The next evening, Will and Halt rode back towards Halt's cabin, astride Tug and Abelard once more. The day had been tiring but amazing, in Will's mind. Yes, Old Bob and Halt had only taught him what he already knew how to do, and it had been frustrating to pretend not to know anything. But all of that was nothing when compared to having Tug back.

He patted Tug on the neck fondly. How he loved Tug.

Already, Tug seemed to like him. Will had, for the sake of appearances, gotten thrown off by him once more because of not saying Tug's password. Neither Tug nor Will begrudged the other for it, though. Tug had been trained that way, after all, and once Will had said the password, Tug was more than happy to allow him to ride. Now, Will sat happily atop him.

Like with everything else, Will's body had to relearn how to ride. He knew he would be sore tomorrow and wasn't looking forward to it. The familiar frustration of having to put himself through weeks of learning to get his body back to where it had been was also there. Still, simply having Tug made so much of that disappear.

"You've certainly taken to each other quickly," Halt remarked, he and Abelard right next to Will and Tug.

"You really think so?" Will asked eagerly. Of course he loved Tug, that was no question. But if Halt thought Tug already liked him...

"I wouldn't say so if I didn't."

Will had to admit that that was true.

"What was it like for you and Abelard?" he ventured. He winced as soon as he said it. He had 'known' Halt for bare weeks - there was no way Halt would actually tell him something like that. Even his Halt would probably not answer such a question. He went to take it back, but Halt was already responding.

"I suppose we took to each other well," Halt said. "I had to win his respect, of course."

"Respect? He made you win his respect?"

"Of course. It's the same with all Ranger horses." Halt looked dryly at Tug. "Although perhaps this one wasn't taught properly, as he seems to have skipped that stage entirely."

Will set a protective hand on his horse's neck. "Tug was taught just fine."

Halt's brows raised. "You really have taken to him, haven't you? Relax, boy, I'm not trying to insult your horse."

They were quiet for several seconds, then Will gathered his courage. "So..."

Halt huffed irritably.

Sensing he could still continue without Halt getting too angry, Will said, "What did you have to do to earn Abelard's respect?"

"What does it matter?" Halt asked, still irritated.

"I was just wondering."

"Wonder about something else, then."

Will sighed and looked away. He shouldn't have been surprised. Halt was Halt, after all - even his Halt had still acted like that sometimes.

They rode on for some time in silence. Will took Halt up on his suggestion and started wondering about Ranger horses. Was Old Bob the breeder for all Ranger horses, or only part of them? And where had the breed come from? They were nothing like any other horse in Araluen. If he were the breeder for the entire Corps, shouldn't he have had more horses than just Tug and Abelard? Will had never been back to Old Bob since getting Tug, so all those questions had remained unanswered. He side-eyed Halt. He sincerely doubted that Halt would answer any of them now.

"How much daylight do we have left?" Halt asked suddenly. Will jerked to the present and glanced up at the sky.

"About half an hour."

"And how much longer will it take us to get back to the house at our current speed?"

Hmm. Will thought about it. That was trickier, especially since he wasn't used to riding this path. Will glanced around him, noting where they were in the forest relative to the house. They weren't too far off, their horses making a decent pace.

"I'd say...about the same time. We should get there just after dark."

"Hmm." Halt considered for a moment, then nodded. "I'd say I agree with you. Once we get back home, we-"

A nearby rustling cut him off. The two looked over to their right where the source of the rustling was. At the same time, Tug tossed his head and Abelard nickered uneasily. Will flicked his eyes to Halt, who had readied his longbow and was reaching for an arrow. Gulping, Will did the same.

"What's..." Will started. Halt shushed him.

The rustling continued, and then Will heard a low hiss. The hairs on his arms stood up.

The long, lithe body of an adder sprang from the bushes towards Tug!

Tug reared, dashing at the head of the serpent with his hooves. Caught off-guard, Will lost his grip on the reins and fell, scraping roughly against a tree and landing hard on a rock. He winced in pain, disoriented. Dazed, he pushed himself to sitting. The adder - where was the adder?

