Hello, everyone!

Thank you for all the reviews again. I replied to about half of them the other day, and I will get to the rest sometime this week, hopefully. I'm really sorry for the delay.

Short chapter, but eh, there wasn't really much more that I could do with it.

Hope you enjoy!

~Alyssa

Fall septies, sto sursum octo.
…

Fall seven times, stand up eight.

Then

We traveled over the mountains for days without getting a word out of the strange boy.

Baxter had told him what had happened as soon as he had woken up, solemnly explaining about the raid and his sister's fate. He crumbled then, retreating inside himself and not letting anyone in.

He did what he was told and accepted his food gratefully, but as time wore on, we were beginning to suspect he was going to become permanently mute. Having no clue to his name, we began referring to him as 'kid' or 'boy'—not to be confused with 'little man', Baxter's new nickname for his unborn child.

"You're going to have to tell us your name some time," Archer prodded at one point, nudging the boy in the shoulder. "We can't just keep referring to you as kid. It's gotta be annoying."

The boy huffed and rolled his eyes, an irritated expression on his face. "Fine," he snapped. "Tell me again what it was that gave me this?" He touched the ugly, jagged scar that ran from chin to hairline.

Archer's eyebrows rose, his face stunned. His unrelenting teasing and coaxing had been going on for the last few days, with no result until now.

"You're gaping like a fish," he said, his tone lightly accented, not unlike Baxter's. "Close your mouth, it's rather unbecoming."

"Wolfos," I supplied helpfully, smacking Archer in the shoulder. "A pack of wolfos."

The boy considered this, cocking his head slightly to the side, his long brown hair falling from his shoulders. "I suppose you can call me Wolfe, then."

And so Wolfe he became.

We fell into a routine; every evening we would make camp, and Archer and I would wander off, looking for wood that was dry enough to use for the fire and exploring the seemingly endless woods.

On one particular night, though, everything changed.

It started out perfectly normal, us leaving the camp and untangling the begging Linden from our legs, but neither of us struck a conversation like we normally did.

For a few minutes we searched in silence, pausing occasionally to pick up a log or branch. The serenity of the forest was slowly driving me insane. I blurted out the first thing on my mind.

"Have you ever been to Casperlight?"

I had tried to imagine the town since we'd decided on going there, but the only thing I could picture was Castle Town—the only big city I'd ever been in.

Casperlight City, however, was a fishing, merchant city. Known to be the biggest and richest on this side of the continent, even Castle Town paled in comparison. I knew that much, but nothing more.

"I've only ever been there once," he said, pushing aside a low hanging bow. "It's built on the shore of an ocean—it's like the Lake, except it goes on forever. My dad used to say that if you sailed past the horizon line, you'd fall right off the edge of the world."

"It was a load of bull, obviously—the city is known as the biggest commerce port in the world. They call it the city of lights because of the giant lighthouse in the center of the city, illuminating the town three hundred and sixty degrees. At night…Din, I can't even begin to describe it. It's just something you have to see for yourself. It's one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen."

He shot a grin at me, teasing in his voice. "Maybe you'll find a girlfriend there."

I was proud of myself when I didn't so much as wince.

"Yeah," I snorted, going ahead of him and using my foot to press down on the branch of a thornbush, sliding past. "And maybe you'll find one that lasts for more than two months."

"Hey, I'll have you know Penelope lasted for thr-"

Thoroughly disturbed at the abruptness in which he stopped talking, I began to turn around.

"Archer? Are you ok—"

The smile was wiped from my face, all humor gone as I took in his horrified expression. He wasn't paying attention me at all, his entire focus on a dilapidated old cart broken down several feet from the path, just visible in the muted light of evening.

"Din," he breathed, taking slow, deliberate steps towards the wagon. "Farore. That's not…it can't be…"

For a moment I didn't understand what signifigence this broken and bloodstained wagon was. Why was it of any relevance? Why did it throw Archer the way it was? Why—

And then it clicked.

Archer. The mountains. The wagon. Archer. His parents.

If my assumption was right, Archer was under the impression that we weren't five feet from where his entire life fell apart.

