Chapter Six

"What are you still doing up?" I whisper over the hissing snarls of the dying fire. Clutching one of Scruffy's smelly blankets tighter around me as barrier against the chill of night, I inch closer to the dying embers.

Hugo's eyes drift up to mine, gradually leaving the sketchpad he cradles on one knee. The metallic rasp of pencil lead over the paper pauses. Tilting his head to one side, he scoots over, allowing room on the log.

"Scruffy's still gone, which means we have no sentry," he whispers. "I heard you writhing over there. It sounded like a nightmare. If you're up, you might as well keep warm." He pats the extra space on his seat.

Despite his invitation, I sit down on the log opposite Hugo. Initially, he watches me, opalescent eyes dancing with the gentle flicker of the flame. But then his dark head bows back over his sketchpad once more, the whisper of a pencil echoing through the darkness of the night.

"What are you drawing?" I wonder, yawning monstrously. "And can you even see this late at night?"

"Not really," he answers truthfully, chuckle hidden in the words. "But I love to draw, all the same. It'll look interesting in the morning, but late-night thoughts are the best thoughts, right?"

"Mmm," I mumble, watching an ember drift from the fire and into the starry night's arms. "I'm not thinking about much at the moment."

"Well, that's because you don't know how to think. Embrace the fatigue. Allow it to sharpen your tongue and clear your mind. You are one with the droopy eyes."

After a moment of silence, I sigh in surrender. "You're bizarre."

"Is that what it is?" Hugo sobers abruptly, the pencil sagging in his hands, eyes staring imploringly into mine. "Why I'm so unlikeable, I mean?"

"What?" The misery gnawing at his coppery eyes has me on guard; it doesn't take an expert to spot someone under the influence of depression, but it does take one to deal with one gently – my own experience with the mental illness has sharpened my finesse on the subject. "Why?"

Hugo chuckles darkly, balancing the sketchpad on the log beside him. Leaning forward, he draws closer to the flame's heat. "Don't coddle me. I know I'm not liked, and I know I'll never be. It's what'll make me such a good martyr. I just… want to know what it is."

"You are liked," I scoff bluntly, looking deep into the heart of the flame as I grope for words. "I don't particularly trust you, but you have the makes of an ally."

"Funny, it's usually the other way around," Hugo mutters with a somber smirk.

"Ogden sticks around you. I mean, call me crazy, but he seems to like you a lot."

"We have been through a lot together, yes," Hugo acknowledges. His tone is warm upon regarding the older companion. "He and Bryon have been together since they were infants, but with all his traveling, Bryon is best alone. I like companionship, even from a mute."

"And Scruffy definitely loves you. All you need is a giant wolf sticking around to show that you've got likeable qualities."

"You're right." He brightens considerably at the mention of his pet, eyes softening like butter melting before the fire. "It's always been Scruffy and I, hasn't it? Me and Scruffy against the world. The day he bites the dust is the day I follow."

"That's the spirit," I cajole, smiling with relief.

"So, my only true friends are a mute and a giant friendly wolf, and my boyfriend is a demon from Hell." Hugo purses his lips and cocks his head. "Not exactly a confidence builder, but you've got to start somewhere, right?"

"Wait… what?"

"Oh, yeah, forgot to mention that." A grin as wide as the sea breaks out over his face. Adoration would be a simplification of the tender emotions shimmering in Hugo's reddish eyes. "My boyfriend is a fallen angel. He fell for me. And for his homosexuality. For his homosexuality, towards me. I love him more than life itself."

"Ah." Awkwardly, my gaze roams to the dancing tendrils of fire. "Oh."

Hugo's laugh is strange, with a deep tone I've never heard from him before. "I just get sketchier and sketchier to you, don't I?" he chuckles, eyebrows cocked. "Some people say that there's such thing as good and evil in this world. But I don't think so. There's never all good in a creature that walks in light, and never all bad in those that dwell below. I don't bother with all those preliminaries of good and bad. I'm a wild card. Not the sun or the moon, but the light in between. I've got my own agenda, and I play by my own rules. Might as well let them know right-up. But here's the question." With a smile, he rises from his seat on the log. "Does that make me good or does that make me evil?"

