Nobody ever crossed the bitter river to the south. Beyond the river rested a small isle, and atop it stood the Farfort, where thieves lived. Sometimes. The old ruins were always empty whenever somebody was daring enough to travel there. Any royal paladin would find a trace were they to investigate, so nobody could prove that marauders and bandits made their beds there. But everyone in the village could see the bonfires on certain summer nights, and if you stood close enough to the shore, you could hear their hollering and cursing. On such nights Donnel often wondered if he'd ever be brave enough to swim to the other side, and if he could ever drive the bandits away once and for all.

At the moment, his knees were damp with mud from the field. His dark curly hair stuck to his face. He crept through the tall grass with a rope in hand and a knife on his belt. Donnel could hear his quarry grunting as it shuffled about and gnawed at the ground. He crept closer and closer, and he could finally see the massive pig enjoying its search for roots and grubs. He took one more step forward, and the pig paused.

Donnel lunged with his rope. He caught the pig right between the teeth. It squealed and kicked. Before he could rein it in, it took off running. Donnel yelped as it dragged him across the field. Pebbles and twigs scratched his arms and specks of mud and dirt rattled his teeth.

"Donnie! The knife!"

"I got this ma!" I think.

"Donnie! If'n he flees, he's liable to bite! Stuck it with yer knife, kill its spirits here en now!"

Too late. The pig zigged and zagged. Donnel nearly collided with a tree. He tried to find his footing and pull back, but it was no use. The pig had taken a sharp detour and made for the bitter water between the isle and the mainland. Donnel shouted and pulled back again. The pig met the wet, muddy sand and slowed down. Donne stood up and finally reined in his catch.

Donnel peered up at the isle. No fires, no sounds.

"The knife, boy," footsteps approached.

"His spirit's plenty broken now, ma. Just look at him." The pig hardly kicked or tossed its head.

"Where is the knife, boy?"

Donnel found the knife safely tied to his waist, just out of her sight. He swallowed. "Aw ma, I think I lost it."

"Don't lie to me boy."

He winced. "He won't hurt me, ma. He makes such a fuss, but he always comes around." Donnel held the pig close and harnessed the rope around its face and neck. It squealed a little, but it relented and followed Donnie up the bank. Donnel met with his mother on the way up. She was a big boned woman with large arms and big dark eyes, like his own. Her face had seen many more winters than him, and her brow and crow's feet made for a perpetually despondent expression - when she wasn't angry, at least.

"Your kindness will get you or somebody hurt one' these days." She wiped her hands on her dress. "It's just an animal."

"I know, ma." Donnel could hardly meet her gaze. He knelt down to tighten the leash on the pig when something caught his eye. "Ma, aren't those ships?"

A few dark dots had appeared around the island. They were moving awfully fast. They must have been following the current, which would take them straight past the gulf. He felt a chill run down his spine.

His mother never answered the question. "Up the hill, let's get him ready." Her boots wove through the grass and thumped with every step. "Quickly, Donnel. Don't tarry."

"Yes ma. Sorry, ma."

Donnel followed his mother up to the barn. She huffed and held her knees as they went along. He kept pace with her and didn't dare step ahead too far. She was nearly out of breath by the time they made it to the barndoor. With labored steps she reached for the sharpest cleaver.

The barn was very empty these days. The horses were put out this time of year, but besides the one milk cow, there were no animals. Donnel remembered a time when he was much younger, when the barn stirred and stank with living creatures, now it was just a dark dingy place for milking and putting up the horse.

It wasn't like this when his father was still alive.

"Here, boy," his mother handed the knife to him.

"I can cut the rope myself," Donny said.

"Nay, not the rope," his mother shook her head. "The throat. Let's get him ready for the butcher, save him some time."

Donnel swallowed. He let the rope slide from his hand, and the pig wandered about the barn. He reached out, and the cold metal of the knife made his knees weak. The moment he took the blade, his mother let go and went to tie the pig up.

Donnel turned the knife around in his hands. He felt the edge. It sliced right through the callous on his thumb and left a white mark. Nowhere near as dull as the one he kept on his belt. He swallowed.

"Now, Donnel," his mother said. The pig had been sufficiently restrained. Donnel stepped over and hesitated. "If you're afraid, I can take the hammer to him. It's painless."

Donnel shook his head and knelt down to the pig. It was completely unaware of what was happening. It chewed at a tuft of grass growing from the dirt floor. Donnel held the knife up and lowered it. He raised it once more, and lowered it again. He swallowed and wiped his brow. When had he started sweating?

There was a pause, and for a Donnel did nothing. He just stared at the knife in his hands, and the pig wistfully chewed away.

