Chapter Four:
Overcome

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The monument of a memory
You tear it down in your head
Don't make the mountain your enemy
Get out, get up there instead
You saw the stars out in front of you
Too tempting not to touch
But even though it shocked you
Something's electric in your blood

-Florence + The Machine, "Various Storms & Saints"

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The days began to bleed into one another.

It soon became clear, without it being said aloud, that he had been allowed to stay. The woman didn't force the issue, nor did she bring it up. In the end, neither did he.

The island wasn't all that large—although it was larger than he had originally anticipated—but the diversity in its geography was stunning, to say the least. The mountains were filled with cubby hole-caves, secret passages and hidden shrines, gaping canyons and arroyos, compressed little forests, high mountain cliffs, and there was a mixture of so many eras of so many cultures clashing everywhere, he wasn't sure what belonged to whom. Galleon sailing ships, aged oil and transport tanker ships, schooners and yachts, smashed lifeboats, cargo ships, sunken military PT boats, grounded planes of all sizes…

He was both horrified and elated to find that the concrete and steel bunkers that littered the island were from World War II. It had started in 1939 and ended in 1945, he had been told. The woman assured him that she had most likely been born almost forty years after that fact, although what year it was now, she couldn't tell him because she simply didn't know, couldn't remember. She kept track of the seasons, but they bled together so much, she's lost track of how many years it's really been for her.

So I really am in the future. This island is like a cursed lost relic, attracting other lost relics and hoarding them away, pieces of every era, decade after decade.

Even if he somehow made it back to Europe, back to the last known location of the branch of the Black Order he had been a part of, he doubted it would be there. For all he knew, the Black Order was gone. Chapters and organizations within the Church always seemed to be opening and closing at the Vatican's whim. The Black Order had been created solely for the Secret War, for defeating the Akuma and their nefarious masters. If they were truly well and gone, what use were those in the Black Order to the Church? If the world was still here and intact, if the woman's estimated birth year could be believed—then the Millennium Earl and the Noah were most likely gone. Defeated. And his friends have long since been dead and gone as well.

The thought made his heart sink.

We won, but…how?

So many questions about everything back home kept cropping up, leaving him in doubt about his choice, but if this was the future, then…

He had no place left to go to. No home, no friends, no employment. Not even Timcanpy was with him.

His heart sank further and further until it felt like it had nowhere else to go the more he thought on it. It also made him feel sad for the woman as well.

I wonder if this is how she feels, all the time. Anyone she must have known, they're gone too. But she outlived them. She didn't just jump through the years. She had to live with that knowledge. Live with knowing that she wouldn't see them again as the years passed. Maybe she forgot most of everything on purpose.

His mood must have shown through over the next few days after these revelations crossed his mind. He didn't pay much attention to, well, anything. He was stuck in his own thoughts, his own misery that he hadn't noticed the time passing him by. On what he guessed to be the second or third day, the woman dragged him outside of the cave by the arm—she was much stronger than she looked—and tossed him on his backside.

"Stop with the pissy feel-sorry-for-me routine. If you're so worried and upset about things back home, then just say the word. I'll reset the island or build you a raft to send you on your way."

The baldness of the way she glowered at him had him too shocked to answer at first. He gaped like a fish, opening and closing his mouth several times. It was a kind of blow he hadn't been prepared for. His throat and tongue were cotton dry and not complying with the way he wanted to answer. She scowled and turned on her heel without probing any further, intent on taking herself back into the hidden cave. Allen scrambled to his feet and lurched forward, snatching up her arm with a cry of protest on his lips.

She immediately jerked out of his grip with such force, he was almost certain she'd taken his fingers with her. His hand stung fiercely and he withdrew it quickly enough, dazed at the sudden change in her demeanor. When he caught sight of the thunderous yet aghast look on her face, his pain was briefly forgotten.

"Don't you ever fucking touch me."

She hightailed it away from him as soon as the venomous remark left her lips, retreating into the inner sanctity of her shelter. The metal door slammed shut behind her with such finality, it was almost like the last peal of a funeral dirge. He flinched, clutching his hand close and stared after where she had just been.

He jumped again at the familiar cough-bark he's come to associate with the raptors. A trio stood at the bottom of the canyon path, staring directly at him with their beady avian eyes. The one that stood in the middle looked rather regal with its dusty grey and violet-hued feathers. The raptor hooted softly at first, and then gave a forceful bark and the two flanking it mirrored the call several times. The one left of the middle raptor was dusty gold and sandy browns, while the right-handed one had soft greys and pitch blacks dusting its coat. The noise of their calls carried up and all around Allen, multiplying and amplified as it bounced off the canyon walls. The golden raptor snarled and snapped its jaws menacingly at him.

