My stupid work event is over. Yesss. It went well, with a lot of compliments and some requests (again) for me to chair speeches for other people, which I all politely turned down. Now there's just a bit of catching up with all the work organising the event made me late for, but I won't let that get in the way of updates.

Thank you all for your patience.

Chapter 2

The worst of the winter passed in misery. It was cold, dark, stormy, and ruthless, and Qrow found himself wondering how he and Raven had survived it the first time around. Spite, he wanted to say, but the reality was that he could remember precious little of the time. He remembered the death of his parents and being kicked to the outskirts of the tribe, but not the months themselves, suggesting that they must have been spent in agony and ill-health that he'd forgotten. It was likely the two of them had crawled through the winter and survived by the skin of their teeth, through sheer luck, determination, and the desperate will to survive.

Things this time were a little easier. Only a little. They limped instead, and with enough strength to stand on their own two feet, and enough food in their bellies to not be pushed to the extremes the other rats had. Many of them were dead. Most of them, in fact. The winter had culled the weak and left only the strong, which Qrow knew fit the twisted philosophy of the tribe just fine. They would be welcomed back in soon, being told that they had "earned" their place. He at least remembered that happening the last time.

It had been months now, long enough for him to be sure he wasn't dreaming, and long enough to realise he really was stuck in the body of his younger self in the past. Qrow sat with his back to the dry inner trunk and Raven against his side. It was too small for them not to be huddled together, and that was advantageous because they needed to share heat. The heavy blankets and clothing he'd made with her help had stopped them catching frostbite, but it didn't mean they were comfortable.

Getting up quietly, he settled Raven's head onto some rolled-up cloth and crept out the trunk, pulling the cover of thick fabric aside. He'd stacked the outside with wood to both keep out the cold wind and hide them, and he set those back in place. It was gone dawn, and the air was chill but not nearly as biting cold as at night.

I miss my apartment, thought Qrow. He missed being dragged reluctantly to Tai's place to spend Christmas with Ruby and Yang and get drunk in front of a roaring fire after eating too much food and then relaxing with Tai and Zwei after the girls went to bed. He missed the comfortable sofa he kept stealing. He missed the hungover breakfast of eggs, bacon, and last night's leftovers. He missed a lot of things, some sentimental, some comforting, and some that he'd just gotten used to, like working plumbing, water on tap and the ability to take a piss without your balls freezing off.

He'd grown soft, as Raven would often say, and he'd always rebutted by saying he was as hardy as he'd ever been. Well, she'd been right. He had grown soft. All those little comforts of civilised life you took for granted had been swept away, and while he could survive, and had, that didn't mean he wasn't pining for a hot bath, a heated towel rack and several cups of instant coffee.

Instead, they had melted snow, frozen squirrel that had gotten stuck in his trap, died, and turned to ice, and whatever wild berries Raven could forage. Qrow tapped the squirrel against the tree and groaned as it not only made a nasty sound but dented the wood. It really was a solid squirrel-flavoured icicle now. He picked up a piece of wood he'd been whittling in his off time instead, now a good five feet long and with its sharp tip hardened in the fire and made his way to the river.

The ice had thawed a few days ago and the fish were coming back and beginning to move in the water once more. It was still ice-cold. Fatally so, for anyone unfortunate enough to fall in. Qrow took another stick from the shore and shoved it into the snow, then wrapped its end with bark and dry moss and lit it by striking rock on rock. The small torch burned fitfully, but it did burn, and he angled it out over the water. It was light, but just gloomy enough that the fish were drawn to investigate, curiously bobbing beneath the surface.

Summer had taught him this trick, which was apparently well-known on Patch. Children would go out with nets on little rafts with a torch burning on it, and catch fish drawn to investigate. He wasn't sure what caught their attention so, and it seemed to work best on sea fish, but it still allowed him to angle his spear and, after a few tense moments of silence, stab it down.

It would have been nice to say he caught dinner so quickly but that would be a lie. It took him a full hour to catch a decent-sized fish and two smaller ones, and easily thirty attempts at spearing the water. At least the packed snow kept them somewhat fresh as the fire died out and Qrow picked up the offerings, brought the spear up on his shoulder and turned away from the river.

And right into two men.