His mother made a noise and untied the pig. "Gods save you boy," she shook her head. His mother's expression softened. "Some other time then. You'll understand one day, son."

"What are you doing?"

"We'll take it straight to the butcher. He's gracious, he'll do the killing for us."

"Aw, ma," Donnel said. "I can take Porcus there on my own."

"Won't do," his mother shook her head at him. "We can't have you feeling sorry for our food, Donnel. What if your heart failed you an' he escaped? We'd have to rope him in and we'd be where we started."

Donnel gripped the knife in his hands. "I wouldn't let him go, Ma! He's the biggest pig we ever had! I wouldn't rob food from everyone's mouths like that. I won't be like Roddick."

"You'd do good not to speak the names of bad men," his mother's eyes flashed at him. "The gods frown on such carelessness." She opened the barndoor and stepped outside. "Here, you can hold the leash then. Hold tight."

They weren't halfway down the road when Donnel looked to the bank and noticed something. The boats hadn't passed them by, they had drifted closer.

Donnel never liked thinking about killing animals. It was something he never got used to, no matter how old he got, and he was almost fifteen. Boys could join the army at sixteen. After that they became men. Donnel wouldn't be a boy for much longer.

He'd have to grow up quick. There weren't many young fighting men left in the entire village.

Donnel waited outside the butcher's place, he heard his mother speaking inside. He didn't hear any noises from Porcus. Perhaps he was already an ex-boar. Donnel sighed to himself as he chewed on a sweet piece of grass. Everyone else in the village was already busy. He could hear them building the fires and laughing together.

Donnel greeted every friend of his that passed by. They were all either much older or much younger than him. They were all busy and couldn't chat for long, they were making preparations.

Porcus would feed the entire village. They'd roast Porcus over a bonfire big enough for three pigs. They'd eat pork and cheese all day and night for two days. It was something they did every year, to celebrate the end of the old war.

Donnel heard shouting from somewhere near the edge of town. He drifted away and peered down the dirt path that led to the riverbank, past all the houses.

"Donnie! Inside!" His mother's voice. He hadn't taken five steps away. He sighed and stepped into the butcher's home.

"Hear all that hooting?" he asked. "Rachelle must have been giving that hooch away again. The men's wives must hate her."

His mother's face was grim. The candle cast deep black shadows on everybody's face. Porcus was still with them. He noisily ate the milk and corn laid out in a misshapen tin bowl on the dirt floor. The butcher considered the pig with his one eye as he wiped down his cleaver.

They were both quiet.

"What's the matter, ma?" His mother didn't respond. "I can take care of Porcus, I'm not a young'un anymore."

"You won't, Donnel," his mother said. "You're not cut out for it." She glanced outside the window. "That's not why I called you in."

Donnel heard more shouting from outside. The butcher sighed and shook his head. "It's just the guys, Ma. You know how they get with a little drink. Or it could be granny and her goats, they're real ornery this time of year."

The butcher sighed and spoke in his deep, rumbly voice. "Nay goats nor drunks. Them's visitors."

"Visitors?" Donnel asked.

The butcher gravely nodded his head. "Aye. The boats have docked. There's only one crew that bothers visiting the village this time of year."

Donnel felt sick. "What do we do? Should we put out the light?"

"No use now," the butcher said.

"We keep quiet," his mother said. "They may pass us by."

And they did keep quiet, for a time. It might have been an hour, it might have been a minute. The entire time Donnel's knees shook. He just kept glancing outside, but he could never make anything out. He couldn't take a step without his mother glaring at him, so he tried to stand still. Every time he breathed or swallowed he felt like he would throw up. The noises from outside kept getting louder.

The shouting and footsteps grew closer. Without thinking, Donnel drew the knife from his belt and hid it behind him. No sooner had he done so when the doors flew open. Three burly men stepped inside. They were wearing furs, and they had weapons strapped to their waists.

Donnel felt the color drain from his face. His grip on the knife turned sweaty. He recognized the man in the middle. The one who stepped forward and smiled. He had a scar running down the side of his face.

"I see you're all doing well," he said. He stepped further into the house. The butcher frowned and stepped out of his way. "Gorging yourself, are we? Must be nice to have all this food to yourself. Nobody to share it with. The life of pigs, isn't it?" He threw back his head and laughed. "Oh wait, I'm not talking to pigs, am I?"

Donnel's mother was still. The man stepped forward and felt the side of her weathered face.

Donnel tightened the grip on the blade.

"You're doing well, very well!" he said. Donnel watched his mother purse her lips. "I figured you'd lose weight after last time, but you just chug along, don'cha?"

"What do you want, Roddick?" she asked.

