was forced to lie on his back by the strong guiding hand of the Baskar, exhausted.

"Whoa, you scared us," Said Gallows, grinding up a variety of herbs with a mortar and pestle busily, "Bad dreams, I guess?" Clive blinked tiredly, his vision blurry. He wasn't wearing his glasses, that he could tell. Like the waves on the beach, his memories of the nightmare experienced were washed away, leaving a blank slate. A soft breeze kicked up, and Clive felt it across his front, deprived of his coat and shirt as his friends treated his injury. He closed his eyes, sighing. Half his body felt numb and freezing cold, in spite of the warm weather they had been having.

"I'm… alive?" He coughed feebly, aware of a faint burning sensation in his left shoulder.

Virginia smiled in a way that showed deep concern for her friend. "We thought you'd gone away from us. Thank goodness you're alright."

Clive tried to twitch his left hand, but felt a slight warming pressure planted on his wrist, holding his arm down firmly and at a right angle. "Don't move." Ordered Jet's voice, the boy out of Clive's visual range.

"What happened?" He asked, throat strangely dry.

"Well, we don't really know." Admitted Gallows, shrugging lightly. "All of us met up, got lost for a bit, followed your trail and found you passed out next to this great big wolf. You slipped into a small coma and were knocked out all night, it really freaked us out." Gallows dug three fingers into the thick paste he had created, leaning over Clive and telling him to hold still. He coated the wound in the concoction, the injured drifter fisting his hand in the grass from the sharp stinging pain it created. "Sorry, but this will help." He reassured Clive.

Gallows had some basic medical training, a prerequisite for priesthood, but was secretly amazed at how serious an injury one measly bite seemed to have become. Clive had lost an amazingly large amount of blood from the attack, and although the bite did not seem infected, it had drained most of the drifter's strength. He had never seen anything like this before. Gallows removed a ripe fruit from his inventory, dark blue berries appearing to emit a healing aura. "Can you eat these?" He questioned his patient gently.

Clive looked thoughtful for a moment, then he shook his head frailly. "I'm afraid not." He had the distinct feeling that if he ate anything, he'd end up violently ill soon after. But, he was thirsty, incredibly thirsty, now that he thought about it. "Do you have… any water?"

The Baskar nodded, glancing at Jet. "Give me your canteen." The boy removed a waterskin hanging from his side, passing it over to Gallows. He eased Clive into a sitting position and held the bottle to his lips, letting the man take a deep draught of the cooling liquid. He drunk as much as he could, though it felt like not enough, before he found himself in the midst of a coughing fit, jarring his injury badly. To help him somewhat, Gallows invoked his token medium and cast a healing Arcana over his friend, alleviating the irritation.

Virginina took a roll of bandages out of her bag, unraveling a sizeable length. "I'll bind the wound, it's the least I can do." She offered, nudging Gallows aside for some space. "Jet, hold him down."

"Thank you." Croaked Clive, relaxing. A ring of deep tooth marks encircled the flesh of his shoulder, causing deep bruising to the surrounding area and an uncanny coldness in the limb that was unaccountable for. Jet stretched out Clive's arm for her, as he was unable to do so himself, and Virginia carefully wrapped the white cloth around it, trying to ignore the groans of pain her friend was emitting as she did. She finished up tidily, securing the end up with a hairpin, and observed her work proudly.

The Baskarian medicine began to take its effect, a small sparkle of strength awoke inside Clive, clearing away groggy feelings of disorientation, allowing the drifter to take in his surroundings with better clarity. It was early morning just outside the forest's limits, he must have been carried there last night. A fine layer of dew coated the ground, soon to be evaporated by the coming heat, glistening ephemerally on the faded green grass. His vision was still murky, and he felt around the ground for his glasses that Virginia handed to him solemnly. He put them on and touched the bandaged shoulder delicately, numbness blocking out the sensation. Clive hauled himself to his feet, staggering again from the giddiness it brought, but remained standing.