I watch with a deadpanned expression as he walks off, the sharp contours of his back fading into the darkness of the surrounding woods. Just before he completely disappears from my line of sight, Hugo pauses, cinnamon hair turned silver by the moon's eye hanging above the trees.

"I take back what I said about nobody being evil, or nobody being good," he calls softly. "Bryon is most definitely a sheep in wolf's clothing. And your mother's demon scares the hell out of me."

Then, like a ghost, Hugo is gone.

"It's strange," says Raffe from behind me, his voice banishing the serene silence and sending chills up my back. "Yesterday, you could do nothing but speak, and now you're quiet and submissive."

"Not submissive," corrects Hugo distractedly, fingers lazily tapping over the touchpad of his sleek silver laptop. "Merely focused. And cozy."

"You have been awfully quiet," I observe innocuously. "I still don't really understand how you're getting Wi-Fi on that thing."

"I've already told you." Hugo rolls his eyes. "This laptop's connected to a satellite, so I get it anywhere, and it's untouched by the apocalypse. No matter how much those angelic bastards pretend to be immortal, space is lethal to everybody. My Wi-Fi is strong no matter where I wander."

"What are you even doing?" I inquire, gently nudging Paige along. "Checking your emails? Who is still sending emails?"

"The amount of spam has doubled, actually," reports Hugo mischievously, eyes twinkling gregariously. "Except now all the titles are: Angels In Your Town? Get Magic Amulets Today! Hilarious. Hey, someone might be making some sort of a profit off this. I hear Verizon's still in business, like some sort of crazy product placement ad…"

Hugo rocks to the beat of Scruffy's rhythmic footsteps, his cradle in the bags of supplies and various knick-knacks almost a nest. His eyes are opposite of Scruffy's; it's a defense system, with the wolf facing one direction and the boy facing the other. Scruffy's neck is arched to create a pleasant seat for Hugo, and Hugo himself is massaging up and down Scruffy's sore muscles with his spare hand in payment. Before he'd been on the computer, he'd been sketching tranquilly, and before that, he'd been strumming experimentally on his guitar.

"What are you doing on there?" interrogates Raffe, tone sharp as a blade.

"Well, you're a nosey pigeon-bat, aren't you? If you must know, I'm looking into your own holy Messenger and his sudden death. New evidence has come to light, and so they came to me."

"What evidence?" Raffe's eyes narrow, the blue ice in buried there honing. "And why is a monkey interested in that?"

"Secret." Hugo taps his finger to his lips. "That's the thing, because, although this new evidence cleared the She Wolf off the list of suspects as well as Lion, you still have a position there. There's not a whole lot of reasons that I know of – this apocalypse is obviously not helping you any – but there's a lot of evidence that could mean that it was another angel that managed to get ahold of a gun. An angel that would be willing to endanger its sacred hands by touching that extremely effective weapon is hard to find. Hard, but not impossible. So, they turned to me."

"An angel?" The steel in my voice shields bitter rage. "You're telling me this was even started by an angel?"

"Maybe." Hugo pinches at his lip. "I honestly was leaning towards something that had to do with She Wolf. But now, I'm sure it's not her or her husband. I don't know, I'll have to research it more."

"Why are you in charge of this?" inquires Raffe with a divisive expression as cold as the winter wind. "Why not some other wiser monkey?"

"Because I'm intelligent. I'm clever. Sherlock Holmes was derived from all this, baby. Because I know how people think. How to get a person to admit something. How to know when someone is lying, and when someone knows something that I don't. I can successfully cross your name off my list now."