Qrow froze, surprised at first, and then less so when he remembered the tribe. There were times he forgot it wasn't just him and Raven surviving on their own. The two men were wrapped in furs and pillaged clothing, carrying actual fishing rods – that would have made life easier – and armed. One had a sword; the other had an axe.

"Look at this," said the one with the axe. "Little tyke has caught himself breakfast."

"Bran's kid, wasn't he?" asked the other. "Oi. You Bran's?"

"I am," said Qrow, sliding his left foot forward. He could drop the fish, lower the spear, and steady it with his left hand, his right further back to thrust. "What of it?"

"Ooh. Aggressive little brat, eh?"

"Needs it to survive through winter," said the first. "Looks to me like he's done a fine job of that. Most of the rats have already snuffed it." He laughed, unbothered by the talk of children freezing out in the snow and dying. "Hey boy, how about a trade?" He opened the pouch at his side. "What'll it take me to get those little ones?"

Trade, eh? The Branwen tribe – not that it was called that yet, or that it ever would be – liked to joke that they lived on a barter economy. They bartered the lives of their victims for food, riches and whatever else took their fancy. They also bartered within the tribe as well, usually with less violence. As a rat, Qrow didn't have much room to talk or any rights to speak of, and no one would have challenged these men drowning him in the river and taking his stuff.

The offer, therefore, was a sign of faith, trust, or maybe just a rare moment of mercy. Most likely, it was curiosity. The guy wanted a story to bring back to his mates, and this would make for one. Ask too much, however, and he would end up being robbed. The man wanted a fun story, not a real trade.

"Got a spare knife?"

"A knife?" asked the bandit.

"It's not easy gutting fish with stone and sticks," said Qrow. He hefted the larger one. "Doesn't have to be a machete or anything, but a knife will do."

The man laughed. "Ha. And here I thought you'd be begging for food or shelter. Alright, kid, a knife it is." He reached into his pouch and drew one out. It was less a weapon and more a tool, small in the blade and without a proper grip. It would do perfectly. The man tossed it under-armed to him. "Catch." He likely expected the boy to dodge but whistled in surprise when Qrow snatched it out the air by the blade, catching it between his thumb and fingers. "Not bad at all, kid. Just lay them there. The snow will keep 'em fresh while we finish up."

Qrow did as he was told, then skirted around the two fishing men and back toward their hidey hole. He felt their eyes on his back, and knew they were – and would be – talking about him. Being strong in the tribe was important, whether that be projecting your strength physically or through reputation, but that could be just as dangerous at times. The nail that stood out tended to get hammered back down. He only hoped no one would feel threatened by a child.

Raven was up and starving by the time he got back and had even crawled out their little hiding spot to make a fire. She grinned wildly at him as he came near, her eyes lighting up as she saw the fish. It continued to be so strange to see his bitch of a sister this young, looking happy and innocent as she gorged on the cooked fish, her body flush against his, and their feet toasting near the fire together.

It was moments like this that made him wonder what had gone wrong, where, and whether he could have done something to stop it.

/-/

The breaking of spring came when the last of the snow began to melt, and was heralded with heavy rain, mist, and a rise of activity within the bandit camp. They had spent the winter hiding away from the weather and regaling with tales, but now the food was running out and so too was their patience. They were bored, antsy, and that meant they were ready to go. Raiding season had officially begun, and weapons were being sharpened, armour was being tightened and the younger members were training again, clashing weapons, practicing with guns, and basically causing a huge fuss that Raven and Qrow could not possibly miss.

"This is our chance," said Raven. "If we raid and show we're strong then they'll have to take us back."

Qrow paused in his meditations. To Raven, it must have looked like he was sitting there doing nothing, but he had been trying for the last few months to access and improve his aura control. It wasn't even unlocked yet, not properly, but that didn't mean it wasn't impossible for someone to unlock their own, and since he was a teacher at Signal, he knew the exercises.

The problem was that he was working with a body so much younger than he was used to, and he'd never even known how to use aura until he was years older and on his way to Beacon. His mind knew what to do, but his body didn't, and it would take time to train it. Raven's words, however, were a sudden and unhappy interruption.

"Didn't I already say we're not doing that?"

"I don't see why not!" said Raven, huffing and collapsing onto her knees beside him. "It's just a raid. I'm strong enough to pull it off, and I know you are. We can get accepted back into the tribe and trade spoils for a tent, food, drink, and a proper place by the fires." She leaned in, her red eyes shining hungrily. "This is our chance, Qrow!"