Then they all fell silent.

The grey and dusty purple one lurched forward, creeping up the path on fleet feet, glittering eyes never leaving him. Coming after him like a shark would, never blinking, never swaying from its intended path. Allen eyed the twin scimitars at their feet, the curved talons that were most definitely not used for decorative purposes.

They didn't even utter a peep as they fell behind the first stalking predator heading his way.

Oh, shit. She kicked me out and now they know I'm free game!

He hurriedly turned tail and went the other way down the path, not bothering to see if the raptors were following him until he was well into the pine forest below.

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Allen was pretty sure the beach was just beyond the shantytown and the abandoned palace grounds. If he could remember where the palace and shantytown were in the first place.

That just translated out 'pretty sure' really meant 'not at all'.

Lavi would have told him so and laughed. Kanda probably would have called him a stupid beansprout. Not very creative, that one. Miranda would have been just as lost as he was. Lenalee and Arystar would probably be the ones figuring out where they were and find a way down by now. Timcanpy could have found him a path to take by now, too. But he was alone. He had no idea where he was, having gotten so turned around in his attempts to flee the oncoming predators. He was just hoping if he kept walking in one direction, he'd hit the ocean. It was an island, after all. Maybe he could build his own raft. The woman obviously seemed to have a change of heart in letting him stay. He wasn't even sure he wanted to anymore, either.

And after all that pomp and circumstance I gave just to stay to try and help her. All for nothing. Just like the rest of them. And nobody is waiting for me, no one is left to wait.

Allen felt lost in more ways than most would. He stopped in his tracks and leaned up against a spindly birch, the thought weighing his feet down like lead weights. He looked at his left hand, stared at the imbedded cross there in the red of his skin.

"Am I really the last one? Everyone's…gone."

The Order and everyone in it—everyone who willingly or were forcibly kept to stay with the organization—and even the Akuma and their creators…

They were all gone and he was alone. He was the last one standing, and it was a bitter pill to swallow. There wasn't even a sweetness to savour in knowing that everything was done and over with. He simply felt hollow inside at the idea that he was no longer of use. He had no more obligations in this world, so what else was there? What was left for him in a world that was no longer his own?

The island seemed to stretch on for forever now, and he feared never finding the ocean, even when he could see it glimmering in the distance at times. It was all a mirage, a trick, and he was stuck on this godforsaken spit of land in the middle of nowhere, out of time and out of place. And the only person who had been his tentative ally was no longer his ally. He had no information to go off of and no clue as to what to expect if, when, he got off this island.

His throat burned and pinched up tight, the corners of his eyes stinging and hot.

He sank down to sit and curled up his legs to his chest, not sure if he had cried or fell asleep or both. The next time he lifted his head, it was dark and his head was hurting. Insects and frogs chirruped their nightly orchestra. Other creatures added to the staccato of natural instruments, things he's never quite heard before. When his eyes adjusted a little better, he pulled himself up to his feet, grimacing the way his body protested after sitting in one position for too long.

The good news was, he hadn't been chased or chewed on by the raptors. It dawned on him then that they had probably chasing been him away as a warning. He was more annoyed now than he cared to admit at that.

And now I couldn't make my way back even if I wanted. All the mountains look the same. And most of the forests and ruins do too. Especially in the dark.

Nevertheless, he trudged along, carefully picking his way through the thick and tangled vegetation with a stubborn persistence. Occasionally, he'd catch wind of the sound of wings taking off forcefully into the air above him. Other times, things in the dark, too quick and too small for him to catch a glimpse of, would rocket away in the brush, hidden from sight. The night seemed to grow darker as well, and it was only confirmed when the skies rumbled in warning, seconds before water began pouring down on the island. He was soaked in minutes as he scrambled through the dark to find shelter. He discovered a piteous little shack nestled against the face of a mountain, the rise of it sheer and steep. He had to tear the door off when it didn't give in easily with his left hand, ripping at the material to get inside. He shivered, wishing he had found this earlier, although that soon wore off when he found that the roof had a leak in it.

Despite the cold, he tore his jacket off. It wasn't insulating him well enough and it was heavy with rainwater. It made for a miserable blanket. When it made a wet smack against the wooden floorboards, he heard something shriek in protest near the doorway. He squinted, trying to see what had made the sound. Something was skulking close by. A trill sounded off, right at the doorway. Then another, and another and another. He pressed against the wall, squinting into the inky blackness. He could just barely make out tiny little shapes, about the size of a chicken, with long necks and longer tails.