Raffe's expression blackens. The taut muscles in his shoulders tighten further, his jaw clenching. Blue murder dances in his eyes. If Pooky Bear had still been hanging at his hip, I daresay Hugo wouldn't be at his leisure for very long. As it is, his veined hands curl into fists. Ogden's allaying glance back at me does little to calm Raffe. With each step, Paige's teeth gnash together louder. The metallic clicking of teeth grates on my nerves.

"So," I attempt, trying at a new subject, "when are we going to meet this Bryon?"

"Well," judges Hugo with an affable smile in my direction, "he disclosed his location in the email with all the information about Gabriel, so I can gauge that we'll see him by the time the sun sets tonight. It's about… four o'clock, is it, Ogden? Ogden says yep. Probably soon, then, assuming he doesn't run into any of Raffe's hellions again."

Raffe's lips twist into a snarl, teeth bared. To assuage the situation once more, I hurriedly question, "Any tips about interacting with Bryon? Personality pointers?"

Hugo's brow scrunches. He tips his head up to the sun dappling through the canopy, watching the trees for a few moments. "Nothing that I really can think of," he decides. "I mean, he's badass to the core, but you wouldn't guess that at first glance. I've seen him get speared in the chest with an angel sword before and keep fighting. Almost cost him his life. Mostly, he's pleasant and polite. He used to absolutely loath you, Raphael – can I call you Raffe, or is that just a Penryn thing?"

He crosses his arms over his chest, shooting Hugo a glare that could crumble civilizations.

"Okay then, you're Pigeon-Bat now and forever. Anyway, he used to hate Pigeon-Bat growing up, apparently. I mean, he had a rough childhood. Always angry, they say, looking for someone to blame. But he's different now. He was reunited with his father, and… he realized that life was beautiful again, I guess. Seriously, he's a gentle giant. I've seen him tame Nephilim in one night. It's crazy, the effect he has. I've only seen him truly angry a few times... it's pretty impressive."

Ogden grunts. Hugo twists awkwardly around in his nest, facing Ogden quizzically. The old man releases a cacophony of clashing notes, uniting his hands in the legendary choir pose.

Hugo slaps his forehead, collapsing back onto Scruffy. "How could I forget? He's got the most beautiful voice ever. Like, talking, it's like chords on the piano and a hum of the cello and the rumble of drums. But when he sings…" Hugo rests head against Scruffy's neck and whistles. "He's got a human sounding singing voice, if you know what I mean. Sharp as a razor and deep, oh so deep. Lovely voice."

Raffe's tone is smug, acutely accompanying his algid grin. "A human's voice is meek compared to the voice of any angel."

"No, it isn't," disagrees Hugo with a roll of his eyes. "No offense, Pigeon-Bat, but you angels pretty much sound the same singing, except for pitch differences. Humans have a unique voice. No one sounds quite the same. And, if you must know, Bryon's not human."

Ogden nods in conformation. With a smile, he tilts his head towards Hugo, refocusing my attention.

"Of course, you'll rarely get him to sing anything but the Spirit soundtrack," Hugo continues, eyes sparkling. "You know, Spirit: Stallion of the Cima – Cina – oh, screw it. Stallion of the Cinnamon for all I care. Ever listened to it?" A queer glaze frosts his coppery eyes, and, cocking his head, he watches Paige for a few steps. "Anyway, that was back when he was basically THE children entertainment industry and had his fingers in all those pies. Now he just listens to the music. Knows everything by heart."

His words are greeted with my frown. "I think I've watched that before," I acknowledge after a second's pause. "My mom bought it as soon as it came out, I think. She would hum it all to herself as she worked around the house."

Hugo nods. "Catchy music. He wrote most of it, despite what that 'Hans Zimmer' will have you thinking. It's been around for centuries, pretty much – he just turned it into a soundtrack and got people to sing it and stuff. Great movie, too. Back in the Golden Age, you know?"

"I suppose. The Evil Queens back then were definitely much more interesting."

Raffe's lips quirk slightly. His wings perk within a stride.