He glanced from side to side. It was not next to Tug anymore. Tug was facing Will now, ears back, head tossing in agitation. Will frowned, following where Tug was looking.

The adder was looking straight at Will, mere inches away.

"Keep still," Halt said, very, very quietly. "I just need to-"

The adder hissed and sprang.

At the same instant, a second hiss split the air. A black arrow embedded deep inside the head of the adder, halting it mere inches from Will's leg. It fell to the forest floor, lifeless.

Will closed his eyes and exhaled, long and slow. He heard Halt dismount and approach. Turning from Halt, Will glanced at the dead adder. Halt had, of course, shot it right between the eyes. A perfect shot. Like always. He reached forward-

"Don't."

Will retracted his hand, frowning at Halt. The Ranger stood right next to him now.

"Snakes don't die immediately," he explained, nodding down at the creature. "I shot it right in the brain, but it's not necessarily dead yet. They aren't like deer or wolves, where a good shot to the heart or head can take them out instantly - although you know already that a bad shot could take longer. Snakes can stay alive up to an hour after they've been shot. You don't want to risk getting bitten."

Will carefully scooted away. "That's an adder, right? Would it...would it have..."

"It probably wouldn't have killed you, no," Halt said. "Just made your life miserable for a few days. Still, best to be cautious."

He glanced up at the sky again. The incident had taken less than a minute - it looked exactly the same as it just had. "Hmm. It wouldn't do to leave a carcass lying in the middle of the forest. We should dispose of it properly. I suppose we can come back and retrieve it tomorrow. I'd like to get back before it's too dark. Haven't the time to wait around for the thing to finish dying."

Will nodded, edging away from the snake once more and pushing himself to his feet. As he did, he winced. He'd hit his shoulder pretty hard against that tree when he'd fallen off of Tug. He was certain it was going to bruise. Besides that, there was a long and nasty-looking cut on his arm. He must've sliced it open on that rock. Ugh. He'd have to take care of that once he got back. He couldn't risk an infection.

He mounted up on Tug and started back to Halt's cabin once more, Halt and Abelard right behind him. The rest of the ride passed in usual silence, with Will wondering what was for dinner and reminiscing over the events of the day once more. The snake incident had already faded to the background of his head - he had dealt with far worse. Small things like this had ceased to phase him anymore. Instead, he grinned to himself, remembering when he and Tug had leaped over the paddock fence together. Tug was the only creature in the world that Will was happy to relive every moment with. With Tug, things made sense. They were simple and easy. There was no constant, vague dread of messing things up by saying or doing the wrong thing.

The tree split to reveal Halt's cabin. They reined in their horses and dismounted, leading them into the stable and rubbing them down. Will's arm and shoulder ached more and more and he kept fighting back grimaces. It was nothing he hadn't dealt with before, of course. In Skandia, Will had gotten used to constant discomfort and even pain. He was used to hunger, fatigue, and bone-aching cold. Apparently, his current body did not have the same idea.

As he and Halt stepped into the house, Halt stopped him. "My medical kit is in my room. I'll go get it. Sit down over there."

Will frowned at him. "Huh?" he asked, eloquently.

Halt stared at him. "Did you not realize that you're injured?"

"I mean, yes, but...I can take care of it myself."

"You?" Halt asked, a little incredulously. "And how, exactly, were you planning to do that? Give it a little rinse with the same water the horses drink, perhaps? Or wrap it up with a piece of cloth you found lying around? You boys are all the same. Apprentices never know how to treat their wounds properly."

Will opened his mouth indignantly, then reluctantly shut it. He had, actually, been considering doing some of those very things. Now he realized that they were maybe not the best ideas. He still acted like he was in Skandia sometimes - where he'd had to treat any wounds with whatever he could find.

Seeing that, Halt muttered something under his breath that sounded quite disparaging towards apprentices, turned, and started towards his room. With nothing else to do, Will went over to the fireplace and sat down on his chair. Halt reappeared quickly, kit in hand, and sat down in the other chair. As he began setting everything out, Will figured he would try once more.