Something leapt up onto his knee. Allen jumped in surprise, feeling the curl of claws digging into him. Another of the tiny-somethings pounced on his stomach and he could feel its breath, tiny pinpricks of air going in and out at rapid fire paces. It was so light, he could barely feel the animal, whatever it was, sitting on top of him. A third tried to scrabble for purchase on his shoulder, but all it managed to do was scrape its claws on him as it lost grip and fell backwards with a high-pitched scream of annoyance and surprise. His arm briefly flared with from the rake-thin scratches, but the cold in the air numbed them fairly quickly.

He lifted his other hand to push the animal off and get up. Obviously, he was trespassing on something's territory. A pack of somethings. They sounded almost like birds, with the way they peeped and hooted but he had a feeling creeping up on him that this wasn't the case.

When his hand brushed the animal, it darted out and bit him hard with needle-sharp teeth. He yelped, tugging his offended digit back, only to feel the animal pursuing his digits with determination, managing to sink its needle-like fangs into the meat of his thumb. Allen leapt up and swatted at the animal, managed to get it off, only to feel more of them—he didn't know how many—leaping up at him from all directions. Some managed to cling to his clothing, biting wherever they could. One got up to his shoulders and latched onto his ear, trying to tear at it. They squealed and hissed and yowled until it was the only thing he could hear. Even the patter of the rain had been drowned out.

The more they attacked, however, the less he felt the impact of their bites. In fact, he could barely feel anything. He wondered, briefly, if it was the cold worming its way into his limbs and down into his core. He could barely hear the constant surge of the rain outside, mingling with the squeaking growls of the animals that were trying to climb and bite him. He swatted halfheartedly at one that was inching its way up his side. It latched onto his arm in response, claws digging into his clothes and flesh.

He collapsed against the wall of the shack, his limbs heavy and his head light and air. He was starting to fade and a small part of his mind was crying out in alarm to get up and run away from these creatures. But his body wouldn't listen and before he knew it, he was drifting off to the distant sound of the rain and the squeak-growl-trills of the animals in the shack.

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He awoke with a start, heart hammering away in his chest at a painful tempo. He was on his back, the light of candles dappling a cave ceiling in rusty orange hues and shadowed with greys and blacks—

Allen blinked, having caught his breath as he focused on what was in front of him. Then he bolted upright and immediately regretted it. His head was full of pins and needles and shards of glass for good measure, stabbing at anything and everything they could possibly get their points into in his skull. He closed his eyes, squeezing them shut tightly to ride out the pain.

Hands reached for him and he flinched away, eyes flying open.

"Don't—!"

The rest of his words strangled up in his throat when he saw the woman there, withdrawing her hands away from him, looking stern yet…unexpectedly troubled. She waited for him to process, patiently stepping back to give him space. When he calmed and settled back down, she offered him a chipped mug. Inside, liquid sloshed. He took it and tentatively sipped at first, and then gulped down its contents with fervor. Whatever it was, it was hot and sweet and the rush pushed back the ache in his skull and warmed him to the core.

When he was done, he handed it back, grateful for something to quench his parched throat.

"What happened?"

"Compies," she said matter-of-factly at first, before revising with, "Compsognathus. Tiny dinosaurs that hunt in packs."

"I gathered that much." The attack was coming back to him. Tiny animals with vaguely long necks, little bodies, longer tails…and so light. So, so light he barely felt them even when they were standing on top of him. "What the hell happened to me? I remember them biting me and then…and then…"

"You drifted off to sleep. Like what was happening to you was a-okay, that it was all just a dream and you'd wake up soon."

He nodded at her words, because that was exactly how it'd felt like. His limbs had grown heavy, his head so light and his thoughts had been to the wind. He couldn't even hold onto the instinct to run away, it had drifted off so alarmingly quickly, without a fight.

"They were venomous," he concluded.

"Something like that," she agreed. She stooped down, picking up a pitcher by her feet and poured him another drink. He took it and sipped this time. "It's like a combination of a paralytic and anesthesia: it slowly puts you to sleep the more bites you obtain. The more you take on, the quicker it shuts down your nervous system, drops your inhibitions and whatnot, and makes you easy prey. So, you can't feel them eating you, even while you're still alive. It'll all feel like a dream until you breathe your last, but you wouldn't know it."