He suddenly remembered something. "The wolf! Is it-"

"Deader than a doornail." Jet finished off, slightly grudgingly, because he didn't get a chance to fight when he desperately wanted to. To prove his point Jet searched his pockets, obtaining a small white object that he showed to Clive. It was a long and pointed tooth, broken at the base, but curved just a little bit at the end so, speaking from a biological point of view, an advantage in hunting would be given to the animal. Jet was keeping it as proof of their deed for Volks, so they could claim their reward. As far as the group was concerned, they let Jet handle all the money problems, even though he was technically the youngest and least mathematically inclined. But Jet knew money, that was all there was to it.

"Yeah," Added Gallows, "We take the job but you do all the dirty work. I'll hafta buy you a drink at the next pub we get to." He said.

Clive's clothes were folded neatly beside him, and he pulled on his shirt, carefully doing up the buttons. The piece of fabric had slashed holes torn into it from last night, and Clive supposed he'd have to purchase a new one soon. His coat looked alright, nothing that a little stitching couldn't fix, so he shrugged it back on, feeling particularly more comfortable than before. "I feel better now," He said reassuringly, lying just a tiny little bit, "Shall we go?" He took a shaky step, wobbling slightly.

The female drifter looked concerned. "Don't overdo it, Clive. You lost way too much blood last night."

"A trifling matter. I have been through much worse." The sniper tried to look indifferent, but his pallid and drained complexion spoke otherwise. "But I will be careful, I promise."

Jet procured a tin can and a pocket knife, flicking out his trusty spork. He settled himself down and peeled back the lid, serving himself his own meal. "We leave after breakfast." He said.

Breakfast? Blech. Clive didn't feel too good again. He hadn't eaten for ages and was practically starving, but the thought of food just made him feel queasy. Sickness would do that to you, he thought. He'd just have to live with it until he got better. Or die of starvation, either way.

So they all ate breakfast, except for Clive, who watched and drunk a little water from his own canteen, the beginning of a new day warming their backs and enlightening the landscape with its brilliance. Gallows summoned their horses with expertise, packing away their stuff on the mounts, because technically it was Clive's turn to do it, but the Baskar volunteered himself to let the sniper take a rest and recuperate. Clive looked over the damages to his ARM, apart for a little nick in the handle, it was unhurt. It put part of his mind at peace, paying for maintenance was out of his price range right now.

"Heh, seventeen thousand gella in the bag, an' I didn't even have to do a thing." Jet contemplated after he filled his stomach, "Best dough I ever made."

"Yes," Agreed Virginia, looking into her lap, "Work is hard to come by for us. I'm sorry if I made things too difficult…"

"Nah," Argued Gallows, "It ain't difficult, just a challenge. And challenges are good, you know, it builds character."

Relieved that her friends did not fault her, Virginia set her food down and fixed up her hair, mussed up from the hunt last night. "I'm glad we were able to do this, it has been too long…"

Clive dropped his canteen, the bottle falling to the ground. He wore an expression of horror, staring thunderstruck at Virginia. He tried to say something, but his vocal chords were stuck in place.

It has been too long…

"W-what… did… you say?" He stuttered after a few attempts at speech, the memory of his nightmare smacking him in the face. There was something about those words, that voice, it haunted him to no end. A memory flashed through his mind, and for the most transient of seconds Clive lost himself, it was almost like… like he was somebody else. The sensation vanished abruptly and he bit his lip, confused and more than a little frightened.

"Pardon?" Asked Virginia, "I said-"

"No, never mind," Stammered Clive, trying to hide the fact that he was shaking, "My mistake, my mistake." He picked up his bottle again, taking another drink to calm his nerves. It had been so long since he had last been plagued with nightmares, and even so, nothing of that frightful caliber. He wanted to know what it was, what it meant, who owned that sweet voice, but his sickness prevented him from thinking too straight. It infuriated him deeply.

Outwardly, all he did was shake his head and clench his canteen tightly, not noticing the puncture marks he placed in it.