"I'm not a child, you know. I can-"

Halt gave him a look. Will shut his mouth. Despite Halt's taciturn and forbidding countenance, Will's chest felt warm. This was exactly the sort of thing his Halt would do, complete with the implicit threats and muttered insults. He let a slight smile touch his lips, eyes drifting off to the fire, lost in memory.

Callused fingertips touched his arm.

Instinctively, Will jolted. It was not born out of fear or even surprise. He came back to himself a moment later and glanced at Halt.

"Sorry, I wasn't expecting that," he said. From the way Halt's eyes narrowed, he didn't buy the excuse. Will didn't blame him. Halt had told Will he'd be treating his wound. Of course Will would have expected to be touched. But how else was Will supposed to describe...

Whatever the case, Halt didn't push, which Will was grateful for. Halt set his hands down on Will's arm again and this time Will did not move. Once he'd started, Will felt himself relax. He tended to Will's wounds exactly the way his Halt had, efficiently, thoroughly, and not particularly gently.

All too soon, Halt finished wrapping the bandages around Will's arm and was done. "There you are. You're lucky it wasn't too deep. It didn't even need stitches."

"Will it scar?" he asked, looking down at the arm.

Halt shrugged. "Hard to say. It might scar a little."

"Just my luck to get a scar from a stupid tree," Will said morosely.

Halt's lips twitched very slightly.

"W- that wasn't funny!" Will protested, frowning at him. "I'm being serious here! Scars are supposed to have impressive stories and come from, like, wars and stuff! No one's gonna think a scar from a tree is cool!"

Halt shook his head, still amused. "Ask any Ranger and you'll find far more of their scars are less impressive than you might have thought. Knights, too. A lot of them come from training or stupid accidents."

Will smiled to himself ruefully. Yeah...he'd definitely gotten some of those. That was why he'd been hoping for a better one. That cut he'd gotten on his arm from the Temujai probably would have left a cool scar, if it'd had the chance to heal. Other than that, Will didn't have any cool scars.

"What about you?" he asked, feeling brave.

Halt raised an eyebrow. "Are you asking about the impressive ones, or the not very impressive ones?"

Surprised - he hadn't thought he would even get that far with this Halt - Will hesitated. "Uh...whichever?"

"Hmm." Halt grabbed the collar of his tunic and pulled it down, showing the skin of his right shoulder. A round, puckered ring of a scar sat there. A puncture wound, Will realized. "I got that from one of Morgarath's crossbowmen during the war."

"Woah, really?" Will went a bit starry-eyed. Just when he'd thought his mentor couldn't get any cooler...

"Mmm." Halt nodded, very seriously. "And certainly not from a misfire during a training session."

Will squinted. Something didn't feel quite right here... "You wouldn't be lying, would you?"

Halt's eyes narrowed. "Are you calling your master a liar?"

"Oh! No! Of course not!" Will said hastily. "I would never!"

"That's what I thought." Halt gave him a look and gathered his medical supplies up, retreating into his room.

Will stared after him, still feeling suspicious.a


The next few weeks passed by: peacefully on the outside, yet inside Will's head was anything but peace.

There was simply so much that needed to be done. Will's training was progressing achingly slowly, at least for him. Every fumbled shot and clumsy throw was agony for him. He hadn't been perfect in his own timeline, of course - certainly never even close to Halt's level - but he had been, in his own opinion, decent for an apprentice with only a year's worth of actual training. His current skill, where he was frustratingly slow and still hardly ever hit a bullseye, was infuriating.

Meanwhile, there were other things to worry about. Principal among them was Horace. Assuming that this timeline worked exactly the same as the other, Horace was currently in the midst of being horribly bullied by fellow Battleschool cadets. Horace had mentioned them to Will a few times in Celtica and Skandia, and it was clear that the way they'd treated him had left its scars. Sure, Horace had assured him in Skandia that he was mostly over it, but a scar was a scar. Will knew how awfully it had hurt his friend at the time. How could he let it happen again?

Yet, that was exactly what he was doing. Will was far from being able to take care of the matter by himself. He was a terrible shot, not to mention still utterly untrained in unarmed combat - and still lacking his former muscle mass. No, Will would have to get Halt in on the situation if he were actually going to help Horace. But there was no way he could do so. If he told Halt that Horace was being bullied, the inevitable follow-up to that would be "How do you know? You haven't even spoken to him since you started your apprenticeship."

