Life wasn't what Lyndon would call good, but it was better. He was far from okay, but being alive was starting to sound more appealing than being a corpse, and that counted for something.
He still found himself wondering why he was allowed to live when so many innocent, no doubt more deserving individuals were slaughtered daily in the disasters that plagued every corner of their known world. Everywhere they went they were surrounded by death. It was a wonder to him that anyone could still believe in a loving god after everything they had suffered through.
Even so, bit by bit Lyndon's mood was improving, and he was beginning to believe that he would only get better from then on out. Unfortunately, as with so many other things, he was badly mistaken.
Lyndon was quietly pondering the merits of his own existence when he noticed Valla several yards away, returning to camp after having scouted ahead for potential threats. She pulled back her hood and shook her head, causing tresses of dark hair to fall haphazardly around her shoulders. He thought idly about how she would likely cut it soon, as it was getting longer than she liked.
Valla scanned her surroundings, and as she did she caught Lyndon's gaze for a brief moment, acknowledging him with a small quirk of her lips that represented the closest she usually got to a smile. Lyndon hadn't been consciously thinking about it but he noted that her eyes were hazel. They were unusually light, but oddly fitting somehow, and really quite beautiful.
Something in his mind shifted and he was suddenly flooded with emotion, leaving him dizzy and momentarily unable to breathe. Valla's attention had moved beyond him but he found himself unable to look away, having been assaulted by the horrifying realization that he was in love with her.
Fear gripped at his heart as memories of Rea leapt unbidden into his thoughts. Her rejection still stung deeply, and the idea of having to go through it all again was more than he could handle. He couldn't do it, he wasn't strong enough.
He looked away, tried to bury it, tried to banish all thoughts of love into the corner of his mind where they had been hidden for so many years, but now that they had been unearthed they refused to be ignored. Perhaps if he had noticed sooner he could have stifled any budding emotions, but he had been so convinced of the blackness of his own heart that he been blind to his growing affections. Now he had fallen too far to have any hope of pulling himself back out.
Valla was his closest friend, and she had given him more than he could ever hope to return. She had been good to him when the rest of the world turned its back, and trusted him even when everyone advised her not to. She had many chances and ample reason to abandon him, but she had stayed with him through every manner of hell, both literal and figurative.
The thought of her pushing him away was devastating. His brother was dead, Rea had betrayed him, and he tried not to imagine what fate could have befallen their children. Valla was the only thing resembling a family he had left.
He couldn't risk it. Not now, not when he was only barely able to convince himself to get up in the morning. He needed her support, and if that meant having to pretend just being near her didn't make his heart beat twice as fast then so be it.
She would probably see through him - she always did - but he had to try.
Lyndon was avoiding her.
Valla could not figure out why, but he would barely even look at her, and every time she tried to suggest he work on his crossbow aim he came up with an excuse. He was tired, his arm hurt, he had promised Myriam he would help her alphabetize her potions - anything to avoid spending time with her. Something was wrong, and she could not pin him down long enough to convince him to tell her what it was.
He had been doing so well. He had even mustered the energy to start picking on Kormac again, and though she didn't enjoy seeing the two of them fight, it was oddly comforting to know he felt well enough to do it. But all of that progress was suddenly lost, and he had gone back to spending as little time among the others as possible, except when he was trying to prevent Valla from catching him alone.
Valla knew that despite all his efforts to act like he didn't care, Lyndon took the words of others to heart, and it was easy to hurt him with careless comments. She knew she wasn't very good at talking to people - her training as a demon hunter left little time to develop social skills - but she could usually tell if she said something that hurt or offended him. Yet as much as she thought about what she could have done to upset him, she could come up with nothing.
She felt like he was going somewhere dark, and she couldn't follow. She was terrified he would fall and no one would be there to catch him.
Lyndon had never been so glad to spot a town in the distance. A town meant a chance to restock supplies, a real bed, and best of all, alcohol. Being sober had lost its appeal weeks ago.
The rest of the caravan only seemed interested in the supplies part; the artisans did not wish to leave their wagons unattended, while Valla, Eirena, and Kormac seemed to have little interest in actual beds and opted to stay with their other companions. However, no one made any effort to stop Lyndon when he announced his intentions to spend the night at the local inn. The one advantage of everyone pitying him, he supposed bitterly.
It was almost nightfall by the time they arrived, which suited Lyndon just fine. He barely paid attention to the actions of the others as they made their plans for the night; that would have required acknowledging the disapproving look he got from Valla as he made his way to the local tavern.
The town was fairly small and travelers were scarce with the world as it was, so there were few other patrons and the establishment was much nicer than the ones he preferred to frequent. He was in no position to be picky though, and he quickly found himself the center of attention from locals who wanted news from the outside world.
A young, pleasantly busty barmaid took a particular interest in him, and listened in fascination as he regaled her with tales of his heroic exploits. She even cried when he told her about how he had lost his arm protecting a group of blind orphans from a terrible, twenty-foot tall demon. The other locals grew bored of him, but she stayed and continued to listen to his increasingly outlandish stories in between supplying him with mugs of ale.
It took no effort at all to convince her to come to the inn with him, even drunk as he was. He couldn't even remember her name, but it didn't matter; it wasn't her he thought of as he cried out in ecstasy.
His satisfaction lasted only a handful of minutes before his sinking self-hatred returned in force. What was he doing? Was he really so pathetic that the only women he could bed were those who were too ignorant to know any better? And how disgusting was he for taking advantage of that? What would Valla think if she knew?
The last thought made him physically ill, and he suddenly needed to get out of there, to get away from the sleeping reminder of his weakness. He stumbled out of the room, head spinning and stomach threatening to reject its contents. When he stepped outside he noticed a faint glow on the horizon, signaling that the sun was almost ready to rise. How long had he been drinking?
Lyndon blearily made his way toward his companions' camp, focused on the thought of collapsing into his tent and sleeping for eternity. A cold breeze caused him to shiver, and he realized he had managed to leave the inn without his shirt. Going back for it sounded like a monumental effort, so he opted to give up on the garment. He would find a new one.
The late hour meant that the streets were eerily silent, but Lyndon was glad there was no one about to witness his walk of shame. If his luck held out, maybe he could make it all the way there without having to endure any judgmental stares. Then again, luck had never been particularly kind to him.
Given his tendency to sleep for as long as he was allowed, Lyndon sometimes forgot how unusually early Valla would wake. She would always be packed and ready to go before anyone else had even risen. Some nights he wondered if she had slept at all.
It should not have been a surprise to him, then, that she was already awake, kneeling in front of her wolf and seemingly whispering something to the creature. The wolf noticed him first, suddenly perking up and turning away from his master to stare him down.
Upon noticing the animal's reaction Valla's gaze quickly shot up, and though it was still fairly dark his eyes had adjusted well enough to see her expression of surprise. She looked him over and frowned, a clear disapproval in her eyes that made him feel sick all over again. She said nothing, just silently watched him with a look of distaste.
She was disgusted by him. And why wouldn't she be? He was trash. All he did was hurt anyone who tried to get close to him. He didn't even deserve to be near her, let alone any of the other fantasies that filled his waking thoughts.
Lyndon hastily broke eye contact and hurried past her to his tent, collapsing into a miserable heap on the pile of furs that lined the bottom. He buried himself under the warm coverings, desperately trying to ignore the pounding in his head and the ache in his heart.