His expression turned mocking. "I'd think to reconnect! Me and the boys were just passing through, but then I thought of you lot and wanted to visit." His expression turned dour. "Of course now I remember how old you'd gotten."

"You couldn't have picked a different day? This is a special time for the village."

"It is!" Roddick said with a smile. "Respect for the old war! The soldiers who died for it, the soldiers who lived for it! I see the makings outside. You lot are looking to party for days! We arrived just in time to enjoy the festivities, seeing as we're soldiers. Most of us, anyway."

"Any soldier worth their salt would fall on their sword before they became like you," Donnel's mother said.

Roddick's smile disappeared. He brandished his axe. Donnel was ready to try and slash with his knife. Without even looking, Roddick brought the butt of the axe down on Porcus's head. The pig squealed and stumbled to the ground. Blood poured from his nose and his mouth. He was dead in an instant.

The butcher shouted, and he was knocked aside by one of the bandits.

"Boys, take this one outside, and set him to roast… the pig I mean. Tell the others to kill and cook anything that doesn't talk." The two burly men dragged the bleeding pig to the door.

"You can't do that!" Donnel shouted. He lunged for one of their arms. "That's our prize pig! We had 'im for years, you can't just take him away!"

Donnel was shaken loose. He hit the dirt floor. Roddick grabbed his shoulder and pulled him to his feet. "You're the son?" he asked. He gestured to his side. "The one who smited me last time, you're his son?"

Donnel wanted to look like his mom, and keep calm and cool, but his lip kept quivering, and his eyes burned with tears.

"You got more brass 'n brains in that head if you are," he said.

"Roddick you leave him alone! He's just a boy!"

"Don't you squawk at me, I just wanted to get a good look at him!" Roddick smiled, and his scar crinkled. "We didn't talk much last time did we? You're taller than last I saw. Same curly hair. You do look a lot like him, you know. If he were smaller of course. Weaker. Had a chicken for a heart and a cow for a mum."

Donnel swung the knife. It sliced Roddick's temple. He swore and knocked Donnel over the dead pig and onto the dirt road outside. His mother screamed. He felt the dirt and mud on his arms. Something warm and sticky soaked his knees. The pig's blood was already running out onto the ground.

An axe nearly took his leg off. Donnel sprang to his feet and ran into the grass.

He heard his friends running and screaming all around him. Kids were plucked from the ground and carried off. Men and women were pushed by the onslaught of bandits.

The two bandits ran to seize him. One picked him up in a bearhug and squeezed. Donnel shouted as his arms and ribs threatened to snap. He saw Roddick hold an axe to his mother's head. A thin streak of red mirrored the scar on the other side of his face.

"Now now, boys. Let's not make the poor lady suffer. She already lost one man. Let the poor boy down, I got him mad that's all. I'm sorry, Donnel. We all just got carried away."

The moment Donnel's feet touched the ground, he elbowed whatever was behind him. It landed below the bandit's belt and toppled him instantly. Donnel stepped over him and broke into a run. He ran for the trees and the grass.

"Run, Donnel! Run!" His mother cried. "Go get help! Hurry!"

Roddick shouted something, and Donnel heard his mother scream.

Donnel came to his house. The candles and lamps were still burning. That wouldn't do. He didn't unlock the door, he dove through the window and scrambled about the cottage. He put out every light he could find. He could hear the bandits outside getting closer. He didn't find any armor or weapons, but he did find a small brass pot.

Maybe he could scrounge enough provisions for a dash to the capital, if his legs would carry him that far. The bandits might kill him before then.

Maybe he could ride the current of the river. It was treacherous, but it could carry a boat a few miles north before it emptied into the sea. But who was he kidding, he didn't have a boat, and he couldn't just swim in the river, could he?

More brass than brains, Roddick had said.

Donnel heard shouting outside and ran to the barn. The moment he opened the door he saw the gleam of an axe bearing down on him. He held out the pot, and the axe bounced off of it. The force brought him to the ground. The bandit above him already had his fingers around his neck. Donnel smashed the pot over the bandit's head. He was down instantly. Now the shiny brass pot had two sizeable dents in it.

More bandits appeared at the door, so Donnel ran. He leapt out into the pig sty and ran through the muck. The bandits were smart and tried to corral him. He leapt the fence and ran down the same field and hill where he had caught Porcus. The river wasn't far now.

The air whistled. A hand axe dug itself into the ground just behind his heel. Arrows flew over his head. Donnel made for the mucky bank and jumped clear over it. He did not enter the water gracefully.