"I want you to go inside and tell me if there's a corpse." He said calmly, as casually as if he was making a remark on the color of my tunic. "And then I'm going to throw up."

"Are you sure that's—" I began to protest, but his expression was ferocious when he cut me off.

"Just do it."

I walked up to it, pulling aside the tattered and yellowed sheet that covered it and grimacing as a foul odor blasted me in the face. In the shade of the cover I could just make out the dusty objects inside with the dying rays of the sun.

Boxes and crates, knocked over and empty from several years of wanderers looking for a handout. A rusty steel longsword, covered in dried black blood. A stuffed bear, its abused head sagging slightly, a small tear in its chest spilling its fluff.

And there, in the very middle, lying almost perfectly undisturbed for a decade, was a small skeleton, the bones picked dry of flesh and muscle, a ghastly smile plastered on its face.

I shuddered, turning around and letting the curtain fall, taking deep breaths of the fresh, diluted air.

"Archer, I'm sorry,"

"Oh." He whimpered, his face crumbling. "Sh-she's dead. In there?" He clarified, his voice as weak as I'd ever heard it.

He began to hyperventilate; clutching his arms around his chest as if that alone could keep him from falling apart.

I wanted to lie to him. Dismiss his worries and carry along through the woods, back to the path and pretending like this had never happened.

But how could I do that? That was his mother's dead corpse in there. His mother's murdered corpse. Even if I didn't know how badly he'd be affected, even if he would throw up like he said, it wasn't fair to make the choice of leaving her behind made for him. He should have the option to pay his respects, a luxury he'd never had.

"Yes," I said quietly, dropping my gaze to the ground. "She's in there."

He pushed me aside, pulling open the curtain to see for himself, his expression abruptly horror-stricken.

And then, true to his word, he was sick all over the ground.

ox(O)xo

A grumpy Baxter sat down by the fire with a huff, crossing his arms over his chest. We all looked to him expectantly, but he just shook his head.

"Couldn't get a word out of him."

Zenith frowned, looking up from her lap. "I always thought he'd gotten over this years ago."

Garrett nodded grimly, for once his nose out of a book. "It's nothing more than confirming what he already knew. But I'm sure he's had flighty ideas that she survived the ordeal, and now his world's come crashing down. The only thing to do now is leave him be. He needs time to sort his priorities."

Wolfe stood from the ground. "That's not the only thing," he disputed.

Walking the thirty meters or so where Archer was curled up, his back facing us, Wolfe sat by him.

"Hi," he said awkwardly, loud enough that I could still hear him.

When Archer didn't respond, or even acknowledge his presence in any way, he scratched his head awkwardly. "I'm sorry about your mother."

Still no response.

"My mother died when I was born, you know." He tried again. "But that doesn't count for very much, does it, since I never really knew her…there was nothing to miss. But…"

His eyes flickered to the woods around him, searching for the correct words.

"…you know, there were times when I was sad, too. Sometimes I would get these foolish ideas, that Father lied to me, that somewhere out there she was still alive…and thinking that way made me hope. But I shouldn't have. You shouldn't have either."

He shook his head sadly.

"It just makes it worse when the evidence is right in front of your face. All your hope is gone, because there's no way you can deny the real fact of the matter, that they're dead, and they'll never come back and no matter how much you beg and wish and cry and hope nothing will ever change that."

"I didn't get a chance to hope this time around." He took a choked breath, clasping his hands tightly together. "I saw…I saw her body. And part of me wishes I didn't, because I'll never be able to remember her the same way again. I won't see her playing in the snow or dancing at a ball or reading a book by the fire. All I can see when I picture her is her body…all covered in blood, smaller and more fragile than I've ever seen her, with her nightgown ripped and muddy, her eyes…empty…and…and…"

He took a deep, wavering breath to steady himself. "What I'm saying is, even though I'll carry that with me for the rest of my life, I won't hope. Because hope can destroy a man faster than anything."

"I learned that a while ago. I'm sorry you have to, too."

He stood, dusting himself off.

"But it will get better."

He turned to return to us, looking over his shoulder.