"Inside joke," guesses Hugo, sighing melodramatically. Rolling back against Scruffy, he positions the laptop once more and focuses on the glowing screen. "Right, well, I'll leave you to it."

The wind whips through the woods, toying with my hair and whispering benignly in my ears. Sharp and woody, the scent of the pine forest fills my nostrils, a tangent fragrance softened by the tender tickle of wildflowers. To miss the opportunity would be unwise – instead, I sniff deeply, closing my eyes to relish the scent. It leaves the air in its wake stagnant, with just an echo of the whispered laughter it provided whistling in my ear.

"This place is magical," I breathe to myself, opening my eyes.

"You're not wrong," murmurs Raffe, neck craned to gaze up at the sky. His blue eyes shift colors beneath the soft golden sunlight, mottling in navy and cornflower.

With a surreptitious glance towards Hugo, who only grows further from us, I turn to Raffe. "I'm not sure how long it's going to be until Paige needs to eat again," I whisper, shoving as much concern as possible into the soft phrase.

Blue ice burns. The full power of Raffe's gaze smashes into me. "How long did she last without food last time?" The soft husk he speaks with is difficult to pick up above the hollow howl of the wind through the trees.

A shrug is all I can answer with. "Not long. And then she nearly ripped a person to bits."

Raffe lets out a long breath, raking a hand through his black hair. It is impossible not to notice the way he dishevels the ebony locks, nor to long to correct their position and smooth his hair back into place. "I'm not sure what we'll do. For the time being, let's focus on getting out of this forest. If worst should come to worst, we can always point her in the direction of that insufferable monkey."

"He's not a monkey," I mutter.

Raffe bites his lip irascibly, eyes dubious. But before a word of scoff can escape him, Hugo dismounts Scruffy. My gaze is already drawn before his finger lands lightly upon his pink lips, before he cautions us to the ground. Ogden is already crouching, gesturing ahead of him in explanation. A thunder of first fear then anger rumbles over me as I crouch, squinting to catch a glimpse of what had caught their attention. Scruffy stalks off, ears bent.

Hugo's lips are practically at my ear. "Bryon and I have this thing going where we try to sneak up on one another. Ogden's just spotted him. Be extremely quiet, please. You too, Pigeon-Bat. He's up by that stream over there, in the bank, washing his face. Back to us. Too good an opportunity to miss."

I sigh through the nose, but my gaze still roams the brush. A distant thunder of water smashing mercilessly against stone roars to life with my awareness. I can see the waterfall now that I know what to look for – diamond water spilling over rocks, frothing at the air and spitting. I assume the creek passes the trail ahead. Though I may lean and squint, I can't see beyond a few meters before the trail fades into brush.

Ogden creeps into the bushes, snagging Paige's hand and gently tugging her along with him, but quickly ushers Raffe and I after Hugo. Beside me, Raffe is silent, and ahead of me, Hugo is a ghost. My only consolation is that this area is primarily blanketed with pine needles to muffle the thud of my footsteps. Curiosity mounts as we slink around thornbushes and the stream comes into view.

Diaphanous sunlight filters through, brighter over the waters than in most areas. My eyes widen at the sight of a shirtless male bent over the serene waters, his broad back carved by muscles and tanned into a golden brown. Though I cannot see his face, I hear the tinkle of water as he washes his arms and know the balanced grace he holds himself with, even bent over the stream. A long, wooden staff without any decoration sits on the bank beside him, as well as what appears to be a long cloak and a shirt.

At the sight of him, Pooky Bear itches with rage. Sharp, painful tingles run up and down my arm until I release her hilt, breaking our connection, and let her swing freely at my hip. I cast a queer glance in the sword's direction. Her anger had been flavored with spiteful recognition.

Hugo signals us to pause. I crouch at the edge of a bush. Raffe shadows him a few more steps than I, eventually coming to a halt at the base of a tree. Hugo creeps onward like a cat on the hunt.

When mere feet separate Hugo from the man, he lifts his head, spilling water back into the creek.