It stang his eyes. The first mouthful tasted awful, but he couldn't surface and breath. He squeezed his eyes shut and kicked. He swam as far as he dared, peaked his eyes open, and then he swam some more. He slid the pot over his head to keep it from slowing him down, and in case he rammed into something with his eyes closed. He kicked as hard as he could until he finally gripped the slimy roots and rocks of the bay. He pulled himself out and gasped for breath.

Donnel found himself in the shade of a large tree. He had made it farther north after all. He couldn't even see the bandits on the far side anymore, and he let out a long sigh. He finally lost them.

Torch lights lit up the bank further south. Donnel squinted in the dark and watched. They were leading people away in chains. They were being loaded onto the boats to be taken away. Back to Roddick's isle across the river.

All he could think about was his mother, and Roddick's axe held to her throat.

Donnel pulled himself over and buried his face in the grass and did his best not to burst into tears.

Castle Ylisstol, a few days earlier…

The boy's name was Ricken. He was the same age as Lissa, but he was slightly shorter than her. Robin always saw him dressed in a blue tunic, and he always wore a pair of dark green gloves. He'd either be on some errand for Miriel, or he'd be in the archives. Robin would ran into him often when he went there to read.

Presently Ricken was poring through accounts of mages and their adjacent professions, and he had passed Robin a book on the practical application of magic for laymen, which he found fascinating to read. It served as a nice break from his actual studies.

It helped distract him from what remained of his illness.

"Will this help you become a Shepherd?" Robin asked.

"I am a Shepherd," Ricken said. He hardly looked up from his book. "I'm studying for Miriel. Maybe if I knock this course out she'll actually put in a good word with Chrom and let me deploy with the others."

"Oh right, that's today isn't it?" Robin coughed into his elbow. "Don't they leave before dinner? You'd better hurry then."

"It'd be easier if I could hear myself think."

"Ah, apologies." Robin coughed again.

"Shouldn't you be in bed or something if you're gonna make noise like that?"

Not thirty minutes later, the doors to the archive swung open, and the sound nearly knocked Robin out of his seat. It was Phila, and she was flanked by clerics and a priest whom Robin didn't recognize. His study partner, a boy the same age as Lissa, was unfazed and licked his finger to turn a page.

He swallowed, and remembered his dry, itchy throat. "Phila," he nodded.

"Thought you'd be in here," Phila put a hand on her hip. "Even though the Lieutenant and Prince both told you to stay in bed. I wonder how this could be?"

"Oh, I must have forgot…" Robin tried to smile.

Phila scoffed. "That claim of memory loss will only take you so far. We can't let you peruse these old books when you're suffering an illness. The clerics will try and fix that."

"I'm not contagious or anything," Robin said. He sniffled and pointed to a bowl of warm water on the desk. It rested on a warm slab of rock used for keeping food warm. "I'm boiling my fingers every other page I turn, just to be safe."

"Hot plates belong in the kitchen, and you belong in bed. Come, let's get you checked up." The clerics took Robin by the arms and pulled him from his seat.

"H-hey, no need to drag me! Me and Ricken were in the middle of something! Can't we at least finish?"

"If it's all the same to you," Ricken took one look at the clerics. "I think I'll be going. Good luck." He grabbed his books and his hat and hurried out of the room. Robin sighed.

"To begin on prescribing an appropriate treatment," the priest said. "We must find your humors."

"Something tells me you're not talking about my the bones in my leg." They held Robin beside a window, and the priest examined his bare arm. Robin never liked being seen without his coat on for too long. Phila, the clerics, and this old guy were all looking at him.

"Your date of birth, sir."

"My what?"

"The month and day you were born," Phila whispered. She stood beside Robin with her arms crossed. "Make this easy on yourself."

"Oh, that! I don't know."

The priest blinked. "You don't… what?"

"Robin, you'd be wise not disregard the Exalt's help," Phila said. "She was the one who arranged these healers for you, after all. Wasn't it one of the very first things she promised you?"

"I'm serious, I don't have a clue!" Robin said. "I don't even know the year I was born in."

"You mean to tell me you have no idea how old you actually are?" Phila asked.

"I'm an amnesiac! Do you believe me, now?!"

"Does Robin really have to stay behind?" Lissa asked. "Why can't he come with us?" She dangled her legs as she sat atop a crate of medicine. The other Shepherds were busy prepping the wagons to depart late that afternoon.

"He's still getting over that fever of his," Frederick said. "Last I saw he was still coughing and sniffling."

"How come none of us got sick?"

"Because," Frederick walked by with two - yes Lissa was not mistaken - two crates with one tucked under each arm. They rattled with spare weapons and armor. "His southern constitution was already ill-suited to Ferox's cold weather," he said. He loaded the crates into the wagon with no discernable effort. "Methinks the sudden changes in temperature from the return trip put unfamiliar strain upon his body. Even if Robin were to recover by now, I'd hesitate to throw him back into the fold so readily. He needs to time to rest and adjust."