Surely there must be something else he could try? Oh! He could write a letter to Sir Rodney! Except he didn't have any evidence. Tell Baron Arald? No, same problem. What if he got the evidence from Horace and then told Sir Rodney or the Baron? Good idea, except this Horace currently hated Will's guts.

Ugh. This was impossible.

Will glared down at the book Halt was having him read. Halt didn't have his apprentices read that much, certainly not as much as a Scribeschool apprentice or even a Diplomat apprentice would read. However, he did insist on Will having an in-depth knowledge of Araluen's history, both domestic and foreign, and he himself kept up with current affairs, sometimes spending a fair amount of money to buy a book or treatise on various political, historical, or economic subjects. Rangers were not simply the peace-keepers of Araluen, Halt had told Will. That was relegated to the Watch. Rangers were spies and tacticians and even diplomats or politicians, if necessary. That meant that they had to know what was going on both inside and outside of the kingdom, at every level, past and present.

It was a good premise and Will certainly agreed with it, but that still didn't make Will's current book, A History of Araluen, any more interesting. He had read it before during his first apprenticeship and it was just as mind-numbingly dull the second time around. He was tempted to slam it shut and throw it on the ground, but Halt was nearby and he knew his master would not approve.

"What ever did that book do to you?" Halt asked mildly. "You look like you're about to murder it."

Will heaved a frustrated breath. He was still trying to find a solution to Horace's problem. The worst part of it was he couldn't even talk to Halt about it! He couldn't talk to Halt about anything anymore. He had used to tell Halt about any and everything that bothered him. Now he could tell him nothing. It was made even more difficult by the fact that Will was still constantly editing everything he said around the man.

Halt still did not particularly like him, Will knew. The thought stung, but it was true. Will was constantly stopping himself from acting too familiar with him. He'd get half of a joke out before abruptly realizing it was an inside joke this Halt would not even understand, or he'd start to ask a question that he knew this Halt would never answer.

Halt doesn't love you, he was constantly telling himself. He might begin to care about you - one day - but even that's not guaranteed. This Halt is not your Halt. He may never care about you.

"Well?" Halt asked.

Belatedly, Will realized he had gotten so lost in thought that he'd completely forgotten to respond. "Sorry! Erm...what did you ask, again?"

Halt raised his eyes to Heaven. "I asked," he said slowly, "what the book had done to you to make you look like you want to murder it."

"Oh," Will said uncertainly. "I was just thinking."

He cringed, waiting for the tried-and-true you're an apprentice, you're not ready to think or even the classic fallback of you're supposed to be studying, not thinking!

Instead, Halt hummed and said, "What about?"

Will blanked. He blinked dumbly at his master. "I'm sorry?"

Halt sighed. "Why is it that you must always answer a question with a question? I asked what you're thinking about. It must be important," he added dryly, "given it's distracting you from your duties."

Will winced. "Sorry, sir. It's...I'm just worried about my wardmates, I guess."

He lifted his eyes up to Halt. Halt was nodding understandingly. "You're worried they might not be doing well with their Craftmasters?"

Well, not quite. Will nodded anyway. "Yes, sir. Especially Horace, with Battleschool and all..."

Halt gave a considering noise. "You do know that Battleschool is quite difficult. It's designed to be, after all."

"I know that. It's just...I'm just worried about him, is all."

He closed his eyes in resignation, heaving a sigh. There was nothing he could do. He was powerless to stop three upper-level Battleschool cadets, and no one - Halt, Sir Rodney, Baron Arald - would ever believe him. He turned back to his book.

"Would you like to see him?"

Will spun around in his seat, wide-eyed.

"If you're really that worried," Halt said reasonably, "I don't see a problem in letting you go over there briefly - during lunch, perhaps, when the both of you are on break."

Will stared at him, speechless.