A voice like a thousand church bells ringing in unison calls, "If it hadn't been for Scruffy, you probably would've won this round."

Hugo launches into a colorful string of curses. "Where is that lousy mutt?" he snarls, rising from his crouch moodily and signaling us up.

"Down the stream a bit, playing in the rapids. You might want to go salvage your packs before it's all washed away." His melodic voice sends a shiver down my back – there was no poetry in Hugo's description, only cold, hard truth. The chords are warm and inviting, laughter hidden in each word.

Hugo sighs. "And I thought for sure…"

"You did almost have me." The man pushes up from the riverbed, rising to an intimidating height. His powerful shoulders square, the trenches and ridges of profound muscle mass rippling. Towering over Hugo, he turns, allowing me a full view of the giant for the first time. "Who are your friends, Hugo? Oh – Raphael! It's been a long time! And you must be Ms. Young! Hmm. I wish I was wearing something a little more presentable… but then again, I wouldn't be nearly as handsome with a shirt on, would I?"

My eyes grow round at the sight of him. "Are you Bryon?" I whisper.

The man is tall, his height even greater than that of Raffe's. His body is broad and muscled, everything proud and firm. His six-pack is intact, accompanies by firm pecs, swollen biceps, a sloping V shape, and prominent neck bones. Unlike Raffe's Adonis-like beauty, there is nothing supernaturally godlike about his handsome face. Godlike in a human perspective he is, though. Instead of angelic, he reminds me more of a rough woodsman beauty – tough, sharp, and strong. His dark eyes shimmer in the sunlight. His skin is bronze with a tan. The remnants of a beard speckle his chin and neck, and dark, chocolaty brown hair hangs around his face. His smile is gentle, soft as silk – welcoming, friendly. Though not outrageously young, the man holds an older note about him, his eyes much older and wiser than ones that belong to someone in their lower thirties.

"I'm Bryon, yes," he answers. "Has Hugo already spilled every trivia fact there is to know about me, or has he left out one or two?"

As Bryon turns to face Hugo, the light trickling down from between the trees casts over his face, beaming into his eyes. And, in that slight second, they gleam. Not sparkle or glitter as a normal man's eyes would do, but gleam. It is as if the two dark irises had been infused with metallic bronze, only visible in the bright light – now, though, that he is in the sun, I can still see a hint of the bronze, coiling around his pupils.

"I am sorry that I happened to notice Scruffy," he apologizes, smile fading at the sight of Hugo's grumpiness. "Your skill is quite extraordinary. Much better than I ever did, even when I was the correct size to be snooping about."

"Oh, yeah." Hugo beams at Bryon broadly. "That's right. You used to be a midget."

"Not even up to my father's knee," Bryon chuckles. He shakes his head, eyes glinting each time the sunlight is strong. "The world was so massive back then. It still is, but less so, if you understand my meaning." His gaze turns back to me, apparently now noticing my unceasing gawk of shock. "I'm sorry, I'm being rude," he apologizes candidly. "Ms. Young, is something wrong? Come out, into the light. I don't bite. I might nibble a little, but I promise, no biting." He smiles warmly with pearly white teeth. "If there is something wrong, let me know, and I'll bash its head in."

"She's fine," Raffe snaps, stalking up to Bryon with a few testy glares my direction. His sulky voice jars me back to reality, causing my eyes to clash against his. Guilt tangles my stomach upon realizing that he's probably been watching me gawp open-mouth at Bryon.

"Ah, Wrath of God." Respect constructs behind those bronze eyes, despite his teasing tone. Bryon bows crisply. "Many apologies that you caught me without a shirt. You angels are awfully picky about silly things like being out-muscled."

"Don't count your chickens before they're hatched," mutters Raffe darkly. His critical gaze sweeps up and down Bryon. "Where are your supplies? Your weapons? Is this all you carry?"

