Boring Legal Stuff: I do not own Sonic, or Knothole, or any of the canon characters, obviously. I'd be rich if I did, and that's about as far from reality as it gets. No, those lucky people would be SEGA, DIC, and Archie Comics Publications. Corwyn and Heather are mine, and they won't be making me any money. But that doesn't mean I won't take offense if you use them without asking me first. Think soft bits, pencils, and piano wire.

FOREWORD: Warning. It's going to take a turn to the seriously dark, here, and will likely be the chapter that earns me my R rating. But it's necessary. And I hope things start to get a little more clear. If not, well, wait for the later chapters. I promise in time it'll all make sense.

Anyhow, on with the story.

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She sat in the grove, alone, staring dully at the knife in her hands, turning it over and over slowly, as if in a dream. Now and then, a sliver of reflected moonlight played over her face, revealing a face drawn and haggard with the hardships she had endured these last two years. A distant sliver of her old self kicked her for acting so morose and bitter.

Oh, shut up, you, she thought, curling her lip, you make it sound like I don't have reason to act this way. You ought to know better than that!

Maybe so, her conscience retorted stubbornly, but come on, you're wasting your life away! Why don't you get up and do something?

You try getting out of a funk like this when you're under suspicion for turning traitor and selling everyone you ever loved to that... that... bloated fat bastard!! Two years, two years, and they're still watching me like hawks, just waiting for me do something suspicious!

There was no answer for that. There never was. Just like always, all she had were bitter, painful memories, a heart full of hurt, and an old combat knife.

And no idea if she was worth saving.

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Autumn had descended suddenly this year, bringing with it a crisp bite to the air, the heady scent of apple pies baking throughout the day, and, of course, leaves aplenty that needed raking. Autumn was one of the great social times for the little village of Knothole, when all the family groups, both blood realatives and heart-kin, would come very close to forgetting the war that ravaged the world all around them and live out a normal, idyllic existence. Even the Core Freedom Fighters, who were usually very rarely seen over the course of a normal day, could be seen all around the village proper, laughing and having a good time. Of course, Sonic was the most active and cheerful of the lot, and had been the inspiration for a very enthusiastic, if poorly organized, dirt-hockey league.

Since the autumn was such a heavy social time of the year, it only followed that it was also a major time of renewal for the rumor mill. A chance to search out new, fresh targets, and find new reasons to revive the old points of gossip. And as always, none were more vulnerable targets than those who preferred to keep behind closed doors. Nevermind that nobody ever bothered to knock on those doors and draw them into the open. It was, after all, the principle of the thing.

Corwyn rolled his eyes and sighed as he walked down the lane back to his hut. Every year, he thought, it gets more and more attractive to just walk out and not have to deal with this mess anymore...

But then where would he be? He had no idea how to live off the land; his parents were office workers, for the gods' sake! Not to mention ever since the Coldbrook incident, there isn't a Freedom Fighter camp that'll go near the Great Forest anymore, and who does that leave? Spies, murderers, thievs, and similarly pleasant folk who have good reason to stay out of sight. No, thank you.

These musings, as well as the hushed whispers that danced at the edge of his hearing as he passed by, turned his thoughts to the only known survivor of Coldbrook, Heather Daines. Oh, there's a nest of hornets you just had to go and shake up...

Following the little encounter last month that had very nearly given him a trip to the clinic, Heather had become even more scarce than usual. And every time he did find himself in sight of the reclusive porcupine, he was surprised he didn't fall down dead from the sheer venom in her eyes. One thing was for certain, at least; she would not give him a chance to dig up anything mroe on her, and would likely carry though with her promise if she ever did catch him sniffing around for more information about her.

Adjusting his pack, he heaved another sigh as he opened the door to his hut. And now you're even more curious. Stupid, foolish, masochistic ringtail...

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:Sister, are you sure your designs are set?:

"As I've so often reminded our brothers, Hesha, mine is not the way of loud, frantic, bloody battle, or mind-warping knowledge. I should think you know better."

:You're agitated.:

"No, annoyed would be a better word. Rubeus and Jaeger have fallen to sniping at each other, the shadow of the Corruptors is looming large over the horizon, and all our eldest can do is remind us, in her infinite wisdom, how near the crux has become."

:You seem to have already removed yourself from the conflict, though. Why does all this bother you?:

"No, I have not. But while all of you are sharpening your swords for the battle, someone has to watch out for all the families and bystanders. Wars may be fought and won by armies and heroes, but you know as well as I do that the world is held by the people on the fringes of the battle. It's not my fault that keeps me from this endlessly grinding war..."

:So Aisyllynn approves of your actions, then?:

"Better to say, dear sister, that she encourages my plans."

:Very well. What do you need from me?:

:No! You can't ask it of me!:

"But I must, Hesha. Be easy, no harm will come of it."

:No. You'll have to find someone else to help you. I will not be a party to this.:

"There's no one else I can ask, sister. I give you my word that there will be no lasting harm."

:......Fine. I feel soiled just thinking about what we will do.:

"For what it's worth, so do I."

:Then why?:

"Because there is no other way."

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Corwyn ran his hands through his headfur, heedless of the paint that had clung to his fingers, and now, his hair. His need to finish this painting was becoming little better than obsession, and he knew it. Sketches that could have been finished by now were lying fallow all around his hut, cast aside in his need to complete this one, single painting, which nearly glowed with its need to be completed. The pictograms that wreathed the canvas were far different than the last example, and they plucked at his mind, hovering just on the edge of understanding. The figures in the center were still unfinished, and he'd been avoiding them until he'd put the last stroke on the pictograms. That wasn't like him, he usually would have at least worked a bit over the sketch, given them more definition... But for some unexplainable reason, he'd shied away from giving them form and shape.