"It's our chance to ingratiate ourselves with a tribe that tossed us out." He watched her struggle over the long word and hid a smile. It was unfair since Raven had an education here, and neither of them had even been able to read or write, so expecting her to understand that was cruel. "It means to try and flatter or get the approval of someone," he explained. "And we shouldn't want the approval of a tribe that abandoned us to die."

"Why not? It's the way things are done. It's the way they've always been done. We're strong. We've proven it."

"That doesn't make it right. No one else throws their children out to die in the snow if they lost their parents. They try and find new parents for them."

"What? You mean the soft people?" Raven snorted dismissively. "Yeah, and what happens to those people? Oh right, they get killed by the strong." She thumped her fist into her chest. "By us! If their way was right, then they wouldn't lose to us. They do, so it's not right. They're weak."

He wanted so badly to tell her the thousand and one ways in which she was wrong, but the sad reality was that Raven simply wouldn't believe it. She had no reason to. They'd spent their whole lives within the tribe, growing up on their teachings and beliefs, and then being let loose on Mistral. Raven didn't even know what huntsmen and huntresses were; she knew they fought Grimm, and she obviously knew what Grimm were, but she didn't know what aura or semblances were. Neither of them had at that age, which was why the chance to learn the secrets of the huntsmen at Beacon had been such a no-brainer.

They'd been sheltered.

They had always believed in their superiority before then, until the tribe's ill-fated attack on a village that just so happened to be visited by a man called Ozpin. A man who, at that time, had been the history teacher at Beacon, and later the deputy, and finally the headmaster several years after Team STRQ graduated. Ozpin had shown them just how strong they weren't, and he had displayed so much power as to send the tribe packing. The rest was history, and it might repeat, but only if he committed to several more years in the tribe.

Not. A. Chance.

"I'm not going to go attack helpless people just to make myself feel better," said Qrow. He closed his eyes and went back to his aura. "That's final. We're not staying with a tribe that doesn't want us. We're going to leave and find a new life, Raven. A good life. You'll thank me for it later. Trust me."

"I do trust you!" hissed his sister. "But why won't you trust me?"

Because I have twenty-five years' worth of experience that tells me not to, thought Qrow.

He only smiled out loud and assured her that he did. Raven huffed, scowled, huffed several more times, and only when it was clear that he wasn't going to take the bait and ask her what was wrong did she stand and storm away. He knew better than to let her get started or give in to her temper. Raven was so much like Yang like that, burning too hot to handle and cooling down soon after.

You'll thank me later, Raven, when we're safe and sound with all the normal amenities a person could ever want. And where you can learn that there's more to the world than strong versus weak.

He should have known better.

/-/

Raven felt like she was dying. Her muscles were screaming, her teeth hurt, and every step was torture. It was made far worse by the bag she dragged behind her, grasped in one hand, and by the jagged and rusty sword in her left hand. It was only adrenaline, the sense of victory and the thought of the future that kept her going. All around her, the tribespeople shouted and cheered and laughed. The first raid of the season had gone well. The village had no idea what hit it.

For Raven, it had been less of a simple matter. Her first raid, her first fight, her first moment freezing in terror as she realised she might well die. She'd stamped it down quickly of course, before it could overwhelm her, and she'd been among the first in as the gates were breached and the chaos rose. Where the others had rushed to fight the defenders, she had taken a more cautious approach and stolen what she could, intimidating people with her sword and taking valuables from people who didn't even try to fight back. Cowards.

The village hadn't had much, and they had a lot less when the tribe were through. No prisoners this time, on account of the tribe not having the food to support them. This was mostly to stock up, get ready for travel and line their pockets. Raven followed the crowd back into camp, grin threatening to split her face in two, and those waiting illuminated by the campfires. It was there that she saw him, and despite the triumphant euphoria, Raven found her feet frozen to the floor. Qrow, her little brother, stood before a fire, his body unnaturally stiff and his hands at his sides, head down and eyes on the snow.

Raven swallowed.

He'd been adamant on her not doing this – worried, no doubt – but she'd gone and done it anyway. Why not? It was a good plan and they had food and goods now, stuff to trade and win their way back into the tribe. They didn't have to run away with their tails between their legs like Qrow wanted them to. He'd see that this was doable. He'd see this could work out, and that he didn't have to do everything, and they didn't have to live in a hollowed-out tree.