Lissa looked to the side and saw Lon'qu loading a bundle into one of the wagons. "Then why is tall dark and dangerous here going with?" she asked.

"I'm neither southern nor northern," Lon'qu said. He didn't look at her, of course. He left to grab another bundle. "Besides, weather never bothers me."

Lissa got up from her seat and strolled around the stables. Every other Shepherd was busy. "Isn't there anything you want me to do?"

"Unless you can squeeze in some more training for your clerical studies," the wagon wobbled when Frederick hefted the crate into the back. "Likely not." So Lissa held her hands behind her head and left the stables.

She found Ricken just outside one of the western doors to the main castle. He was sitting down with a stack of books beside him. "Lissa!" He smiled and waved to her, and she smiled back. Back when Lissa asked the Shepherds to stop treating her like a princess, Ricken listened right away. She liked that about him. "Have you seen the captain?"

"Nope, he's still talking to Emmeryn."

"If you see him, do you think you could pass on a message?" Ricken closed the book and gathered up some notes. "If Robin's too sick to make it, I was thinking I could take his spot! I'm pretty proficient with a Wind tome now, and I've been brushing up on some tactical exercises, so I could be his acting tactician until Robin gets better, and since you're already about to deploy, now would be as good a time as ever to…"

"Sorry, Ricken," Lissa sighed. "Chrom already told me. It's a small mission. Nobody but the knights, Virion, Sumia and Lon'qu are coming."

Ricken's smile twitched. "Y-yeah, but he'd be missing out on a magic user! He can't possibly expect the Shepherds to survive without a magic user, right?"

"Most bandits aren't carrying around big suits of armor," Lissa said. She leaned on the wall opposite of Ricken. "So there's no need for magic tomes. That's what Chrom told me, anyway." Ricken put his notes down and groaned. "Sorry," she said again.

"It's fine…" Ricken wiped his brow. "I was just hoping for a chance to remind them that I'm still a Shepherd, y'know? At least they take you seriously, right?"

"Not really."

"Oh…"

Robin met Chrom in the hallways outside the archives. The priest had lost all patience and was quick to complain to the prince. "What a catch, young lord!" he said. "All known remedies are perfectly useless! Either the boy is sicker than we could've possibly imagined, or he was cursed at birth! That is my conclusion." He stole away. The clerics followed him, and Phila took her leave in the opposite direction. It was just the two of them left.

"...What was that all about?" he asked.

The Shepherds mobilized about an hour later. Miriel, Vaike, Ricken (and Kellam of course) stayed behind, and Maribelle wasn't available. The small group of wagons and horses stood beside the gates. Robin watched from a balcony with a warm drink to ease the pain in his throat. He heard Chrom speaking to someone before he stepped beside him.

"We may have a lead on a bandit camp in the area," Chrom said. "It's a little out of the way, but me and Frederick agreed it's worth checking out. We may be a day longer than we thought."

"I see," Robin took a drink. "Plegians?"

"Not likely, it sounds like ex-military to me," Chrom shook his head.

"Ylissean you mean?"

"Yeah. Disillusioned veterans, young soldiers who lost their gall, the kinds of people who couldn't go on living when the fighting stopped."

"So they take to burning and pillaging their own people?"

"Let's be fair," Chrom stepped away and looked over the rest of the castle. "They've probably no love for the Plegians either. So, if we can apprehend them, that's one less diplomatic disaster waiting to happen, and it would be a load off of Emm's mind."

"I still think you should take me with you."

"Out of the question. You need your rest."

"But what if something were to happen?"

"Robin, I've lived this long without you. A few days won't kill me."

"Yeah but…"

Chrom clasped his shoulder. "Just relax for once. We'll keep the Shepherds afloat. Just take some time to yourself for now."

Robin nodded. "You might wanna wash your hand before you touch someone else."

Chrom laughed and smacked his shoulder, and he disappeared into the castle. Robin sighed. He never really thought of it while he was traveling with them, but what kind of prince spends so much time away from the castle?

Robin finished his cup and stepped inside. A servant was on him in moments took the cup to be clean, which he relented to. He walked down the hallway, and to his surprise, he saw none other than the Exalt strolling down the hall. She too had her eyes fixed on the wagons outside. Her expression was gentle, but anxious.

He had hardly seen her since the Shepherds returned from their trip. He found himself running over to say hello. "Lady Exalt! I mean, your Grace! It's good to see you!"