"What?" Halt said. "Usually, I would tell you to work on compartmentalizing your thoughts - Rangers cannot afford to get caught up in emotion, as I've told you before. But this task you're on right now is hardly pressing, and in any case, I'm sure you would only continue to worry about it at night and end up losing sleep over it. With the Gathering coming up in a few months, we can't afford that lack of sleep. Your concentration is terrible enough as it is."

Will flushed, opening his mouth to protest, before reluctantly shutting it as Halt went on.

"So, it's best to get this out of the way as soon as possible. If allowing you a longer break than usual for one day will stop you from worrying like this, I see only a benefit."

Oh. Will deflated. Of course. Of course this was just about his training. It wasn't like Halt actually...

Halt's gaze burned into him. "What's the matter? You don't seem excited."

Will looked away. "It's nothing. It's just, well, Horace and I aren't exactly on good terms right now."

"Yet you're still this worried about him?"

"...It's complicated."

Halt took that in, thoughtful. "Well," he said after a moment. "Unless you're on truly terrible terms, I don't think visiting him would be a bad thing. He'll probably appreciate that you took the time to check in on him, even if he doesn't say it."

Will nodded. That was true. Horace would definitely regard his presence as strange, but maybe Will could use this opportunity to work towards building their friendship once more. It had come through due to different events last time. Will knew he was risking that friendship by trying to change things, but he didn't care. Stopping Horace from being bullied was more important. Even if Horace ended up hating him until the end of time.

Although he truly hoped it would not come to that.

"Alright," Halt said. "You can go tomorrow, if you'd like. You can take Tug. I'll go with you. I have some business in town I might as well get over with."

Will nodded. He still couldn't believe Halt was actually letting him do this. Impulsively, he stood and ran to Halt, hugging the seated Ranger as best he could. "Thank you, Halt!"

The man grunted.

Too late, Will realized what he'd done. He snatched his hands away and jumped backward, berating himself. Idiot! He just said he was only doing this because of your training, not because of you!

"Sorry," Will mumbled, wishing he could be just about anywhere else but here. "I, uh, wasn't thinking."

Cringing, he slowly lifted his gaze up to Halt, expecting a frown or that awkward twist of the face when you've just overstepped someone's personal boundaries.

None of that was there.

Halt was staring at him, a complicated mix of emotions swirling around his face. Anger did not seem to be one of them; neither was irritation nor even awkwardness. Halt seemed more confused than anything, confused and something else sadder.

"You don't need to apologize for something like that," Halt said slowly. "I don't know what kind of a person you think I am, but I'm not going to punish you for a hug."

Will's heart dropped and he felt his skin go cold. "N-No, I didn't think - I don't think you're, you're a bad kind of person or anything," he protested quickly.

Halt examined him for a long moment. "Sometimes I wonder," he said at last, but shook his head. "Enough of that. We'll go see your friend Horace at noon tomorrow. In the meantime, I expect no slacking off in your lessons. You hear?"

Will nodded quickly. "Yes, sir."

Halt's dark eyes lingered on him. "Very well."

He stood and went to his room, closing the door behind him. Will watched him go with a furrowed brow and a sinking heart.


A/N: Oh shit-
So we might have a problem here, huh?

Onto another topic, I wanted to thank you, everyone who has commented on Sunrise so far. Your comments honestly are really kind and sweet. I've responded to some of them, but I confess, I sometimes don't quite know how to respond to some - social anxiety for the win here. But please be assured that I truly treasure them, especially the longer ones. I always love hearing specific sentences or sections that you particularly enjoyed about a chapter, too. So thank you, truly. I know it's hard to visualize sometimes, but I am a real person who really does love your comments 3

Also, I've been meaning to ask: what actually ARE your thoughts on authors responding to comments? I usually don't comment much on other people's works (hypocrite that I am, given how much *I* love comments) but I always appreciate when the authors respond to me, since I know that my words achieve their goal: making the author feel appreciated + enjoyed. Is that the same for all of you? I used to assume that was the case, but I once had a reader who commented on literally every single chapter I wrote without fail, and the ONE TIME I responded, they never replied, and then never commented on my work ever again. I don't know if I somehow made them uncomfortable, or if they simply lost interest in my work, or what happened. It has made me wonder if maybe not everyone likes the author responding, though?