As raiders came back to their jubilant family and showed off their spoils, Raven slowly trudged toward her brother with her sack dragged behind her. It was not a jubilant moment. Raven swallowed again, then decided to break the silence. "Qro-"

"Why?" The way he asked it made her flinch. It was cold, bitter, angry, but above all he sounded disappointed. Disappointed in her. That made her irrationally angry.

"Why?" snapped Raven. "Why not? Don't you see? We have food now – proper food! We have money." She yanked a purse out the sack, leather, and waved it in his face. "We can buy real supplies and-"

He slapped the purse out her hands and into the snow.

Raven was angry.

Qrow was angrier. "You went out and raided!" he spat. "When I told you not to! What do you think this proves, Raven?" He pointed to the sack. "That you're strong? That you're stronger than a bunch of people who didn't even have weapons, and who couldn't fight back? Is that your idea of strength? Because guess what – anyone with a gun can frighten someone without one. It doesn't make you strong. It makes you weak that you only know how to threaten the helpless."

The word bit. Raven recoiled. "I'm not weak!"

"Then why did you have to take from those who couldn't fight back?"

"T… They could have fought." They had chosen not to, hiding away, shielding their children, but they… they could have rushed her. They could have tried. They'd have surely died, unarmed as they were, but that wasn't her problem, was it? They chose to let her take these things. "It was their choice to-"

"Don't play stupid with me, Raven!" Qrow's voice rose, and people around them had started to take notice. Raven tried desperately to shush him, but he wouldn't have it. His eyes were blazing and… and were those tears? Why now? "There's no strength in robbing the weak. There's nothing strong about any of this. It's parasitism. It's picking on small villages without huntsmen because you're afraid of facing real opponents."

The words hurt. They hurt more than her muscles, more than her lungs, and more than anything she could recall. They hurt more than the deaths of their parents because that had been sudden and shocking and she'd at least had Qrow, and now he was turning on her. Couldn't he see that she'd done this for him? All she'd wanted was to pull her own weight, provide for him for a change and not be such a burden. Raven had thought he would be proud of her strength. Her eyes burned angrily, though she refused to cry.

"You didn't earn any of that," ranted Qrow. "You took it. And those people needed it just as much as-"

There was movement behind him.

Raven's eyes widened. "Qrow!"

He saw the panic in her and ducked, and that meant he half-avoided the heavy blow. It still struck, catching the top of Qrow's head and sending him spinning through the air and into the snow. Raven howled with fury and fear and rushed to her brother's side. He was face down in the snow, and there was blood in his hair. Raven turned him over with her heart in her throat. He was alive, if in pain, his teeth gritted and one eye clenched shut.

"Is he still alive?" asked Balmung, the tribe's leader. He had his large club in one hand, the tip stained with blood, and a maddened grin on his face. A giant of a man with scraggly black hair, an equally scraggly beard, and huge, melon-shaped muscles. His chest was already bloody, showing he'd enjoyed himself and taken a few lives in the raid. Behind him, the tribe jeered and laughed. "Heard a brat mouthing off as if he's worth something. Thought I'd do you a favour, girl, and rid you of the worthless little shit."

No, no, no. Of all the people her brother could mouth off in front of why did it have to be him? Raven tried to lug Qrow up and draw him away, but her brother pushed her hands off him and stumbled to his feet on his own.

"Oh?" said Balmung. "It can stand. I'd say that's worth something, but that weak attitude of yours pisses me off."

Qrow laughed, and the sound of it silenced the crowd not because it was intimidating – it wasn't – but because it was such a shock that a child of his age would laugh back. They were at best thirteen, only entering their adult years. They were small, weak, and frail. Balmung frowned, unhappy that the child hadn't begged for forgiveness.

"Am I really the weak one here?" asked Qrow. "It must have taken a lot of strength to hit a child in the back of the head while he isn't looking. Is what you did for that?" He pointed to the blood on Balmung's chest. "I notice no one else is bloodied, so that means the village didn't put up a fight. Why is it, then, that you're covered in blood?"

He was right. Raven hadn't noticed it, but she did now, and a few others were as well. Everyone had loot, but the weapons were clean. It wasn't uncommon for villages to give up rather than fight, so it wasn't unusual in any way, but then what action had their leader seen that no one else had? None, Raven thought. None at all.

