Edward kept observing his surroundings through the misty coldness of Solitas. Nerves tense, hands numb more from gripping hard onto his tool than from the cold. Eyes focused for anything.

Alone and away from most.

The bitter, lonely cold was a welcomed reminder of how bad things were and could get—better than letting the frightening possibilities of his future take hold, leaving him hollow and purposeless.

He shook his head and clenched his teeth, he had to focus on the present.

He watched the poor lot of his group through his bangs—their eyes not so hopeless and lifeless like before—getting to know their saviors. Sitting alongside these other faunus around various old Dust-heaters for warmth, talking amongst them and listening to the leaders of this caravan. Ghira Belladonna and Sienna Khan.

The man was as tall as him, but more muscular than him. Black haired like himself but longer and well kept. Sporting a small beard and smart yellow eyes on his stern face. He wore a dark violet vest with white fur trimmed at the neck, and simple metal shoulder pads held in place by leather straps. A metal pin with the emblem of their organization—the side of a wolf's head—was attached at the intersection of the straps. Brown fingerless gloves that reached his upper arms, beige pants and brown leather boots.

He looked strong, and was firm. But when he talked it was clear he was more of a diplomatic kind of man than he was.

Sienna was smaller than them, making her less intimidating than the older man. At first glance. Her amber eyes held a fire in them, and weren't hidden by her wild black chin-length hair like his own dark gaze.

She must've had aura to spare, what with her outfit. It was a dark gray, sleeveless top with white trims, and a big diamond cut at the back and a smaller one at the front. Showing the stripes of her arms, that only had on a pair of orange trimmed, dark gray vambraces on her forearms. A dark gray and white cincher with red trim, a black buckled belt over it fastening a black pouch alongside a small red rope slanted across. White pants, gray thigh boots with a large cutout at the thighs.

They called their organization the White Fang. An activist group that wanted to achieve equality with the humans.

He scoffed. They would have more luck taming Grimm than getting humans to change their views and way of life even a fraction.

He knew many that payed the price for trying. Always ending in a bloody manner.

The harsh wind brought him back from his thoughts, and he heard both leaders order people to get in the trucks—and for their members to help their fellow faunus in need. A blizzard was starting.

He stayed behind helping, one hand still firmly on his chainsaw.

At the corner of his eye he saw Ghira approach another similar looking—but smaller—man that wore a blue scarf over a burgundy trenchcoat, gray pants and black boots. He had a bag filled with books slung over his right shoulder.

He couldn't hear what they were talking, so he focused on helping his fellow survivors instead. All the while never lessening his hold on the only thing that would always stay with him.

"Please, keep an eye on him for the rest of our journey."

Tukson looked to the direction of Ghira's eyes, seeing the big guy that led the group of survivors they now were helping.

The man's bangs covered his eyes, and the dirty white cloth he wrapped around his mouth didn't help in making out his face. He wore many rags over an atlesian military coat, making him look more intimidating. Like a wild man. Dirty blue jeans with black leather patches, and worn brown working boots. Carrying a chainsaw almost as long as the man was tall with only his left hand.

It was obvious they all came from a mining camp—likely owned by the SDC—even if it wasn't said. Not like they would probe for that touchy subject.

This wasn't the first time they encountered escapees from mines.

It was the first time they weren't brought by Khan and Albain though.

He looked at Ghira who had a hand on his shoulder. "Any reason for that?"

"I don't trust him," Ghira said bluntly.

Tukson let out an amused breath. Ghira was always so direct at times.

"While I understand your concern, he's been in the wild too long, surviving against the cold and protecting his group from Grimm. Surely being on edge around strangers can be forgiven."

"It's more than that. Something about him just… doesn't sit well with me."

"Did you talk to Sienna about this?"

Ghira scoffed lightly. "She doesn't see anything wrong with him. But that may be her radical side speaking."

"She just has a different view on certain things," Tukson defended, even if he thought the same about the tiger faunus.

"Too different sometimes…" Ghira looked at him again. "Will you do as I ask, old friend?"

Tukson hummed while holding his chin and scratching his sideburn with his thumb. "… Sure."

Ghira let go of his shoulder, smiling gratefully at him. "Thanks."

And with that, Ghira walked away. Helping the other faunus like he himself commanded with a kind smile and careful hands.

Tukson looked again at the big guy. He was helpin too, making sure no faunus stayed behind.

How bad can he be?

Tukson then picked up the pace and helped people toward and into the trucks. Wondering with who they would share the space.

This is awkward…

Tukson sat opposite of the big guy. The bigger faunus looking outside, towards the white void of the blizzard and falling snow of Solitas trough the erratic moving flaps of the truck—more so because of the wind than the speed of the vehicle.

Further inside, children looked at them or at their own feet with neutral or sad expressions on their faces. Not a problem for him, he was used to being with children. But clearly someone wasn't used to their presence.

Or he assumed that's why the man kept quiet and kept as still as if frozen in place with his back straight. Chainsaw still in his grasp, resting on the man's lap and thankfully pointing outside.

Tukson put on a polite smile and spoke to break the ice. "Excuse me?"

The man turned his head to face him.

Tukson felt a chill go through his spine looking at his glistening eyes through the shadow made by his unkempt hair, but kept his smile on regardless. "If I may, can I have your name?"