He recoiled at the thought and his stomach roiled in protest. He blinked, staring around to find that he was back in "his" room. And he was shirtless. Bandaged up in various place along his torso, but shirtless nonetheless. At least he had his pants on. She must have read his expression and saw how his cheeks flushed. When she spoke next, he was put at ease, but only slightly.

"You had a fever and sweat-soaked clothing isn't fun to wake up in. I also just finished replacing some of your bandages; you were bitten all over the place. Your fever just broke last night, so try not to fuck my work up by getting yourself back into it, would you?"

She left the pitcher on a makeshift table beside his bed and turned to go, tail swaying behind her.

"Wait, how did you find me? I thought you kicked me out, didn't care what happened…"

He trailed off at the perplexed look on her face.

"It doesn't matter, does it? You're still breathing. You're not out there anymore."

"But…you were upset. When I grabbed your arm—"

"It's nothing against you personally. I just don't like being touched." She turned and left him in the wake of her silence, the curtain door fluttering back into place.

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"Don't bring that thing in here!"

She was bringing in something squealing and angry into the cave, holding it by the neck in one hand, whilst her thumb and forefinger were pinched over the animal's head to keep it from biting her. The body was tucked close to her body under her other arm, and her other hand pinned the arms down and legs together to prevent it from kicking or clawing at her. She didn't seem overly concerned about the little whipping tail beating against her side and back as much.

"You need to know what you were bitten by so you don't end making the same mistake again."

"I couldn't even see what it was," he admitted sheepishly, although he took in the little creature's appearance and was rather disappointed. It was tiny, around the size of a chicken just as he approximated. It had no feathers, but it looked like a hardy enough creature, like a featherless bird. It had delicate features, but he knew what those little bastards were capable of now. And the noises it made, those were all too familiar. Very bird like, but at the moment it was snarling and hissing up a storm.

The woman, by comparison, was rather nonchalant. Clover, who was lounging by the dying campfire, shot up to her feet and came trotting over. The woman shooed her away with a few sharp clicks and mimicked cough-barks that could rival any of the raptors. The little creature in her arms squirmed and squealed all the more as the raptor circled, not unlike a shark closing in for the kill. He yelped when the woman finally let the chicken-sized dinosaur loose.

"Git, Clover, leave it be. This isn't your meal, stay away."

"You let it go!"

"Yes, I did."

"Why would you do that?! Those things are venomous!"

"One little guy ain't gonna do ya much harm. Might make you woozy if you take one too many bites, but I'm doubting anyone would be stupid enough to stay still long enough for that many nips to happen." She gave him an expectant look and…was she—did she just smirk at him?

Allen's cheeks reddened in embarrassment.

She shuffled around the shaking creature, herding it slowly toward the campfire and its warmth. All the while, it kept its beady eyes glued on the woman, as well as Clover. It didn't seem to notice him at all. That was just fine. Allen kept to his corner, close to the retreat of his room. He still felt off from his recovery, but he could keep more food down now and he wasn't as woozy on his feet as he was the other day.

"This is a Compsognathus. Alone, they're rather relatively harmless. Their saliva still has traces of venom, so I wouldn't suggest being bit over and over by them, as you no doubt learned." She stooped to shoo the little dinosaur over the way she wanted. It snapped at her fingers with a perturbed warble and hiss. "I would worry more about a Dilophosaurus' venom, however. They're much bigger predators and they can spit their venom in gooey globs and they just love to go for the eyes. Not only will that blind you, but even a single drop on your skin could paralyze you in just a few short minutes. The bigger difference between the venoms is that you'll be alive and awake and in absolute hell when the big bastards decide to eat you, versus the Compies eating you while you slumber and can't feel a thing."

The Compsognathus trotted along on delicate three-toed feet, head bobbing as it moved toward the couch. Already, it had dismissed the woman shadowing its moves, unconcerned by her presence. Clover wasn't too far behind the woman as she tailed the tiny dinosaur. Allen slowly inched from his spot by the chamber wall, drawn out a little more by fascination. It looked like almost like a lizard, what with the scaly hide, and yet it moved like a bird. Although to be fair, he most likely would have mistaken it for a bird, if it had been covered in feathers like Clover was. He sometimes thought the raptors really were just giant birds at some angles. Especially when he couldn't see their recurving teeth.

"How big do the Dilo…di…" He frowned. How had she said that word again?

"Die-law-pho-sore-us," the woman said, enunciating each syllable carefully, patiently even. She repeated it one more time for emphasis, which he was actually grateful for.

"Dilophosaurus," he parroted back slowly, coaxing his tongue over the new word. "How big can they get?"