"Let me guess," said Qrow, shaking the blood from his hair. "You found a little family, women and children, and you took your sick pleasures out on them. Got to look strong for the tribe, right? Kill a few of them, smear yourself in blood, then pretend you had some great fight with a mighty warrior." Qrow spat on the ground. "The only blood on that weapon is mine." He pointed. "You're a coward, Balmung. A fucking coward."

Coward or not, casual murder or not, he was over six feet tall and built like an Ursa, and Qrow was thirteen. Raven tried to shut him up, but the damage was done. Balmung roared like an animal and slammed his club down.

"Coward, am I? You'll die for that, brat!"

Qrow shoved Raven away, but not before snatching the rusted sword from her hand as she fell. He lunged forward through the snow, and Raven shrieked his name. Qrow was a little over half the man's size, and nowhere near as broad. The sword he'd taken, that she borrowed, wasn't even sharp, and looked too heavy for him to use. The tribe had been shocked at first but now rooted and howled, excited by the prospect of blood even if it was to be a one-sided slaughter.

And it was.

It was a massacre.

Qrow side-stepped the overhead swing, flicked his stolen sword against Balmung's wrist and twirled past his legs, slashing at the back of the man's knee. The blade, rusty as it was, cut through the cloth there, Balmung's leather and metal armour being to the front and sides. The man gasped and fell onto one knee and swung back with his elbow. Qrow leaned back with almost contemptuous ease, then ducked the follow-up swing with even more. He kicked snow up into Balmung's face, stepped inside his guard and laid the sword on the man's shoulder, the blade against the side of his neck.

Then, with both hands, Qrow gripped the handle, held on tight and sawed it across Balmung's throat, casting out a spray of blood that stunned the audience and splashed over the snow. He lacked the strength to cut through the man's neck in one go and the sword became lodged half inside his throat and stayed there.

Balmung, the leader of the tribe, gasped and choked on his own blood, then toppled forward face down, twitched, and lay still.

"It's not so easy when the children fight back, is it?" asked Qrow.

His voice deafening.

Raven couldn't believe her eyes. Qrow-? He-? But-? Balmung-? Dead. Very dead. Raven stared again at the mountain of a man's body just to be sure, and the blood was already spreading under him. The crowd watched as well, unable to believe what they had just seen.

There were skilled teenagers in the tribe, sure, but even they couldn't have pulled this off. Balmung had ruled with an iron fist, and always made sure to cull potential dissidents long before they could become problems. No one liked him. In fact, she'd say no one liked him. That didn't mean they doubted his strength.

And Qrow had killed him.

Just like that.

"A child is our new leader?" asked someone. "That's…"

The tribe, the rules, the challenge! Qrow had become-

"I challenge you!"

Voices raised as one, at least six, as men and women jostled forward for a chance to wrest leadership from the hands of a child. Those who wanted the chance glared at one another but one, a woman larger and fiercer than the rest, muscled her way forward. Balmung's second-in-command and occasional lover, though Raven was sure no love was lost, Fang. Not her real name of course, but the one she'd taken and killed to keep. She was a heavy-set woman of thirty years who fought with a pair of bladed knuckle-mounted weapons, and who was once said to have flayed a man alive with her bare hands.

"Well, little warrior?" asked Fang, snarling eagerly. "Do you accept my challenge, or will you run away?"

Qrow glared up at her. "Challenging someone who has a head wound and is tired from just killing the last. Brave of you. Let me guess." He kicked Balmung's body. "I got lucky. Freak accident, right?"

Fang's grin dropped a little. She had been thinking it, and so had everyone else in the tribe. Qrow's words wouldn't change that; there was just no way to believe he had meant to kill Balmung in that fashion. Luck meant a lot in some fights; a trip here, a stumble there, a broken weapon or small opening taken advantage of. Even Raven, who held Qrow to a higher degree than any other, couldn't really believe he had beaten Balmung.

But three minutes later, as Fang lay on her back and the snow settled on her open eyes, and as her own weapons lay lodged in her chest, Raven admitted she might have to start believing otherwise.

Qrow stood, breathing a little heavier, unscathed but for the first surprise attack on his head, his arms outstretched as if to welcome the next challenger.