But now it was unavoidable. His hand shook as he picked up his brush, and he frowned. All that fine writing had worn his fingers out, and the strange turn of his thoughts had to be from the paint fumes that permeated the hut.

Maybe a walk would do me good...

Now where had that thought come from? What he needed was to go to bed; he had guard duty tomorrow night, and needed to be at least something resembling alert.

But if I take a walk, I can relax a little before I sleep...

Well, that was very true. His sleep had been restless lately, and he could never remember why upon waking. But all the signs of fatigue were evident. Perhaps a walk would get him calmed enough to keep the dreams at bay...

And maybe I can find something to give me a little help with this painting...

He scoffed at that idle thought as he pulled on his vest. This wasn't an inspirational, he had no intention of probing his creative depths. Just a simple walk under the crisp night air. Now that sounded really attractive.

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Once again, she'd found herself in the forest clearing, turning her knife over and over as her thoughts took the long, winding spiral of hopelessness.

Why can't I just be left alone?

Because they need someone to hate, she told the plaintive mental voice. They have to have a villain closer to hand. One they can do something about..

But it's not fair! I never did anything to them!

She snorted. I lived, stupid. Remember? If it had been my dead body beside Piotyr's, even if I had killed myself just to be with him, they would have just sighed, shook their heads, and told themselves what a tragedy it was. But no, I had to go running for help... Last time I'll ever make that mistake...

But it hurts so much...

That caused her throat to tighten, her eyes welling up with tears. Yes, it does... And they know it, and they love to see each blow fall...

They can't... they're not that evil...

They don't have to be evil, just blind...

But isn't there any way I can get away from it?

She didn't answer herself in word, or thought. There were no words for such an answer, it could only be spoken in deed.

And the knife didn't even hurt...

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Well, I'm glad I did this, Corwyn thought as he pushed another low-hanging branch out of the way. He had, indeed, felt shades better since delving into the night-time world of the Great Forest. His thoughts, which had become a confused, exhausted jumble of white noise in his mind, had evened out, become cool, still serenity. His hands had even stopped shaking, and he flexed them experimentally, quite relieved to find no trace of stiffness or soreness. Heh. A nighttime stroll, the cure for what ails you.

He stopped dead as he caught a rank scent in the air. His eyes widened as he cought the thick, coppery tang of blood, and without a thought, he pounded through the woods, following the scent trail to its head. Oh, gods, what's happened? Did someone get waylaid, or is it one of the patrols? Maybe if I go go back--

His jaw dropped in horror as he burst into the clearing where the scent was heaviest. It was a porcupine, female by its build, just lying there, her back to him. A growing pool of scarlet was spreading around her head, matting her quills, and as he got closer, he could see a bloody knife lying next to her nose. Kneeling, he gingerly turned her over, careful not to get poked by her quills, and he cought his breath a second time.

Heather?!

She was unconscious, and as he frantically looked her over, he saw the blood was pouring from a careful, even slice across both her wrists. Suicide? But--

No. No time for that. The blood from the wounds hadn't slowed, and if he acted quickly, he could be able to save her life. Quickly shedding his vest, he did the only thing he could think of; he statred tearing it into strips, tightly binding her wounds. He got worried as he saw the blood continue to stain the fabric, but he figured it would be all right for now... Just until he could get her back to the house. He slid his arms under her neck and knees, wincing as the quills dug into his flesh. Oh, that's gonna leave a mark...

It wasn't easy to carry her limp, unresisting body though the Forest. She was dead weight in his arms, and he wasn't honestly the strongest of Knothole's residents. Plus, between the scratching, tearing foliage, and Heather's own personal armament, he'd long ago stopped trying to tell whose blood belonged to whom. But in the end, he managed to stagger into his hut, and drop her on his cot. Looking down at the many scratches and puncture wounds he'd earned, he considered getting his bottle of iodine and a clean rag, but one look at the scarlet bandages on Heather's wrists stopped that thought with an almost audible whipcrack.

No. See to her, first, then yourself.

Two thick, fluffy towels replaced the ragged strips of bloodstained cotton around her wrists, and he noticed with some relief that the blood had slowed, and she still had a pulse, though faint and fluttery it was. You may still get through this, you poor wretch...

When he was convinced that she wouldn't be dying on him anytime soon, he got up and went for the iodine. After he'd wiped the blood off his body and face, he soaked another rag liberally in the sharp-smelling stuff, hissing as he dabbed it to his many marks. The pain certainly didn't improve his mood any, and a bright coal of anger started to burn in his heart. Why the hell did it have to come to this?! We're supposed to be a family here! Someone had to see what all the gossip and backbiting was doing to her!

Which made him even angrier, because he knew that they didn't. That gods-damned rumor mill! It finally chewed someone up so badly they wouldn't have survived! I don't care what anyone says about me, I am going to Sally tomorrow and get this straightened out, now!

That was tomorrow. Right now, he had a job to do. It would be no less than a miracle if the poor woman lasted through the night. He sighed as he looked over at her, sprawled out on his one-person cot. Looks like it's you and me tonight, chair, he thought ruefully. I hope she appreciates this...

He shook his head, and curled up on the armchair, not even realizing that he didn't think about his painting once since coming home... And his dreams were as quiet and still as he could have asked...

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C&C, of course, as always. And yes, I know. I'm going to be breaking my no-canon rule, but the story directs itself, and it just came out that way.