Sorry this is a little late! I probably should've mentioned this sooner, but I do plan on updating this every week, generally around Sunday night/Monday morning. So if Tuesday rolls around and I haven't updated in the past week, I give anyone and everyone full permission to harass me until I have.


Dezel felt awful, being in this place, but this was where he always seemed to end up. Throughout the day he'd tried going elsewhere, multiple times—it had been on one of such treks that he'd run into Rose. And in his senseless anguish following their confrontation, he'd returned once again, to the place where Lafarga had been killed.

Though every trace of him had been washed away by rain, and worn away by humans' trampling feet, Dezel remembered exactly on which cobblestones Lafarga had lay. His guilt smothered him, consumed him, as he mentally went over those stones, as he felt every every crack and tiny nick. But the shame was no less than he deserved.

He sat in a crenel atop Pendrago Castle's outer wall, his legs dangling over the edge. It wasn't the most comfortable spot, but at least he was alone. Directly below him, a knight captain shouted orders at his squad as they marched through a gate, although the captain's exact words were drowned out by the hubbub of the nearby marketplace. Knights from Pendrago always set Dezel on edge, because he knew very well that some of them had taken part in capturing and murdering his friends.

He sighed, leaning against the merlon. He'd been on the track to revenge for so long, it was hard to get off. His life's purpose, once again, had been snatched away. A false purpose, borne of his own willful ignorance, but it had been purpose nonetheless. He'd channeled every last drop of energy into it, but now he had nothing to aim for, nowhere to go. He couldn't even strive for Rose's forgiveness—she wouldn't have him. She wouldn't even look at him.

She was right, of course. He'd known the truth of her words before she'd even said them. He could never justify using her. All he had were shallow excuses, made even shallower by the fact that the only person responsible for Lafarga's death and the Windriders' ignominy was himself.

He pushed off from the ledge, holding on to his hat so it wouldn't blow off during the free fall, and landed lightly on the street below. He didn't know what he wanted to do. In spite of himself he'd enjoyed these past few months, travelling with those nutballs, but now he wondered if it wouldn't be better for him to just quietly slip away, unnoticed. If Rose wouldn't have him around, then the others wouldn't, either. The reason he'd left the inn that morning was because he couldn't stand their reproachful gazes. Ever since he'd woken up, they'd been awkward and distant around him, as if he were a leper. He couldn't blame them—he'd fucked up, royally—but even if they were right, that still didn't stop it from hurting.

"Hey, Dezel!" Sorey's voice carried over the din, and Dezel groaned. Just what he needed. Completely unaware of the humans who stared at him—or perhaps not unaware, but uncaring—Sorey bounded to him, threading through the crowd. He made sure to apologize to anyone he jostled, whether or not they cared. Mikleo trailed after him, keeping his own pace.

At Sorey's approach, Dezel couldn't help but notice his cape was covered in dust. Typical. He asked, "Where've you been?"

"Oh, just exploring the city," Sorey said, bouncing a little on his feet. "We haven't gotten an opportunity to get a proper look at it until now. I've always known Pendrago has a rich heritage, but man—we identified architecture from three different eras, and even from before the era of Asgard—"

"Hey, we don't know that for sure." Mikleo had caught up with them, and unlike Sorey, he didn't seem to have a speck of dust on him. "If you're talking about those corbels, there are numerous alternative explanations for their design that are just as, if not more, plausible."

"I guess you could be right," Sorey said. "Aaanyway, I don't think Dezel's interested in that kind of stuff."

"Not particularly," Dezel said, folding his arms across his chest.

Sorey looked at him, forehead crinkled. "Is something wrong? You look ..."

"... angrier than usual," Mikleo finished.

Of course they had to ask. "I'm fine."

"Okay," Sorey said. "Hey uh, Dezel, I was just wondering ... have you talked to Rose yet?"

"None of your damn business."

"I think we can take that as a yes, then," said Mikleo. More like Prickleo.

"It didn't go well, then?" Sorey asked. Dezel balked at the genuine concern in his voice.

"As well as could've been expected, given the circumstances."

"I know it's difficult, for both of you. But Rose isn't the type to hold a grudge for long, especially toward a friend."

Dezel shook his head. "Some things are unforgivable."

"I disagree," Sorey said emphatically. "Forgiveness is hard, of course, and it always takes time, but so long as someone is willing-"

"That's easy for you to say. You've never had to forgive anything this big." Of course, the damn brat was so perfectly good-natured, such forgiveness probably would be easy for him.

"Hey, lay off," Mikleo said. "Sorey's only trying to help."

"Yeah, well, he's doing a shoddy job of it."

"You only think that because you're—"

"Guys, now's not the time to argue!" Sorey said. At this outburst, a passing woman gave him a dirty look, pulling her son closer to her. Sorey's face reddened, and he continued in a lower voice, "Cool it, both of you."

"Sorry," Mikleo said, not sounding so.

"Whatever." Dezel turned and walked away.

"Hey, where're you going?" Sorey called.

"For a walk."

"But it's almost night! We're going back to the inn to have supper."

Mikleo said quietly, "Sorey, just let him go."

Dezel just kept on walking. He walked and walked, until Pendrago was behind him and the golden fields of Pearloats Pasture, glowing red in the evening light, spread before him. Free, at last ... even if he felt anything but.