A cool morning breeze blew a west wind into the face of the sleeping drifter, waking Jet from a deep and wholesome sleep. His back felt stiff, he had fallen asleep leaning up against the big cliff and he had lost the feeling in some parts of his body. He shifted slightly to regulate his circulation again, getting that all too familiar pins-and-needles sensation down his side.

He yawned, working the kinks and cricks out of his neck. It was just before the dawn. Jet always was an early riser, because he didn't like the idea of other people being up and moving around when he lay defenceless in sleep. It was an instinctual part of himself that he had gained from resting wherever he possibly could. It was almost as if he had a small alarm clock built inside of his body that woke him up without fail. Though, now that he was aware of his origins, that may have had more truth to it than he would have imagined.

A greyish sky greeted the young drifter, drab clouds plodding sluggishly to their respective duties, small traces of a red sunrise lining their dreary underbellies. The sun continued to rest under the horizon, there was still a little more time before it could reanimate the world. Westwood looked different in the light of the morning, the far-off caws of pordarges alerting Filgaia of the presence of a new day. It was a sea of undisturbed green, individual blades of shortened grass swaying in the newborn light. The campfire smouldered a few feet away, suffocating from lack of fuel and care. A sizeable brown lump nearby was Gallows with his bristly blanket pulled over his head, snores and murmurings drifting out from under the cover.

Feeling started to return to his arms and legs, so he stretched them to let out all of the tension. One half of his body felt warmer than the other, and upon realizing the reason why, Jet turned a deep shade of red, blushing all the way down his neck.

Virginia had him in an unconscious death grip, one arm around his back and front with her head resting against his shoulder. She must have moved from her sleeping bag some time during the night, finding a better place to sleep, whether she had been aware of it or not. Jet swallowed hard, feeling her soft brown hair against the crook of his neck. She was breathing deeply, so she still must not have awoken yet. This was bad, very bad. Jet had an overpowering urge to tear himself away from where he sat, whether it woke her or not, but despite all the commands his brain sent screaming to his body, he remained seated. Because, well, the morning was still a little cold to his heat adjusted senses, and she was supplying him with the warmth needed to stave it off.

Anyway, she was the one who had came to him, she could deal with it when she woke up. Jet closed his eyes again, ignoring the rocks poking into his back and the female drifter practically hanging off him. Let them say whatever they wanted, Jet was still a little tired.

xxx

Jet discovered the results of his decision a short while later. It earned him a bright red mark on his cheek in the shape of Virginia's handprint and probably a small drop in the trust quotient between both of them. She didn't really seem to care that it wasn't Jet's fault, but that was because of the unbroken snickering Gallows made, no matter how dangerous a glower both young drifters threw at him.

"So, it looks like you two slept well." He chortled, artfully dodging another visit from Jet's boomerang, swiftly becoming a Gallows-smart-alec-remark suppressor.

"Don't tempt fate, Gal." Said Virginia, rubbing sleep out of her eyes. "We still owe you for yesterday."

"Oh, heh, yeah." Gallows shook all the pieces of grass and crud out of his blanket, folding it up neatly into a little square. "I'll shut up now." The Baskar was not a morning person, unlike Jet, and so stumbled around like a zombie, getting the ingredients to make breakfast ready.

Virginia tried to smooth out the rumples in her dress with her hands, muttering something about needing a nice long bath. Her clothes were stained with dust and mud, and she was well aware that she stunk of horses and gunpowder. She couldn't complain, though. The others had it much worse.

"Anybody checked on Clive yet?" Said Jet, reequipping himself with his hand guard and making sure his ARM was fully loaded for the day ahead. He tightened the shred of his bandanna holding the ripped part of his pants together and took a deep breath of fresh morning air.

"Oh, I'll go do it." Virginia answered, looking up at the boy. "I hope he feels better…" She murmured as she walked away, wetting the tops of her shoes as she scuffed through the dew covered grass. She hoped the remedy Gallows had given him last night had made some difference to his health, no matter how small. The thought of one of her closest friends in such pain made her feel similarly unwell.

It seemed fairly pointless to re light the fire for breakfast if they were going to depart so soon, so Gallows served breakfast cold to Jet and himself, lovely tinned protein supplement preserves. At least, that was what Gallows called it in order to make it sound more appetizing. Jet just called it Spam. He prodded the unusual looking food with his spork, realized that as long as it was edible it was fine with him, and swallowed some, washing it down with a deep draught of water.

"Yup, breakfast of champions!" Announced Gallows in an attempt to convince himself that it really was good food. He sat cross-legged on his blanket, stabbing the food viscously with his fork. "But, I'll tell you what. How about after we collect this bounty we all go out for a steak dinner? It'll be better than this, err, stuff."

"It's not that bad." Replied Jet. He had tasted worse.

Gallows looked up into the grey and red sky, reflecting the sunrise. He shook his head and made a small noise of disapproval. "That's not too good." He said to Jet, pointing upwards.

"What?" Asked Jet, following the direction of Gallows's finger. What was the Baskar on about now?

"It's just a dumb verse that I was reminded of this second from when I was a kid." Said Gallows, sweeping his hand up in a motion in the sky. "An old saying; Red sky at night, Baskar's delight. Red sky in the morning, Baskar's warning."

Jet sniffed, unconcerned. He poked the remains of his food again. "You tryin' to prophesize our deaths?" He said disinterestedly.

"Nope. Just being nostalgic." The Baskar reassured him, smiling. It was only an old nursery rhyme. "'Sides, my little bro is the prophet, I'm the dead weight." He admitted this freely, so he didn't appear to be too disturbed about it.

"Guys!" Cried Virginia frantically, running up to where the two drifters sat near the burned-out fire Her cheeks were heated and she looked very upset.. "I think we have a problem!"

