Hello! Everything will be explained in the last chapter. This bulk-update was all pre-written, and I am just posting it now to get it out of my drafts.

Darkleer traipsed through the trees with startling efficiency. For his size, he could be very quiet if he wanted to be. Right now, however, there was no need to be quiet. If anything, he wanted to be heard.

His bow in hand, the large troll stopped moving and listened. The forest fell completely still, the silence thunderous after his noisy rampage. Frustration bubbling in his chest like smoke beneath glass, he let out a wordless roar.

Beneath his glasses, he closed his eyes and bowed his head. He was a fool. He'd had a good career, a good life serving his superiors, and he'd thrown it all away for— for what?

A pale crush? A pair of mournful eyes? A chance encounter?

And now he was disgraced, thrown out by the highbloods like a used towel.

He was to be executed in a perigree, or sooner if they were able to find somebody with the time. He began sweating just thinking about it.

He'd been E%ecutor Darkleer, the best of the best! And now he was simply another name on the list, waiting on borrowed time before somebody bothered to cull him.

To make matters worse, there was nobody who cared about him. Seemingly nobody remembered the name Executor Darkleer anymore, and he hated how his legacy could be forgotten so quickly.

Anger filled him, an emotion so hot and consuming that his vision tunneled. With another roar, he whirled around, dropping his bow and thrusting his fists into the nearest tree. Wood cracked and splintered beneath his knuckles. Again and again he pummeled the trunk, beating it mercilessly until it'd toppled over and his fists bled indigo over the forest floor.

Still, the anger burned within him. Three more trees went the same way, before he calmed enough to realize that, beneath the anger, there was the shame.

Shame for betraying what he'd been working for his entire life. Shame for being cowardly. Shame for looking into those soul-killed olive eyes. . . .

Something hit his chest, sending him stumbling backwards. Still half-blind with anger, he struck out. Pain flashed across his brow and indigo blood flowed into his eyes. There was a satisfying thud as his fist connected with something solid. Whatever he'd hit yelped as they hit a tree. After taking off his glasses and rubbing the blood from his eyes, Darkleer recognized his assailant. It was none other than the troll he was here to find.

Olive blood dripped from a gash in her right forearm, and she looked half-feral, twigs on her hair and a wild gleam in her eyes. With another screech, she attacked him.

Darkleer cried out, although he wasn't sure what she said. He struggled to get away from her, but she was like a firestorm.

Relentlessly she attacked him, her claws scraping marks in his skin that bled and stung. No matter how many times he pushed her away and tried to get her to stop, she attacked him. Finally, he threw himself at her, pinning her to the ground with the arms at her sides. It took a conscious effort to not snap her arms beneath his palms, and she struggled for only a second before flopping back limply.

He was sweating so much, given their current position, that he didn't realize at first that she was no longer fighting.

She was crying, olive-tinted tears falling down her face. It wasn't a pretty cry. Her entire face was screwed up and spit and snot covered the lower half of her face.

It was the way a falcon cried when it lost its wings. The way a mountain cried as the rain sheared off its skin. The way one who has lost everything but life would cry.

Unable to take his hands off of her to wipe the sweat off of himself, Darkleer managed to stutter out a quick, "S-stop crying." His voice was a deep rumble, like two boulders scraping against each other in his chest.

In answer, she tilted her head back, baring her throat. "Kill me," she whispered.

"I c-can't," Darkleer gasped, horrified.

Her voice rose into a feral screech. "Kill me!" When he still didn't move for his weapon, she continued weeping. "How could you do this to me?!" she sobbed, "Why would you rip my soul from my body and force me to continue living?!"

Another keening wail broke from her throat and, feeling ill, Darkleer jerked away from her. She lay still, her sobs the only sounds in the still air.

"Why do I have to kill you?" he demanded. She didn't answer.

Darkleer squeezed his eyes shut and, pulling a towel from his pocket, scrubbed at his face. The towel came away soaked with sweat and blood, but he kept sweating anyways.

Their eyes met, indigo clashing with olive, and her sobs worsened. "Kill me!" she begged, "Kill me, oh god, please, kill me kill me kill me kiLL ME KILL ME!"

His hand spasmed, responding to the horribly pale feelings in his blood-pumper, and suddenly he was petting her. Stunned by such blatantly pale advances, she stared at him, eyes wide and owlish.

His fingers — dirty and sweaty and with cracked fingernails — threaded their way through her hair, which was oily and dirty and hopelessly tangled with twigs and leaves. It calmed them both, slowing his thundering blood-pumper and calming her frantic crying.

Tears still ran freely from her eyes, but her breathing slowly regained its normal rhythm.

Once he decided she was calm enough, Darkleer said, voice still shaking slightly, "I can't kill you."

Her voice was quiet when she spoke. "Why not?"

Darkleer hesitated. He'd killed her matesprit with only the slightest hesitation. What about her — this little oliveblood — forced him to lower his bow? Not able to think of an answer, he retorted, "Why don't you just kill yourself?"

Her fingers curled into fists and she rolled onto her side. She didn't quite turn away from him, but she was only-half facing him now. "It's not that simple," she whispered. Distressed, she added, "The Dolorosa and the Psiioniic are still alive. I'm still alive. Don't I owe it to them to find them? They've given me so much, and what do I have to offer them now!" A low, bitter laugh bubbled uncontrollably from her lips, and she curled into a tighter ball. "It's just so hard." His finger accidentally brushed the base of her horn and she shivered. "I can't do it. It hurts to live. It hurts so bad and I can't stand it." Plaintively, she looked at him again. "But if someone were to kill me . . . I could just go and it would be so easy."

Darkleer looked away. He just kept petting her, because he couldn't kill her. "I-I'm sorry."

She pushed his hand away from her head. There was an exhaustion in her eyes that made her look dead on her feet. She sat up then, rubbing her palm against her face in a useless attempt to get rid of the tears and snot. "Fine."

He caught her hand, eyes widening. "Are you going to leave?"

Her answer was clipped and startlingly icy after her breakdown. "Yes."

Horrified, he asked, "Will I see you again?"

Her expression hardened. "What gives you the right to see me, after what you've done?"

The sick feeling was rising in his stomach again, and he dropped her hand as if it'd grown as hot as coals. "Are you going to die?"

Her eyes became far away, and she stood. "I don't know," she admitted.

The words gushed out of him before he could stop them. "I'm to be culled in a perigree."

She snorted. "Good for you."

His distress rising, Darkleer pleaded, "I need to see you again." Where had this come from, his obsession with her?

She stayed very still for so long he thought she wasn't going to answer. Finally, she said, "Bring me my book."

Thick brow furrowing, he asked, "Your book?"

The fire returned. "Yes! My book! The highbloods wouldn't have burned it, I know. It's got much more than sermons, you know. It has plans, maps, evidence against highbloods who don't deserve to fall because of all of this! Get it and bring it to me, and I'll see you twice more before you're culled."

He was so desperate that he didn't even bother to think about how hard it'd be to find her book, much less retrieve it. "Yes," he gasped, like a scalebeast out of water, "I'll get it."

She nodded and, without another word, turned and raced away.

Left alone in the ruins of fallen trees, Darkleer hugged his knees to his chest and cried like the wiggler he felt he was.