Bryon shrugs, his amiable behavior still not faltering. "That staff is the closest thing I ever need come to a weapon. It's been my trusty companion these long years. I always have a way of finding food, so it's never been much of an issue."

"Everyone needs supplies," I decide, rising from my crouch at long last. Banishing the heated blush from my cheeks, I join the giants in their discussion. "It doesn't make much sense that you need none."

Bryon tips his head to me respectfully. "I don't eat as often as humans or angels do. Don't need as many calories. So it doesn't make much sense to lug food around."

"What are you if you're not a human?" My eyes narrow skeptically.

An embarrassed smile plays over Bryon's face, but I am more distracted by something behind him. As Bryon explains ("Sorry, but that's just the slightest bit private, something that I don't really enjoy spreading around much.") Ogden creeps up from the bushes on the opposite side of the creek. I try to make my observations stealthy, keeping my gaze locked on Bryon. But, as he skips over the stream, I can't help but smirking.

With a frown, Bryon trails off. He tilts his head to one side, puzzled. "What are you laughing –" He cuts off with a strangled mewl, jumping away from the place where Ogden had gingerly tapped him. Backing up against the stream, he scowls at Ogden.

"Oh, you tricky thing," Bryon growls, shaking a finger at the delighted Ogden. "Was this the plan all along?"

"Yup," accedes Hugo with a beatific grin. "I got you! Oh, God, your face… I've never heard you make a noise like that before, most of the time you've got this voice that can melt butter, and then all of the sudden: Cat Mode. But the point of the matter is that I'm winning. I beat you."

Bryon laughs, the sound rolling like a peal of thunder. "That you did, my friend. That you – Ow!" His voice is abruptly sharp, and the exclamation is swiftly tailed by a demonic growl. Wincing and hissing softly beneath his breath, Bryon turns on heel. My gasp of horror is the loudest sound aside from Paige's vicious snarls as she gulps down the strip of dripping flesh.

A raw red cut slices into Bryon's back, dribbling crimson blood like a hellborn waterfall. The wound is deep and incisive, as if someone had taken a cookie-cutter mold and sank it into his flesh. Despite the large hunk of flesh she'd removed from Bryon's back, Paige still growls, her starving eyes darting around feverishly. Gnashing together metallically, Paige gulps down the meat without a second thought.

"How rude of me." Bryon kneels down, coming face to face with my demonic sister. His height bows before the girl, large muscles seemingly relaxing. The power in his voice is subdued, more a lullaby than a madrigal. "I never said hello to you, did I? Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Bryon, quite possibly the coolest fellow you'll ever meet. What's your name?"

Paige blinks after swallowing down Bryon's flesh, snarl catching in her throat. Her eyes grow round as mine did, but for a different reason entirely. She touches a finger to her lips brokenly, feeling the crimson blood there. A high cry of mourning escapes her lips, and horrified tears well in her eyes.

Raffe is silent beside me, and Ogden watches with concern. Hugo throws an arm out to pause my protective pounce towards her. "Let him have his way with her," he whispers in my ear. "You'll be surprised."

"Don't cry," whispers Bryon, ignoring both me and Hugo. His voice is thick, as if, he, too, is about to burst into tears at the sight of my little sister. He lifts a hand as an offering towards her, palm open and fingers outstretched. "Please, I just want to know your name."

My baby girl whimpers out something strangled and weak, sounding more like a sob than a word.

"Paige?" Bryon's voice takes on a marveling note. "I do love that name. My niece's name is Paige. She has the most beautiful eyes. Your eyes, too, are beautiful. Can I see them?"

Slowly, Paige's gaze slides up to meet his. Her blood-red lips quiver, but she no longer seems quite as unstable – instead, there is an avid curiosity in this creature that is treating her civilly and attempting to carry out a conversation with a beast as wretched as her.

"Ah, yes." Bryon smiles. "Beautiful. I bet you could be a model, if you'd like. I know some people. Are you into that kind of stuff? Modelling, I mean?"