"Eventually," he added.

ox(O)xo

Wolfe pulled aside a wayward branch, lifting his candle out of the reach of the flammable foliage.

The underbrush gradually began to clear, and he found himself at a cliff, a very sharp one at that, with a beautiful view of the dense forests that dotted the lower mountainside.

He sat down with his feet dangling off the edge, tempting the idea of letting himself fall, down into the ravine, down to a place where nothing terrible happened and where the memories of his father dead and his village ravaged and the sight of those strange, abhorable people telling him that she was gone would be erased because he would be gone, too.

Whatever was beyond this life didn't matter. As long as they were together.

But no. He mustn't. She would never forgive him.

He looked up to the moon, setting his candle aside, trying to trace the features of her face out on its full surface. It was a game Hadlea used to play back at home. Some nights she'd talk to the moon like it was their lost mother. "Look!" she'd cry out, giggling madly as she pointed. "Can't you see the mouth? Mama's smiling at you!"

Just the thought brought tears stinging in his eyes.

"Hey, Lea." He said softly.

No answer. Just the sounds of the forest; the leaves rustling in the wind, the night crickets chirping in a symphony with the katydids and the croaking of the frogs.

"I miss you." he tried again, this time not waiting for an answer. "Every day I miss you. It's so hard…just living, you know?"

He winced. No, he realized, his heart beginning to throb again. She didn't know.

Because she was dead.

He took a deep breath before continuing. "These people that saved us…me…They're very kind to me. The young girl, especially. Her name is Linden. Like the tree. Isn't that odd?" He allowed himself a small smile, picturing the bright-eyed girl that was only two years his junior. She was honestly the only light in his life anymore. "You put her up to it, didn't you?'

There was a time when he would have resented this babying. How careful the group of people acted around them, the sympathy in their eyes and their voices. He didn't need them. And he didn't need his sister asking people to help him. He could fend for himself.

But now, he only smiled.

"Thank you." he whispered, standing up and grabbing his candle, starting back into the forest.

There was no response. He didn't expect one. But he swore he could see the mouth on the moon smiling back at him.

Now

Have you ever wondered, when you're gone, how people will remember you?

After you've left the world, left your legacy and loved ones behind, what would you want them to think when they thought of you?

Or maybe the other way around. If one of your loved ones left you, what would you remember about them?

For many nights, especially after those days on the mountains, I stayed up pondering those questions, for some reason thinking myself very fortunate. In this life, death had hardly touched me, where in my last we were shoulder to shoulder. I couldn't even fathom…what would I do if the people I loved died?

I thought about Zelda, the first person who was always on my mind. Even if she had left me, I was still content with the knowledge that somewhere, somewhen, she was happy, happy and safe, because of me. Hearing the news of her death would have destroyed me, completely and utterly. Even after her ultimate betrayal, back then every breath of air I took was for her, in hope that one day she would remember and be mine again. The knowledge that that future no longer existed would have killed me. My heart could have only survive so much.

I thought about Archer. How much I admired his courage, his silly habit for keeping his eyes a sinister color, his sarcastic sense of humor. What would I do without him? Who else would I pull pranks on Baxter with? Who else would stop me from my craziest schemes, and blindly follow those he couldn't talk me out of? Losing him would be like losing a limb; I would survive, but I would never be quite the same ever again.

I thought about Baxter. The only father I had ever known. The man who took me in simply because I was in need of a place to stay, taught me everything I knew, raised me to the person I am. Who else would have the patience to put up with me? Who else would I go to for advice? If he died, for a long time I would be devastated. It would be like any other person losing their father. The vulnerability, stumbling around for guidance that was no longer there.

I thought about Linden. Her imagination. Her optimism. How much I loved brushing her hair and telling her stories at night. How could I survive without her? Who else would I sing to sleep when I was in a particular happy mood? Who else would pull me out of my depressions when the memories became too much to overcome? If I lost her, I would be inconsolable. Her life was my responsibility. If she were to die, it would have meant I had failed her. Only one other thing could break me faster.

How ironic that, looking back, none of my reservations and flirting with the idea of the unthinkable didn't even matter.

In the end, they all left me anyway.