"They're hard to miss. They grow to about seven meters in length, and they have very distinctive bony double crests on their skulls." She made a motion over her eyes, mimicking an arc going backward over her head, between her twitching ears. "They'll also have some…other features that'll make it look odd."

"Odd how," he ventured cautiously, eyeing her suspiciously.

She held her hands on either side of her head and wiggled her spread out fingers. "They have a membranous frill that presses against their necks when not in use. I've seen them used in threatening displays for territorial domination, but they've also been used for mating rituals. They'll flush more blood into it, and that gives it more vibrancy and life to the look, makes them appear bigger than they really are. They can get aggressive, although they have nothing on the Trikes and the Anklos."

"Trikes and Anklos—more dinosaurs?"

She nodded. He was glad to learn this, so that he had some more information about what inhabited this island. He secretly liked that he was getting the woman to actually talk. She rarely did speak unless it was necessary, as he's come to find over the last few weeks he's been here. He was also learning that this subject seemed to be something she was passionate and incredibly knowledgeable about. It didn't hurt to make her seem more approachable, either. There was a light in her eyes he never saw before, a kind of fire that grew brighter the more she talked about the animals on the island.

"Triceratops and Ankylosaurus. I haven't taken you to the northern half of the island yet. There's more open space out there, and the herbivorous animals like to linger where there's room to move and feed." She paused and motioned in the general direction of her personal room. "You've seen the skull, yes?"

He nodded. "The one with the long horns and big bony frill."

"Triceratops. That wasn't even a full-grown adult. The skull belonged to a juvenile. They get much bigger and even more aggressive than anything you've seen. Especially during rutting season. I guarantee it."

He suddenly felt more comfortable around Clover and the venomous little Compsognathus.

Allen listened as the woman continued her trivia, describing in as little words each animal that lived on Yamatai. She assumed they had appeared on the island was near the beginning of her habitation, although she wasn't entirely positive. They've been here as long as she could recall, which didn't seem to be all that long ago. The predators and prey animals alike were incredibly aggressive toward her, until she began learning to communicate with them. Carmilla had been the first she connected with, recognizing an advanced sentience and sapience within the lab-crafted dinosaur. It had been slow and agonizing process of crafting a bond with the Indominus Rex at first, but it matured and strengthened over time. It was Carmilla who helped build the bridge between the woman and the raptors, and then it had extended to Tyrannosaurus Rex, the other giant he had seen a little over a week ago.

He had so many questions, thirsting to know how she had found all this out, but they all flew from his mind when a blood-curdling scream ripped through the chambers. One scream sounded like a dozen in the cave, but only one Clover was bulldogging her way after the one Compsognathus. The little chicken-sized dinosaur screamed in its tinny voice, darting away from the charging Dakotaraptor. It juked and jived away as long as it could, but the larger, faster, and more agile predator overran it, even when the woman tried to interfere. The raptor only smashed her side into the werewolf whilst snapping up the Compy up in her jaws at the same time. The little dinosaur gave one final scream before it cut off suddenly as Clover crushed her jaws over its neck and caved in part of its chest.

Allen shouted in alarm at the suddenness of the attack and how quickly it had ended. The raptor was fast. The Compy dangled in her jaws, blood dribbling onto the floor in little droplets. The woman was on her feet in an instant and gave the raptor a sound smack on her neck. Clover dropped her meal and howled, smashing her streamlined skull into the woman, driving her back.

"You little fucking shit—I told you to leave the Compy alone!"

Clover snapped her jaws and kicked with one of her feet out, hard—the very same that housed the large deadly sickle claws. The woman skidded back from the force of the blow, but she didn't look any worse for the wear. Allen dove forward, grabbing the raptor's thick feathered tail to slow her down, only for it to be jerked from his grasp. Clover hissed, craning her head to give him a stare that could curdle milk and made his blood run cold. In his delay, Clover promptly clubbed him in the lip with her thick tail. It dazed him briefly and it was time enough for Clover to gather her stolen meal and retreat into her room, hissing all the while.

"Goddammit…I think she knew I was getting ready to let the little guy go free. But, that's the cons of living with a dangerous predator. They want to eat anything and everything that isn't in their pack. Fucking little shit."

A cough-bark sounded from Clover's room.

"Yeah, I'm talking about you, you fuckhead. I told you not to eat my Compy!"

Clover rebutted with a rattling squeal. The woman rolled her eyes. "Raptors."

The raptor replied with a guttural warble. Allen politely decided not to intervene with the odd and apparently two-way conversation.