Paige hurriedly shakes her head, whipping it to and fro. A ruby droplet cascades down her chin, landing in the diamond stream. Rolling her eyes, she shrugs, raising both hands to the sky in a gesture of exasperation.

"I'll let you in on a secret" – Bryon leans closer, his voice lowering – "I don't really like it, either. But nobody can know that, it might hurt their feelings. I can trust you, right?"

After leaning closer to him as well, Paige recoils, alarm flashing in her eyes. Though initially disturbed by the thought of keeping anything from anyone, Paige mouths the word yes, sneaking furtive glances towards me. Stiffly, she waves a hand towards the audience. Upon her prompting, Bryon sneaks a glance behind him, winking once for our eyes solely.

"They can't know," he whispers, inching closer to her. "Do you think they heard me? They might tell everyone! Ogden in particular is pretty sketchy, you never know what he might do… and Raphael's been giving me the stinkeye for quite some time now…"

"That only causes him to glare harder," advises Hugo in a soft tone of voice. Whittling away at a piece of wood with a long knife, he jerks a thumb towards Raffe. "See?"

Indeed, Raffe's glower is a sight to behold.

"Well, there goes my secret." Bryon lifts his hands in surrender, sticking out his lower lip. "Poof. Come on, Penryn, couldn't you have kept a secret?" Bryon sighs in exasperation, and then laughs heartily as Paige waggles her finger at me. "But you know what? I'm hungry. Is anyone else hungry?"

Hugo nods vigorously, patting his stomach. Ogden burps, patting his potbelly and smiling. My initial surprise is quickly replaced by a smile and a nod. Paige lifts her hand in compliment, vying for Bryon's attention.

"Yeah, I thought you might be hungry. Do you want to come eat something with me? I know that normal stuff may taste awful" – he wrinkles his nose – "but I know what doesn't. Will you, Paige Young, accompany me to go find something absolutely positively exquisite to eat?" He offers her his hand, extending it with a friendly smile.

Paige doesn't pause. Her fingers slip through his, weaving together. Tentatively, she smiles weakly at him, before the slight expression is lost to her pain. Bryon smiles back down at her, bronze eyes shining as bright as suns. Like a thick tower being built brick by brick to the sky, Bryon unfolds slowly. After a few words, he slings the shirt and the long brown cloak over a shoulder and grasps his polished wooden staff in his free hand.

Together, the little she-demon and the gentle giant lumber off. Bryon speaking patiently to Paige can be heard as the two go deeper into the woods. Glancing once behind him, Bryon signals us to move onward with a wave of his staff.

"See what I mean?" Hugo grins devilishly at me as he hops over the stream, striking a boot against the crystalline water. The droplets splatter against the opposite creekbed. "He's awesome."

"I don't know," mutters Raffe skeptically as he crosses the stream with a single stride. "Something about him seems awfully familiar…"

"What will he feed her?" I question intensely, following Hugo closely, my feet a half-step behind his. My gaze is acutely trained on Bryon's back, and the rapidly healing cut my sister had made. "He's not going to give her human flesh, is he?"

"No way." Hugo's eyes widen, mouth twisting with disgust. The appalled tone is his voice is fletched with an offended quality. "That's nasty. Nah, he'll give her some veal or something that tastes a bit like human flesh. If she needs more prompting, he'll coax her with a bit of his own blood, because he heals so frigging fast. Then, slowly, he'll wean her off of that and onto something that's easier to find, like steak. Then he'll go to meat, period, and then… well, you'll have to see. Bryon's done this before, you know."

"I don't trust him." Raffe's voice is certain on the subject, his mouth straight and his face hostile.

Hugo waves a hand dismissively, coppery eyes alit with dancing flames of dislike. "I don't trust you. Now, let's get moving, before they run off without us, eh?"

"Hear that, Paige?" cries Bryon from ahead. "I'm mildly certain it was a challenge!"

I really don't have any comment.

POLL: Bryon. Thoughts…?

Ciao,

~wolfluvermh