"Well? Wasn't there more of you?" He turned to look at those who had stepped up with Fang, but they had backed away, and were shaking their heads. "No? No one else wants to take a crack at the child? I guess you must all be tired from having threatened women and children earlier this night. I get it. I do. Scaring children is about the best you can do, and now that one of them has a weapon it's not so fun anymore." He wrenched the sword out of Balmung's neck and trudged his way toward the camp, toward the leader's tent on its raised wooden platform. "Raven," Qrow called, startling her. "With me. Someone fetch us food and ale. Rest and recover. We move on tomorrow in search of better things."

The orders were normal, sensible, and even if their new leader was none of those things the tribespeople were happy to do what they would have been doing anyway. "What about them?" asked one brave soul, pointing to the deceased.

"Leave them," said Qrow. "What was Balmung's is mine. Deal with Fang's loot however you wish. Let those strong enough claim it."

Faces spread with grins and already the opportunistic were hooting and rushing for her tent. Qrow had given them not only an out, but a fresh and easy target, and she was sure they would be arguing over who deserved the bitch's weapons or treasures and who didn't. Raven followed her brother, still confused and shaken, up the wooden steps and into a far larger, more comfortable tent than their parents' had ever been.

It was so much more than what they'd had all winter that she didn't know what to do with it.

"I'm still angry with you," said Qrow.

Raven winced, but followed it up with a hollow laugh and asked, "Does that matter? It's fixed now. Besides, you fought as well. You killed. You don't get to hold what I did over my head."

"I killed people who tried to kill me. You…" He breathed out and let his hand fall. Technically, she hadn't killed anyone, and Qrow knew it. "Just… It's different, Ray. You can't say killing children and facing down Balmung are the same thing."

"Yeah, obviously." Raven sensed an opening and came up to her brother to poke at his hair. He winced, hissed, but let her part it to see the wound. "But I didn't kill kids, and I wouldn't. I just threatened them to give up. Besides, it doesn't matter now. We're the tribe's leaders!" Or he was, but she had always been good at sharing. "This fixes everything. We can-"

"We're leaving," said Qrow. "Tonight."

"What?"

"The tribe isn't going to follow me, Raven. I guarantee they're plotting my death right now. Yours too."

"But the challenge – and you won fairly!"

"Do you think that matters to them? Do you think Balmung fought all his challenges fairly?"

No to both. Just the fact Fang and all the others leapt at the chance to fight Qrow after the last bout was a bad sign. No one would have tried that with Balmung because it would have been seen as cowardice, and yet Qrow's victory had been cast in doubt and no one argued against them starting a second bout. Qrow had even invited a third. That wasn't how things were normally done. It wasn't how things should be done.

The tribe had always honoured the rules before, but that had been when it was an adult in charge. Following the orders of a kid? And one like Qrow who had loudly argued against the very first raid of the season and called them all out as cowards? That wasn't going to be forgotten. Raven swallowed, suddenly realising just how important it was that Qrow distracted them with a chance to fight over Fang's belongings. It would keep them busy for a few hours, but not much longer than that. The two of them would be dead by morning, and the tribe would then have their own fights to determine who should take over.

"What should I pack…?"

"Anything valuable we can trade from Balmung's stash. Nothing that will weigh us down."

"R-Right." Raven was nervous, though not afraid. They'd survived the winter; they'd survived on their own in the wilderness in the biting cold blizzards. This wouldn't be half as tough. If anything, she stammered because of the uncertainty of it all. "Where will we go? What will we do? What can we do?"

"I have a few ideas."

For some reason, that was enough. Raven saw the absolute confidence in his eyes and was convinced that it would be alright. He hadn't led them wrong so far, and he'd pulled them through winter and now this. And besides, Qrow was strong - he'd proven that twice already.

And if there was one thing Raven knew, it was that strength determined everything.

Qrow doesn't have his aura unlocked, nor his Semblance yet, and isn't at a very strong level. It was just that the former leader was essentially a glorified thug who sent his people against those who couldn't defend themselves. Think of them as a person who would swing a weapon so hard they'd bury it in the ground if they missed, and who expects to win his fights through brute strength and nothing more.

In a tribe of amateurs, the bigger man wins, but put someone like Ruby in front of him and he goes down hard. Qrow may be younger still, but he's also much more experienced.

Next Chapter: 7th October

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