"What exactly…did she say?"

"Nothing that can be translated, at least into words. She's laughing at me. Or us, since you tried to help." The woman turned to look at him as she spoke and paused thoughtfully when she finished. She motioned to her lip and then pantomimed to his lip. "You've got red on you."

"And you've got ash on you," he retorted, flippantly motioning to her cheek, but he reached up nonetheless and gingerly probed at his lip where Clover's tail smacked him. Blood was smeared on his fingertips when he pulled them away. He glanced up and saw the woman using her sleeve to wipe away the aforementioned ash.

"First aid kit's on the table over there. Clean yourself up."

"Wait—didn't Clover kick you?" He motioned to her abdomen. He could see where Clover's sickle claw had torn at her clothes, the tears jagged and uneven. Allen promptly decided that yes indeed, he would never want to be on the receiving end of those violent talons. They were meant to tear and stab without mercy or second thought. They weren't naturally honed blades meant to defend, but to kill.

"I'm fine. She clipped you in the lip, and you don't heal as fast."

"Not everyone can afford to be a werewolf," he grumbled, but nonetheless trudged toward the battered coffee table, where a scuffed metal tin marked 'First Aid Kit' sat on it. He popped it open and after a few moments of rummaging, found some ointment to coat the cut and stop the bleeding inside, buried beneath bandages. Before he stepped away into his room, he saw the woman by the campfire. At first, he thought she was staring at the guttering fire, where there was barely any life in it left except in the cooling embers below. The chambers had grown dark, except for the faint glow of candles around them.

Then he saw she was looking at her hands, where her fingers were tipped with sharp claws. She was running her thumb delicately over the tips, while her ears were pressed tightly against her head. She was glowering down at her hands. He had a feeling it was more at them than anything else.

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She held the bow out toward him, watching him behind that unreadable mask he was so used to seeing these days.

He's been on Yamatai for nearly a month.

Today, the woman finally declared he needed to do more than spend time in or around her hideout.

Today, she wanted him to start learning how to use a bow, as he's vehemently shown opposition in touching rifles or pistols. The latter reminded him too much of his late master. He still had mixed feelings about the man. Especially since the last they had seen one another and given the circumstances it had been conducted under. At the very least, however, Allen was safely assuming he no longer had any of Cross's old debts to pay off any longer…

"I don't think I can do this," he mumbled, staring at the carved wood with uncertainty colouring his eyes. She had her own strapped to her back, a quiver of arrows belted to her side. The feathered fletching were all black and white and grey, taken from the crows and gulls that littered the island. She jerked her hand a little that still held the bow and with a sigh, he took it at last, casting a glance downrange. The woman had created a makeshift target range in the pine forest valley. Some of the bullseyes dangled in trees. Others were fastened to the trunks themselves. They were small and painted colourfully, so he could spot them easily amongst the foliage.

A larger target then the others sat on a stand, the range cleared of any obstacles that might have impeded him.

She told him to where to stand and how to stand, and after a moment, told him to shed his coat. He was slow in doing so. It was the last thing he had left of the Order, and the memories he had of his friends. The woman tossed it onto a low-hanging branch of a tree close by, then shed her own coat. Underneath, she had a long-sleeved, form fitting top. Leather bracers lined her arms over those. She mostly seemed to favour wearing layers, so he never really realized how thin she really was; and he could tell already that she was probably very lean with muscles underneath.

She had earned a hard living on this equally hardy island.

He realized he was staring and looked away until she barked at him to watch. She took a position, her feet poised shoulder-width apart and brought her bow off its holster and up. Her left hand gripped the wood firmly, her arm level with her shoulder whilst her right hand drew back with an arrow nocked. He was facing toward her back and he could see she wasn't struggling at all; her muscles were taut but relaxed as she held position. It made it easier to see the steadiness of her position and poise with her hair pulled back and out of the way.

"Come around and see where the arrow is, how I'm holding the bowstring."

He did as he was bid, circling to see she had her index and middle finger curved around the bowstring, looking just a shy half-inch away from releasing the arrow. She had the fletching kissing her cheek, right next to the corner of her mouth and no further. She breathed evenly, still showing no struggle in holding her position. He wondered just how hard it would be to hold like that.

"Now watch downrange."

He looked. The whisper of the string being released was his only clue that she had shot before something whizzed downrange and impaled itself dead center into the target. Another hiss of bowstring alerted him that she had shot again. He didn't see anything at first, but the wild dangling of the other targets alerted him to look elsewhere. Three of the dangling targets were spinning rapidly, each with an arrow in its center. Three arrows. She'd shot three at once. He gaped at her, earnestly impressed.