When Emmeryn looked at him, her expression was aghast, and Robin felt his heart sink. He overstepped, didn't he? He acted inappropriately, like they were actually friends. He really ought not to talk her when Chrom or Lissa weren't around.

Emmeryn looked over his shoulder, down the hall. She peered down the other direction. She got close and whispered. "Is Frederick here?" she asked.

"Ah, no?"

"Phila? Father Raioticus? The priest?" she really looked worried.

"No, it's just you and me."

And her expression melted into a smile. "Then please! Just Emmeryn is fine! Or Emm! Whatever you prefer, I really don't care what people call me."

Robin's face flushed and his tongue was tied for almost a whole minute as they walked down the halls together. "Was the news from Ferox a great help?"

"Yes, it was! Flavia's as charming as ever. I regret not meeting her in person this time. Feroxi enforcers have already taken to some of the highways, and the worries of the Nobles and Merchants are almost completely laid to rest. It's almost like this Risen problem never existed, though I'm sure you could attest against that."

"To be fair, we haven't had any sightings, have we? That's a relief as far as I'm concerned."

"Regardless, you and your friends will always have my thanks for braving these threats. You've all grown since I first saw you. That Sumia girl… I can barely recognize her now."

"You should have seen her when we came back to the capital! They were cheering and shouting, and she kept her head high and waved the entire time. …That's about all I remember from then. I think I konked out and woke up with my fever after that."

Emmeryn covered her mouth and laughed. "Oh dear! I'll be sure to let Phila know her daughter-in-arms is finally spreading her wings. Is your shoulder better?"

"Yes, the healers here are excellent."

Emmeryn's smile wavered. "I wished there was some way to help your memory. Or your illness for that matter."

Robin smiled and almost coughed again. "I'm getting over it," he said. "Both of them. It's really not a bother to me anymore."

It was like talking to an old friend. Perfectly natural.

They came outside, just as the wagons were getting ready to depart. Robin watched as Emmeryn's anxious smile returned.

"He needs this, doesn't he?" Robin asked.

"Hm? Who?"

"Chrom, I mean."

"Ah," Emmeryn closed her eyes and nodded. "Yes, he can never remain idle for long." Her smile disappeared. "I used to hope it was something he'd grow out of. Now I'm thankful, but still…"

"I know what you're talking about." The two were quiet for a bit. "I guess I'll go see them off," Robin said.

"Good day, Sir Robin," Emmeryn lightly bowed and stepped back inside.

Chrom hadn't made it to the wagons just yet, so the Shepherds idled atop their steeds. Robin made his way to the gate to catch them on the way out.

"Robin! There you are!" Sumia came running over with some books held to her chest. Robin could scarcely count to three before she missed a step and nearly fell into a bush. He walked over to check on her. "I'm fine, I'm fine!"

"What's the hurry? Are you going to read all those books all on your own?"

"They're not all for me!" Sumia said. "Since you'll be stuck here at the castle the whole time, I thought you'd like something to read to keep you busy."

"Sumia, I read all the time," Robin saw a very unwelcome expression sweep across her face. "...I mean, sure, thank you! How thoughtful of you."

And she was right back to smiling. "I have three here, just tell me which looks good… This one sounds like a real page-turner. Shanty Pete and the Haunted Pirates! Lissa said you used to remind her of a character from this book." She blushed and giggled. Gods, Chrom! What the hell are you doing? Talk to her already! "Does that sound interesting?" she asked.

He shrugged. "I try not to read too many scary stories. Makes it…" Reminds me of the Risen and I'm positive the last time I read a scary story I had another nightmare. "Makes it hard for me to sleep, that's all."

"Oh, that's okay." Sumia held out another book. "How does A Simpleton's Guide to Pegasus Care sound?" Speak of the devil, Belfire appeared at Sumia's shoulder rested her chin.

Robin scratched the side of his head. "I'm not really into animal nonfiction."

The side of Sumia's mouth twinged. "Well, maybe third time's the charm. Let's see now... Oh, this looks great! Wyvern Wars: Terror at High Noon!"

"Don't you have anything a little more… literary?"

And the floodgates broke. Sumia bit her lip as tears rolled down her cheeks. "Ohhh… pegaplop, Sumia, you're useless! It was the simplest thing in the world! Just pick him out a book!" She held the books to her heart and slumped to the ground. "You can stab a zombie but you can't give a book to a friend. Useless, useless!" and she sobbed. Belfire nuzzled the side of her head.

"S-Sumia! Hey-!" Robin looked up. Chrom had joined the others and the Shepherds were finally moving out. Frederick strode past on Gwendolyn and cast a glance their way. His expression was very disapproving. Robin swallowed. "Please don't cry! I didn't mean to, I mean-" his eyes darted for the first title that entered his line of sight. "Um, did you say Wyvern Wars? I've actually been meaning to read this one for a long time!"