"It's..." he seemed to think about it. "… Banesaw. My name it's Banesaw," he said, voice deep.

He raised an eyebrow at that for a moment, feeling the man glaring at him for his questioning look. He didn't let the glare bother him—it helped hearing one of the kids say 'cool'— and introduced himself. "Well, I'm Tukson. It's nice to meet you."

He would've outstretched his hand for a shake, but thought better of it. The man didn't look like he would let go of that chainsaw anytime soon.

"I doubt that…" Banesaw muttered, looking outside again.

Better than being as quiet as the dead, so Tukson felt he was making progress.

Content with that done, he turned to the children with a small smile and spoke. "Would anyone want something to read?"

They were orphans they picked up before finding Banesaw and his group of survivors. Taken from the cold, dirty streets of Mantle and some of it's orphanages.

He almost frowned at that. The ones in charge weren't even happy of letting go of them, just uncaring about the ordeal. As if they were nothing to them.

Getting back to the present, he looked at the children expectantly. Some looked happily surprised with bright eyes and smiles on their faces. Others simply shrugged, having nothing better to do. And a few just looked barely interested.

"Just pass them along. Alright?" Tukson started to name the titles of the books he gave, so the kids could pass them along or keep them and start reading them if it was what they wanted.

He glanced at Banesaw, and was surprised to see him looking to the children passing along the books and reading them. Looking less tense and more… calm. Contemplative. Reminiscing.

He heard a thud. One of the children didn't grab the book in time, or let go too soon.

He turned to see a small brunette girl. Hair done in a ponytail—looking more like a chameleon's tail—and tan skin, with scales that could've passed for freckles. She wore an atlesian school uniform.

"Sorry…" she said, crouching to pick the dropped book. Once in hand she sat again and offered the book the older boy sitting alongside her.

A redheaded boy with growing horns—Tukson didn't know if those of a bull or a goat. The boy had a bandage wrapped across his face, hiding his left eye. He wore a black hoodie that was new. Dirty and bloody bandages wrapped on his hands. Gray dirty jeans and black shoes.

"Thanks…"

Feeling watched, both looked to his direction. The girl let out a yelp and looked down quickly, letting him know he wasn't the only one looking at them.

The boy kept his gaze on them, and opened the book to read a moment later, seemingly unbothered.

Tukson turned to Banesaw, and saw him uneasily look at the ground.

Tukson took a gamble. "Would you like one?"

Banesaw looked at him, not expecting that question to be directed at him at all. He answered after a moment of awkward silence.

"… I'm not interested in fairy tales and whatever childish nonsense you have..."

Tukson smirked. "I've got history books, Grimm studies, aura theory and applications…" he glanced at the chainsaw. "Maintenance of power tools."

He saw his cold eyes glint with interest. "Had something else in mind? I'm sure I have something you might like."

Banesaw reluctantly and slowly laid down his chainsaw, leaving it at his feet. "I would like the one about maintenance of power tools…" his head turned downwards, hiding his eyes more than before. "… please."

Tukson smiled reassuringly, offering said book for the bigger man to take.

A comfortable silence settled between them, much welcomed than the one at the start. Now they just waited for the caravan to reach the harbor so they could leave Atlas behind.

For now.

To Tukson's surprise, Banesaw broke the silence this time. "… What happens now?"

They where already on the harbor, and the ship was getting slowly but surely closer.

Tukson took a moment to mull it over. "Well, the ship is headed to Menagerie. If some of you want to settle there we wouldn't mind," he gave him a friendly smile. "And maybe some will want to join the White Fang."

Banesaw snorted and crossed his arms. "I don't see what I could offer to your organization..."

Tukson didn't give up. "There are lots of things to do, you just need to find where you fit. It's just a matter of having the spirit to make a difference in the world, and making it a better place to live."

The bigger faunus turned to the sea, looking beyond it. Hands firmly on his arms, he took a deep, heavy breath and let them down.

"Edward…"

Tukson turned from looking to the approaching ship to him, eyebrow raised in question.

"… My real name is Edward." He waited for a response.

The puma faunus just smiled. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Edward," he offered his hand for a handshake. "Hopefully your time in Menagerie helps you come to a good decision."

"… Hopefully," Edward smiled behind the cloth, accepting the handshake firmly. Not feeling as lost as before.

He would see what he could do for the White Fang once they reached Menagerie.

Maybe his life wasn't as hopeless as he thought. Maybe this cause and it's leaders would guide him better than he could guide himself.

Edward turned alongside Tukson to the ship, waiting for it's passengers.

He walked confidently aboard it, unbothered by the cold sea breeze. Chainsaw strapped firmly on his back, it's weight reassuring to him.

This might be the right path to take.

Phew. Glad to have this out of the way. Not that I didn't enjoy writing it, but damn, did I have many directions to go with this.

Also, the coat it's just his top. My headcanon is that it is actually part of an official's uniform, but he just took the coat and modified it later. Why you may ask? I just think it's too similar to Cordovin's. Dumb, but headcanons usually are.

Hopefully the characterization of these two wasn't too unbelievable and was handled decently. Thoughts on the matter would be appreciated.

Till next time!