She didn't share in the enthusiasm. "The Solarii are no longer an issue. You don't have to worry about shooting someone or risk being shot at. But you do need to start helping to hunt for food, especially if I'm not always around to assist. It's best to use this if you're hunting deer or rabbit, but I wouldn't suggest going after any Paras or Trikes just yet. You're not at that level. Think you can stomach that idea?"

His smile fell and he thought about that.

She only gave him a few moments to mull it over, but in the end, she clucked her tongue and motioned to him. "We'll cross that bridge when we get to it. For now, we should focus on how you stand. Get in position."

Allen stared at her, taken aback. He jumped when she barked at him a second time to get into position. He did as she bade, mimicking the way she had stood. He lingered on the way the bow felt in his hands. It was an alien, spindly thing and something he didn't quite feel comfortable with. It wasn't like his Crown Clown, something he could wield as easily as he breathed. That was second nature to him, whether it took the form of his arm and bladed fingers, or the great sword. He could wield either with immense efficiency, although he doubted either would be best suited for getting food.

He pulled back on the bowstring all the same, and almost immediately hit a point where he actually struggled. He muscled it back even when it meant wobbling all over the place, right where his cheek was. He felt a little awkward without an arrow nocked into place, though.

The woman clucked at him again, assessing him with her mismatched eyes. She tapped his elbow down that was pulled back behind his head, lowered his other hand holding the bow with another small tap, then smacked at his feet with a pawed foot. She made another small series of corrections, mostly posture-related and the contact was less than a split second each. Some were repeated until he was corrected. She didn't tell him to stop holding his position, so he stayed where he was, even as his muscles began to slowly burn from the sustainment. He could hear the bow creaking with tension and the string cut into the crease of his knuckles.

"Drop position," she finally stated, circling back around to stand beside him. He lowered his arms and the bow in quiet relief, glad for the respite. She handed him an arrow from her quiver.

"Remember that burn in your muscles. Commit it to memory. That should be how it feels when you're pulling the bow back, every time. The pain will eventually fade, but the feeling of how it should be done should remain. Nock the arrow back. Don't release until I tell you to."

He obeyed, struggling to first keep the arrow shaft pressed flush against the bow, and then again halfway through pulling the bowstring back. He kept the fletching where he thought it was in the right place, until the woman began making her corrections all over again. There were fewer taps this time, he was glad of that. She circled back around, standing off to his side, studying him.

"Loose."

He let his fingers go straight, releasing the bowstring. The arrow bounced away instead of flying through the air like hers had and promptly fell to the ground. He scowled and stooped to pick it up as the bowstring thrummed. It almost sounded like the damned thing was laughing at him for messing up so spectacularly.

"Again."

He tried again, bottling his annoyance down. The arrow left this time, but it fell pathetically short of the target, landing limply about two meters from them. The woman strolled downrange, plucked the arrow up and inspected it as she came back. She handed it back when she deemed it fit for flying.

"Again."

He did.

The arrow flew barely any further the second time around, but it was closer to the target, sitting a measly eight meters away from where they stood. She didn't retrieve this arrow. Instead, she handed him another from her quiver.

"Take your time. Steady your breathing. Every time you breathe in or out, you're affecting your shots. Slow and steady. Don't hold your breath for too long if you feel you need to hold it. A single twitch can be the difference between a bullseye and the outer ring."

She took her own bow out and demonstrated again: steady posture and frame, pulling back the bowstring with practiced ease, the arrow sliding almost soundlessly into place, and the fletching just barely kissed her cheek before she let it fly. It whistled quietly as it left while the bowstring thrummed, this time humming at a pleased frequency. The arrow downrange in the center of the bullseye let out an outstanding split-second shriek as her second arrow split it down the middle and sank deep into the target.

When she turned back to him, she nodded. "Again."

OoOoOoOoOoO

Everything ached for the following two weeks, but it felt good to put himself to actual use, to keep his mind preoccupied. If he was going to commit to the idea of staying on this island until he could help the woman off of it, then he at the very least could get in the mindset. That meant putting up with her morally questionable routines of training—although to date, he still considered his late mentor's methods worse, by far.