Sumia looked up and sniffled. "You mean it?"

"Sure I do! It's been a while since I've read a good adventure novel," Robin tried not to smile too hard. "Can't beat that on a boring evening."

"Oh thank goodness," Sumia smiled as Robin helped her to her feet. "I'm so glad you like it."

Robin nodded and smiled. "Pretty sure I have to at this point…"

"Did you say something?"

"Nope! I just said l'm going to miss you guys." Stahl and Sully rode past, followed by Chrom, followed by Lon'qu on the wagons. Sully reached over and helped Sumia mount her saddle. "Don't have too much fun without me!" Robin called after them.

Chrom waved behind him, and soon enough the horses and wagons had disappeared.

Robin let his hand drop to his side, and he considered the book Sumia had gifted him.

"...It's a lot thicker than I imagined. Maybe the print is large? …Nope, those are small words. This book is dense. …Dammit, I actually have to finish this thing, don't I?"

Three days later…

The birds and crickets were deafening, and the wind gently shook the trees. While the other Shepherds set up camp, three took the first watch.

"Hagu-CHMMF!" Lon'qu groaned and wiped his nose on his gauntlet. When he looked to the side, both Sully and Stahl were staring at him. He frowned. "What? Ylisseans don't sneeze?"

"Well, we don't do whatever that was," Sully said.

"I thought you said weather doesn't bother you?" Stahl asked.

Lon'qu sneezed again and batted away a tree branch. "It's all this damn shrubbery and pollen!"

The Shepherds had made their camp for the night in a small clearing. The woods this close to the gulf were incredibly thick, perfect for bandits or soldiers alike to lie in waiting. Chrom and Frederick were away, Sumia circled the perimeter with Belfire, and Lissa… did nothing. She sat atop a barrel, she paced the camp, she checked the wagons, she did everything she could think of, but she ultimately found nothing to fill the time with.

"This is boring!" she said.

"Quite," Virion leaned against a tree and carved a piece of wood with his dagger. "But nobody said this line of work would be exciting all the time. I for one welcome the pause. After our last excursion, a few long days on the road is nothing."

Sumia landed her steed and dismounted.

"Yeah but we were getting stuff done!" Lissa groaned. "Why even bring me along if I have nothing to do?"

"Lissa," Sumia said. "I think the captain would rather have you and not use you… than leave you behind and miss you when something happens."

"Oh, believe me!" Lissa flopped back on the grass. "He's perfectly fine with not using me!"

The bushes and trees rustled, and everyone stood at attention. Frederick and Chrom emerged from the woods.

"What did you find?" Virion asked.

"There is indeed a small village by the river," Chrom said. "But it's completely empty. No sign of villagers or bandits."

"I suppose our intel was bad," Frederick said. "Or outdated." He produced a map and set it on a barrel. Chrom circled around and examined it, and Virion joined them.

"The village hasn't been empty for long. If there was a raid, none of them could have gotten far," Chrom said.

"What about the gulf down here? Could bandits hide down there?" Virion pointed at the map.

"There's nothing down there," Frederick said. "One moment while I retrieve the document in question…" He stepped away. Lissa walked up beside Chrom and watched him and Virion work.

"Chrom?"

"I'm a little busy, sister," he said.

"You think I'm a princess, right? You and the others think I'm a good princess?" At first he didn't say anything. "Chrom?" Virion cast a glance her brother.

"Not this again," he didn't even look at her. "Go find something else to worry about."

She sighed. "I'm going to get my sleeping bag."

"Nobody's sleeping until we decide what we do next!" Chrom said. He flipped over his map and made a note with his pen. "What if a Bandit were to reach out of the bush and steal you away? Stay vigilant, stay alert, stay a Shepherd, if you'd please."

Lissa was about to point and say something very unprincess-like, but she thought better of it. She gave the weakest salute she could. "Aye, captain," and she walked off somewhere else.

Frederick spied her wander away from the clearing. "Milady?"

"Hey, stay close!" Chrom said. "Lissa!"

"It's alright!" Sumia mounted Belfire once more. "I've got my eye on her."

Lissa strolled by the river bank and held her hands behind her back. She reached her hands down into the water and drew up a small handful to drink. The moment it touched her lips she regretted it. The water was bitter. They were kind of close to the sea after all, Chrom did mention that before they deployed, didn't he?

Stupid Chrom.

If he wasn't going to take her seriously, what was the point of her being a Shepherd?