"Don't tell me, the old guy's kicked the bucket." Guessed Jet, sporting the ghost of a smile.

"No," Replied Virginia, the look of distress on her face silencing any mirth in the radius of the campsite. "Clive's missing!"

Gallows and Jet looked at each other. "Are you sure?" They said.

Virginia nodded vigorously. "Yes. I searched the place where we left him, and he wasn't there. He left all his stuff behind and I just… I just don't know."

The priest sighed, he knew he shouldn't have let the man out of his sight. Some medic he turned out to be. Gallows got to his feet and Jet did the same, shoving away the scraps of their questionable breakfast. "Alright. Let's go look for him," He advised calmly, "He couldn't have gotten too far."

The drifter team skipped the lengthy process of meticulous packing, and basically shoved all their things into the tightest space they could, securing it with a rope and hauling it along with them. They had more important things to do, like finding their lost friend. Two tins of opened Spam were left all alone on the plains of Westwood where they were eventually found by a family of pordarges and used to their fullest degree. At least the birds were happy.

xxx

Jet knelt on the place where they had left Clive the night before, looking around for any clues that might have given them some idea as to where the sniper had gone. The Gungnir ARM was still propped tidily up against the cliff side, untouched for hours. The same could be said for Clive's bag of medical supplies, everything was where it was meant to be, except that it's owner was missing. Jet traced a hand over the grass, wiping away the layer of dew clinging to the foliage. "He got up and walked away," Said Jet after a minute, "About eight hours ago."

Virginia looked over Jet's shoulder. All she saw was wet grass. True, she was no experienced tracker like Jet and Clive, but anything that was worth noting should have been visible to her, at least. "How are you sure?" She asked him, curious.

He smiled a bit, feeling Virginia's breath wash across his neck. Jet drew a tiny outline around a slight depression in the grass, the ground laced with less water than it's surroundings. "See this? It's a footprint. And the reason I can date it is 'cause of the differing amounts of water in and out of the track. When the print was made, Clive scuffed the water out of it and so there's less moisture than on the rest of the ground."

"I get it. That's pretty neat, Jet. How did you get to learn things like that?" Virginia prodded. It was a pretty good talent for a drifter to have. Maybe she could get Jet to show her how he did it someday.

Jet snorted gruffly. "Your old man taught me. I guess he didn't get around to teaching you about it."

"Hm, I thought it would be something like that." She answered. "It's a good thing you found these clues before the sun dried them up."

Gallows picked up Clive's huge ARM, wheeling out the additional strap and slinging it over his broad shoulders alongside all the other things he was carrying. "Wait, if what you said is true, then he must be about an eight hours walk away." He slumped, not really feeling like a long hike today.

The silver-haired drifter shook his head negatively. "That's only if he didn't stop walking and kept at a steady pace." Jet looked at the position of the newly risen sun, the tracks lead straight into its course. "He went east," Jet added, "He probably went to Claiborne."

"What? Unarmed? By himself? Why?" Said Virginia, shooting out a volley of questions.

"Do I look like a damned mind reader?!" Jet answered, standing up.

Gallows coughed to get the attention of the others. "Let's just go to Claiborne. If Clive did wander off, it's most likely he'd head to the nearest civilization, which would be that town. Heh, I'm such a genius!" He remarked, getting looks of incredulity from the other two drifters.

"Should we call the horses?" Virginia inquired to the others.

"No, I might lose the tracks if we go too fast." Retorted Jet. He pointed east. "We march."

The Baskar groaned, shifting to one leg so he could hold his booted foot in dismay. "Nooo… My poor bruised tootsies can't take much more of this!" He complained, starting to drag his feet eastwards. Virginia followed him, offering optimistic words to the unhappy priest, though she felt none too optimistic herself. She really, really hoped Clive was alright, why in the world would an intelligent man like him just up and disappear in the middle of the night? Jet brought up the rear of the march, intentionally going slower in case he saw any more clues.

After about fifteen minutes of walking, Jet stopped abruptly, scratching the back of his head in confusion. Virginia and Gallows doubled back on themselves, wanting to know what was wrong. Gallows verbalized this for both of them.

"The tracks… they go funny at about here." Jet directed their gaze to the ground. "Maybe they're just malformed from the heat or something, but they look more like…" Jet trailed off, a foreboding settling into his mind. Clive's footprints stopped and animal tracks had begun. Had Clive been attacked? "Well, it's probably just the heat," He rationalized, "Let's keep going."

"Uhhhh… How much longer 'til Claiborne?" Gallows complained loudly.

Virginia sighed with exasperation, slapping a hand to her forehead and redirecting her gaze to the grass. Something glinted there in the light, drawing her attention. She gasped, bending down to pick up the object.

They were a little dirty, but there was no doubt that they were Clive's glasses. She held them up for all to see. "You're right, Jet. He came this way." The drifter stuffed them in her pocket, she'd give them back later.

Then they heard the groan.

Everybody jumped into a fighting position, unaware of where the noise originated. They were not attacked by anything, so all of them looked around for the source. Jet thought many words that he would never say out loud as the other drifters scuffed away the tracks he had been following in their search. The flat lands of Westwood were uncharacteristically marked with a small grassy knoll, and Virginia paced the perimeter while the others looked elsewhere. Jet and Gallows tensed as Virginia suddenly cried out in alarm, summoning the others for help.

Her eyes were wide as the two male drifters caught up to her place. Unconsciously she grabbed Jet for support. Gallows swallowed hard and Jet looked away, hiding their consternation and horror.

Clive Winslett lay on his back at the foot of the knoll, deeply comatose in a sprawled position, face pale and hardly breathing, drenched in rich crimson blood.