But committing to the idea of staying also meant having to deal with the isolation and once it truly began to settle in, when he actually paused to think about it, it was often times crushing. Even he could see that the isolation the woman put herself through was nothing short of insane, especially if she has been alive for decades. The only contact she seemed to have with people were the Solarii (whom she killed on sight), the predators of the island (several of whom she could somewhat talk to but probably didn't always), the prey animals of the island (whom she killed but mostly for food), and of course the occasional innocent shipwreck victim (whom she sent away as soon as it was safe and she was able).

She wasn't very socially inclined, was rather snappish and had an inclination toward mood whiplash, was mostly awkward in terms of social niceties, and could be a bit…standoffish. All in all, her people skills were rather rusty. But she also had her softer moments that made it worth weathering out for. She could have let him die or left him stranded in the wilderness on numerous occasions, but at every opportunity she managed to keep him breathing instead of turning a blind eye. She gave him shelter, kept him fed and watered and gave him his freedom without many restrictions.

He was also positive that he quite possibly was the first to willingly volunteer to stay behind with her, instead of trying to find a way off for himself. She didn't seem to know what to make of that or how to respond. She was used to a routine, and everyone before him had followed it to the letter, even if they weren't aware of it.

She was now forced to work around that. She had to drop whatever routine she was so used to, and adjust to the fact that she had another living being within her vicinity that wasn't trying to kill her or wasn't a dinosaur. She had to make a new routine. All in all, she wasn't the perfect partner in all of this, but seemed resigned to the idea of another person being so close at hand and has mellowed rather significantly.

It was probably good for her. Or so he hoped. He almost believed it was good for himself as well, especially since he had nothing left for him waiting back in Europe, or anywhere else in the world for that matter. He had nothing and no one to go back to. He had no way of knowing what had happened to everyone. A part of him was scared to leave and find out. Another part of him reasoned that if people were still crashing onto this island, that the Millennium Earl and the Noah had been defeated, that the world was safe. No more Akuma. He wondered many things, including whether the souls that made up the Akuma had been freed from their mechanical prisons.

Most of all, he wondered how everyone's lives turned out once the Secret War had ended. Were they happy in the end? Was Lenalee allowed to go free with Komui, now that she had no obligation to the Black Order? And Lavi—where would he and Bookman have gone after, since there was no longer a Secret War to record? Did they find another hidden gem of a conflict in the world somewhere? He wondered about all the others too, even if it seemed too little, too late, considering where and when he was.

So many thoughts swam in his head late at night when he lay awake, even when he thought he had none left after an exhausting day. He had devoted himself to saving the souls trapped in the Akuma and mankind, but what was he now, if he hadn't been there to the bitter end with his fellow Exorcists?

The last Exorcist and not even in my own time period, he thought forlornly as he stared at his hand outstretched up toward the ceiling while lying in his bed. He had a lingering suspicion that the woman knew he was out of his own time. She said nothing about it however, and so neither did he. It was some kind of mutual quiet agreement. Don't ask, don't tell.

Allen's gaze drifted toward the cross imbedded in the back of his hand. It glinted in the candlelight, while the red of his skin seemed to absorb it, leaving no trace of its existence. He sighed, dropping his limb and closed his eyes. Tomorrow was going to be yet another long day.

She was taking him to view the herds on the northern half of the island and admittedly, he was a little excited to see more dinosaurs, other than the usual round of predators he's seen since his arrival.

He'd get to see the real giants.

OoOoOoOoOoO

A storm rolled in on them overnight. A natural one, the woman had reassured him. It delayed them for the time being. The wind kept howling like a mad beast, while the rain slashed at anything with merciless, icy wet tendrils.

"Too dangerous," she declared after staring outside for a time, closing the door behind her. It was the middle of the day, but when Allen had caught a glimpse outside, it was almost as dark as night. "Storm'll be staying for a while. I hope everyone found shelter."

He knew she was referring to Carmilla and Báthory, as well as the raptor pack. Clover has since vacated the caves, her forearm healed and stronger than ever. The first thing she did when the splint and bandages came off was smack the woman in the head with it. It left gashes on her forehead, but Allen saw just how quickly she could heal. The wounds closed up within seconds of receiving them, barely any blood spilt. Clover was promptly kicked out right after the strange exchange of violent affection. He was sort of glad. The raptor was beginning to get on his nerves almost as much as she sort of scared him.

The day was spent inside and for most of the afternoon, the woman had her nose buried in a book. The cover was so faded, he couldn't make out who the author or the title was, but it looked well worn, loved, and often read. He spent most of his time crafting more arrows the way the werewolf had shown him; he kept breaking his during practice and she was growing tired of losing her ammo.

He was determined to show her he was committed.

OoOoOoOoOoO