Lissa rested against a tree and let out a sigh. And then she heard footsteps. Twigs breaking. Something was nearby. A wolf? A risen? She backpedaled, and then she heard a shout.

A boy tumbled from the bushes and startled her. His chin hit the ground, and he struggled in the grass.

The boy's face was filthy, streaks ran down his cheeks, his clothes were caked with dirt and dried salt. Was that a pot on his head? He held his face and groaned. Lissa walked up to him as she clutched her stave.

"Hello?" he finally noticed her boots on the ground in front of him. He looked up and saw her in the dim moonlight. "Are you alright?" she whispered.

And then their eyes met, and he just gawked at her. His eyes were a deep brown, almost completely dark.

The boy shouted and grabbed her shoulders. "You gotta help me!" He stumbled and pulled at her dress. "Please, miss! I'm begging you!"

"Oy! There he is!" A voice from the woods. An old, grizzled man with an axe stepped from the brush. "The wee piglet!" He said with a cackle. His axe gleamed. The boy saw him and screamed. "Quiet, quiet!" the bandit said. He lunged forward. The boy tossed Lissa aside and was instantly in the bandit's grasp. He struggled and shouted. "I'll kill you here and now, Roddick be damned. Come quietly or… AUGH!"

The boy dug his teeth into the bandit's arm. He flailed about but the boy wouldn't let go. The boy bashed the back of his head into the bandit's face, and the pot nearly smashed his nose.

Lissa heard something whistle through the air. The bandit screamed.

When Lissa looked up, a javelin had struck him in the shoulder. The boy dropped to the ground and ran back to her. She had been prone the whole time, but he helped her to her feet. The bandit retreated. Lissa saw the glimmer of Falchion beside her as Chrom stepped forward.

The attacker didn't get far. One of Virion's arrows whistled through the air and struck him in the back of the head. He was down instantly.

For a moment, everything was still. Lissa watched the boy gasp for air as he held his heart. He wasn't letting go of her shoulders. "Um, hey?" she touched his hand, and that startled him. He looked at her again. His eyes were so dark she could hardly see the whites. He looked away from her and finally noticed Chrom. He ran to him and put his forehead to the ground. "You gotta help me," he looked up as tears welled up in his eyes. "Please, have pity milord! They're gonna kill my ma! They're gonna kill my ma!"

"Enough of that!" Frederick took him by the collar and held him above the ground. "You will tell us your name, and what station you believe permits you to lay your paws on royal blood!"

"Frederick, easy! He's just a kid," Chrom took the boy's shoulders once Frederick set him down. "What's your name, lad? What's happened?"

The boy was much calmer after he had a sip of wine and some food in his stomach. He sat beside the campfire and shivered, even with a blanket draped around his shoulders. Chrom and Frederick sat beside him, while Lissa watched from behind one of the wagons. She couldn't take her eyes off him.

"Is your belly filled?" Frederick asked. "Perhaps we can try again. Slowly this time."

"Yes, milords! Sorry milords…" the boy swallowed. "Right away, if it pleases your graciousness…"

"Just dispense with the titles for now," Chrom said. "What did you say your name was?"

The boy tightened the blanket. "Donnie, sir. That is, Donnel, your majesty. I live in the village on the coastline."

Chrom crossed his arms. "What's happened?"

And finally the boy Donnel showed some spirit again. "Those rotten pig-toothed bandits raided my village! …Pardon my language." That made Virion chuckle. "They were burning our houses. They were carryin' away the men, women and children! They took our food, and they killed our prize pig, Porcus."

Sully blinked. "Porcus? You named him Porcus?"

"My ma told me to run… so I ran. That was the night before. I swam the river, and tried to follow the coast north, but I got lost along the way. Didn't end up getting very far. I guess I fell asleep, because when I woke up, one of 'em was already after me. think I'm the only one who got away," Donnel's gaze met the fire. "This is the worst they've ever done," he said. "They used to come every year, but after last time we thought they were gone for good. Guess not…"

"Every year?" Frederick asked. "Where on earth were they hiding?"

Donnel pointed to the south west. "They always make camp on the far side of the isle, sir," he said. "Across the bitter river. They hide out of sight from the village, so we never know when they're coming or going, and they always travel at night."

"Did Roddick take everyone back to his island?" Chrom asked.

"Yes sir. I saw him loading boats before I swam away. They were all in chains and… and…" His eyes welled up with tears. "My ma's one of them. I know it. You gotta help save her, please milords! She's all I have in the world." He was sobbing by then. Chrom reached over and patted his shoulder.

"Don't worry, Donny. We'll save your ma. I promise." Donny nodded a couple of times, and Chrom waited for him to regain his composure. "Will you help us find her?"